Announcing Escape the Choice (The Choice Series, Book 1) by ME!

So I have a little bit of an announcement...

I won't talk for too long, and just get right into it...

I'M PUBLISHING A BOOK!

How do you make a choice when you don't want to choose?

Oliver's friendship may be important to Ali, after all, she's the only friend he's got, but that's all they will ever be – friends. When it comes to Noah, she can't help but hope their friendship will become something more. Her heart flutters when he is near, and her eyes always seem to find his.

Unfortunately for Ali, Oliver would make things very difficult if anything were to happen between her and Noah, and while Noah has never told her not to be friends with Oliver, his distaste for the man is quite clear. For Ali to resolve the ongoing dispute, she will have to choose between them. But how can Ali choose between the two men when her decision will mean she has to cut one of them from her life?

A quick read filled with friendship, love, and a deep adoration of coffee and muffins.

Escape the Choice is the first book in The Choice Series, a series of standalone stories.

It is a quick read, at just 40 pages – perfect for reading on a coffee break, before bed... whenever!

Escape the Choice will publish on March 1st 2022, but it is available for pre-order now at just 0.99 (the price varies slightly between countries).

You can pre-order a copy now!

Amazon UK • Amazon US • Amazon CA • Amazon AU

Character Stories, making short stories for everyday people – Ben

 

Ben

I glanced up at the clock, hanging on the wall on the opposite side of the room, and turned my attention back to the door. A few more minutes.

There was something so utterly awful about my job, and that was the fact that I had to talk to people. I was the kind of person you would never find at a gym, I had a whole self-conscious thing going on, and besides, why work out when you could be spending your time rewatching a series for the fiftieth time? Or baking. Or sleeping.

In the strange way my life had turned out, though, I actually spent more time at the gym than most people on the planet. Not that I used the gym, I spent my time twiddling my thumbs behind the counter, watching people walk in, watching people walk out looking much more tired and sweaty, and trying to hide. Occasionally someone would come in needing to renew a membership, or a family would arrive, kids screaming and running around while a parent paid for them all to go into the swimming pool, and I would have to pretend to care, but that was my job, I suppose.

There was one part of my day I particularly enjoyed, though. And it would happen in approximately twenty-seven seconds…

“Morning, Ben,” she greeted me as she walked through the door, pulling a hairband off her wrist as she approached the counter. 

“Good morning,” I smiled awkwardly, as was our Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday morning routine. She raked her fingers through her hair and tied it up, a practiced movement that took mere seconds.

“My least favourite day,” she looked towards the door that led to the gym. “There is nothing fun about leg day.”

“So I hear.” I followed her gaze towards the door as someone walked out, looking decidedly fed up. “In my opinion, there’s nothing fun about any of it.”

“Aren’t employees supposed to make people want to keep coming back to the establishment, not try and drive them away?” She asked, raising an eyebrow and grinning.

“Not me. If people don’t come here, it’ll go out of business, and then I won’t have to come here.” I shrugged, leaning back in my chair and fiddling with a pencil. She let her gym bag slide from her shoulder and it landed with a thud on the floor by her feet as she leant against the counter.

“You could just get a different job?” She suggested, and I screwed up my face at the thought. 

“What other job would let me sit around all day, not really doing anything, and talking to a minimal amount of people?” I asked. There was a little voice in the back of my head that was asking why she was still here. Usually our morning conversations consisted of us both saying good morning and then her walking away to go and exercise. 

She pursed her lips, her gaze drifting across the room as she thought.

“You could test armchairs.”

I couldn’t help laughing, and she started trying to defend her idea.

“Just hear me out! The company puts an armchair in a room that’s set up to look like a living room. You go in, sit down, and watch something on the tv for an hour or so, then go away and write a report to send them. You would literally be paid to sit around, and you wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.”

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. Where do I sign up?” I grinned, and she shrugged.

“I think you might have to come up with the armchair company first, so you can create the job I just invented.” She dropped her gaze to the bag at her feet, and glanced towards the door again. “So how come I never see you when I come out on Fridays?”

“I only work part time on Fridays. Six ‘till nine.” Subconsciously, I cringed at the very thought of waking up early enough to get to work, even though I had already carried out the task for today. I looked across the room at the clock. “Twelve more minutes.”

“Okay, I’ve made a decision.” She slammed both hands down on the counter, the noise echoing around the empty room. She winced, and looked around, making sure no one was looking in her direction, but there was no one around to look.

“You seem to be very passionate about this decision.” I observed.

“You get off in twelve minutes.” She stated, and I glanced at the clock.

“Eleven, actually.”

“Okay, whatever. You get off in a few minutes, and I’ve stalled going to that door for long enough that I’ve lost all motivation to actually do so. I want a coffee, and I’m fed up of just seeing you for thirty seconds three days a week.”

“What are you even saying?” I asked, having lost the train of thought I think she was trying to follow. That train had left the station, gone off the rails, and was plummeting down a hill very quickly.

“I’m saying,” she bent over, picked up her gym bag, and promptly walked behind the counter to join me. “I’m going to sit here for the next eleven–”

“Ten.”

“–ten minutes, and then we’re going to go and get some coffee together.”

Okay, back it up. She wants to go and get coffee with me? No. I’m hallucinating. Or dreaming. Or hallucinating in a dream. Whatever it is, my brain has it round the wrong way. I’ve been wanting to go out with her for months. Not her with me. Right?

“Ben?”

I closed my mouth, wondering how long I’ve been gaping at her. She was fiddling with the strap of her bag, and I realised how it must look to her. She just asked me out (like seriously!) and in response I stared at her for however long without saying anything at all.

“Okay.” My mouth spoke before I could come up with something better than ‘okay’ to say. “I mean, I would love to. I mean, not love, but like. I barely know you, it’s weird to say love. I mean…” I drew my lips into my mouth and bit them, stopping myself from saying anything else to further redden my neck and cheeks. 

“Good. I thought you were thinking I was weird.”

“You thought I thought you were weird? I’ve been nothing but weird in this entire interaction.” 

Her reply was cut off when we both realised there was someone standing on the other side of the counter.

“I lost my membership card, is there any chance I can get another one?” The lady said.

“What’s your name?” I asked, wiggling the mouse to wake the computer up, and pretending I wasn’t insanely uncomfortable and embarrassed about everything. Susan Thorne, when I put her name into the computer, was not registered at this gym, and I had to explain to her I wasn’t going to let her through just for today and keep it ‘our little secret’, because I could get fired over it. It was quickly becoming a very heating conversation.

“But, it’s just a gym. It’s not like I’m going to be costing you guys anything!”

“Except for my job?” I said, dumbfounded that she still didn’t seem to get it. I glanced at the clock. Four more minutes, and I could leave.

“Who would know? It’s not like–”

“We have cameras here, lady.” I turned to look at the woman standing next to me. “If you don’t leave in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to call the police.” I suppose, with her standing behind the counter, it did look like she worked here too. I silently thanked her for stepping in to help.

“You can’t! I’m not doing anything illegal!”

“Except trying to scam people. You’ve never had a membership here, our computers say so. If you want to pay to enter, we can set that up for you. If not, please leave the building.”

“I’d like to speak to your manager.” Susan jabbed a finger in her direction. 

“Susan, you’re speaking to the owner. I don’t have a manger, because this is my business. And you’re trespassing on private property.”

She didn’t own the gym. I knew because when she scanned her card to unlock the door to the gym, my computer flashed up with the name ‘Charlotte Peters’ and the owner of this place was a guy in his fifties called Hank, or something. As soon as she said that, though, Susan blanched, huffed, and stormed out without saying anything else.

“That was amazing.” I said, astounded, although my dislike for people had been maxed out for the month by that single encounter.

“I know.” Charlotte pretended to flick her hair over her shoulder and grinned. I looked to the clock, feeling an immense about of relief. 

“It’s nine. For saving me from that horrible encounter, I’m buying the coffee.”

“Did you study chivalry or something?” She asked when I held the door open for her as we walked out.

“Nope, sports science.” She looked at me in disbelief and I shrugged. “I never finished the course. I dropped out when I realised I actually hated sports.”

“Fair enough. I dropped out of hairdressing when I realised I was terrible at it and that I hated every second of it.”

“Fair enough. Now, where do you want to go?”

And done!

I was too tired to actually come up with a character myself, so I used a character personality generator thing... in case you're curious, Ben apparently likes extreme ironing and is gluten intolerant. I know, what a wacky guy.

That's all for now...

Bye!

Movie Review – Sightless – A movie that interestingly incorporates blindness into the visuals

One Saturday morning, I scrolled through Netflix and made a quick list of three movies I wanted to watch that day. I had nothing else to do, so I thought I could watch some films, review them, and get some posts scheduled.

I proceeded to do other things all day. I updated some blog posts and scheduled some tweets in the morning, and then went to de-cobweb a church, which took all afternoon. I watched this film the following evening.

Let me introduce the film, and then we can get into my review!

After a vicious attack leaves a young woman blind, she must fight back to escape her new reality in which people are not who they seem to be.

This film is on Netflix, or you can rent/buy it on Amazon Prime.

My Review!

Ellen Ashland used to be an incredibly famous musician, a violinist, but she has since stepped away from the limelight. She had an ex-husband in jail, and a past she would rather leave behind. But, when she is attacked with a substance that leaves her blind, she finds that her past does not matter, because it seems her future has been destroyed. 

Ellen’s brother sets her up with a caretaker, the best there is, Clayton. Clayton, in turn, sets Ellen up in a new apartment, somewhere quiet, where she can adjust to her new life. Clayton is there for Ellen every step of the way, looking after her as she tries to figure out life in a world where she sees nothing. The attack has a lasting effect on her, she cannot sleep without reliving it, but that quickly loses priority on her list of important things to worry about. 

With the loss of her vision, Ellen’s hearing improves, to the point she can hear the arguments of the couple living next door, causing a steadily increasing concern for Lana, the woman living there. She can hear a car alarm go off every other day. She can hear the traffic outside from one window, but silence from another. And yet, she is trapped in a world where she cannot simply look around to figure things out. 

There are certain aspects of this movie that were created absolutely perfectly. Ellen obviously cannot see, but the viewer is still watching a film. There are details that shift as Ellen learns about her environment, that appear how she assumes them to be until proven otherwise. There is a bird at one point, which she imagines as green, but when she is told it is actually blue, it shifts colour to match reality. The same happens when she believes one person to be standing in front of her, but it turns out to be another. Ellen’s entire reality is built on her imagination and minimal details, which itself is terrifying. When you add in the neighbours, the husband who scares her and the woman who may be in danger, and the fact no one will believe her over anything she believes to be real - the shifting reality of this film attempts to give you the same experience as Ellen. You are never entirely sure who or what to trust, because everything may change at a moments notice.

In this way, it is a very successful psychological thriller. Ellen’s complete dependency on Clayton, as the police attempt to find out who attacked her and as she tries to grow accustomed to this new reality, completely isolates her. The entire film is set inside an apartment and the hallway outside of it. She feels she has lost her freedom, and it comes across incredibly well.

The only thing I have ever seen Madelaine Petsch in is Riverdale, which I gave up on watching because it grew quite ridiculous. That is nothing to go by, though, because her acting in this film is incredible. I will be looking out for her in more films in the future. 

All round, this was an amazing film, that not only will I be watching again, I will be watching again multiple times. Looking back on it, there are subtle hints throughout the entire movie as to the outcome, things you will not notice unless you are looking for them. And I absolutely love when a film has things like that, that mean the next time you watch it, it’s like watching something completely different, where you understand certain actions and the meaning behind certain sentences. I could talk about this film for a long while, but I will stop here. I don’t want to give anything away by accident, all that remains to say is ‘go and watch this movie!’

And done!

This film really was great, I loved watching it. I did have to keep pausing it nearer the end, because my dog couldn't decide if he wanted to lie down and sleep, or if he needed to go outside, so he was up and down. Every time I had to pause it, I was desperate to sit back down and watch it again, which proves how much I liked it.

That's all for now...

Bye!

Short Story – Lights Out

"Lights out!" 

The voice rang out over the gritty speakers, and the flickering electric lights powered off, plunging the entire place into nearly pure darkness. A few dim lights remained, to allow the guards to walk around safely, but they were few. 

I waited a few minutes, listening to the shuffling of people getting into bed and trying to get comfortable, before slowly pushing back my blanket and standing up. Resting my forehead against the bars of my cell, I looked side to side. My watch face showed it was at least ten minutes past the hour. He would be here soon. 

As if on cue, the soft echo of footfall on the metal walkways reached my ears, and I stepped away from the bars. 

"Evening, Pip." The guard stopped outside my cell, speaking in a low tone as he pulled a set of keys from his pocket. "I was starting to enjoy the job this time. One day, I’ll get a proper security job, and stop following you around." He slotted the key into the lock of my cell door and pulled it open. 

"Oh, quit your complaining, Jim." I stepped out, and he locked the door behind me. "You get more money working with me than you ever would being honest with your security work."

"True, but sometimes I want some normality. Not all this excitement."

I followed him along the walkway, and we ducked into a room at the end, the usually locked door swung wide open. Jim threw a pair of dark trousers, some shoes, and a security coat at me, turning to let me change. I can’t say I was too upset about replacing the itchy and worn light trousers they had put me in when I had arrived a few weeks ago. They seemed to have cycled through several hundred prisoners already. 

"Who is today’s lucky guy, again?" Jim asked as I shrugged on the coat, momentarily savouring the warmth I had lacked since arriving. This particular prison was in one of the areas more affected by the electrical surges, from what I knew of the area, it was practically flattened. This building had been constructed quickly and poorly, caring little what the prisoners experienced in terms of staying alive. There was a reason only the worst offenders were sent here. 

"Tilly Stevens. Who knows what she did to end up here, but she certainly has money to her name." I waited for Jim to re-lock the door we had entered through and followed him through the room to a door on the other side. 

"Makes you wonder why they do these things if they’re that well off." 

"It’s a good thing our job is to do, not to wonder, then." I said and he threw a tired look over his shoulder at me. 

"You’re a punk kid, you know that?"

"I’m twenty-three." I deadpanned, and he shrugged. 

"You’re still annoying.” We followed the hall through several cell blocks, two of them with four people to each cell. The place was obviously running out of room. It was why I had coordinated a massive brawl on my second day in. Everyone who appeared to have had a role in starting it was moved to solitary cells. The whole system was messed up. The troublemakers got the better accommodation – although there had been a constant drip of water in the corner of my room, and a crack in the ceiling that let in freezing air. 

“This is her room,” Jim announced, unlocking a door that opened to a large room, the walls lined with cells, reaching over three stories, stairs in the centre of the room connecting them. 

“Lovely, it’s nice and open. Lots of witnesses. Just what I wanted.” Jim shrugged at my sarcasm, stepping aside to let me walk in. This was where he always stepped back. He was my ticket in, around, and out, but the work itself was my part. “Which cell?”

“247.” He held out a key to me, and I pocketed it. 

“Okay. See you in a minute.” My new shoes on the walkway made the same noise Jim’s had, and several people made comments about me being too loud, to shut up and go away. Whether they complained to the guards every night was a mystery. It was such a waste of breath. 

I stoped outside Tilly’s cell, looking in. She was in bed, facing away from me. She didn’t look over until I turned the key in the lock and slipped inside. 

“Tilly?” I held my hand out in front of me as she leapt out of bed, a jagged piece of metal grasped in her hand. “I’m Pip.”

She immediately lowered the weapon and held out a hand to me. “Great to meet you. We’re going now, then?”

“Yes. Be quiet, and follow me.” I slipped back through the door, waiting for her to copy before I locked the door again. Her bare feet were quieter than mine on the walkway, completely masked by the sound of my shoes. Why the prison's budget didn’t stretch to clothing their prisoners properly, I don’t know. They might as well of left us in the clothes we arrived in, they were better. Tilly wore a threadbare shirt and the same itchy trousers I had been wearing, which were too long for her and had been rolled up at the ankle. Her blonde hair was dirty and tangled, but she didn’t seem to care. 

When we reached the door, Jim nodded to me, already congratulating a job on the way to completion. Tilly reeled back at the sight of him, an actual guard from the prison. 

“Tilly, this is Jim, my accomplice.” I introduced him, and she hesitantly stepped through the door, letting him lock it behind us. 

“Accomplice? I do all the work!” Jim grumbled, and Tilly glanced between us. I grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes. 

“Can we just get out of here? That’s what I’m paying you for, isn’t it?”

“Of course, my fair lady, your escape awaits.” I gave a little flourish and a bow, which was certainly what brought on the murderous look in her eye. 

With Jim in the lead and me bringing up the rear, we led Tilly through the hallways. Or rather, Jim led us through the hallways. I kept looking around, confused at the layout of the place. It was different to the blueprints I had studied. Maybe they had been outdated, that the plans had been scrapped in favour for this new layout, and I hadn’t got the right blueprints. 

“Last door, then we’re outside,” Jim turned to us to announce it. Tilly breathed what seemed to be a sigh of relief, and although I had only been here a few weeks, I also felt it. None of the prisoners were allowed outside. We had a communal mealtime, but other than that, we were in our cells 24/7. 

Jim inserted the key into the door, and pulled it open, stepping aside. The first thing I registered was a man on the other side, staring at us. The second thing was the strong gust of cold air that blew over me. The third was the gun the man was pointing at me. 

“Hands in the air!”

I ran forwards on instinct, ducking my head and ramming my shoulder into the man, pushing him back, his shot flying off course. We had been caught? I was never caught. But it had been strangely quiet when Jim and I made our way to Tilly’s cell, and then to here. We hadn't run into anyone. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen a guard since before the lights went out. 

I looked around what I quickly realised was the top of a very tall building, with guards scattered all over it, at least fifty guns pointed at me. Tilly was already in handcuffs. I backed up to the edge of the building, a semi-circle of guards closing in on me. My back hit the wall, and I glanced over the edge. Water. Waves lapping at supports holding the building above the surface. We weren’t in the prison I was prepared for, the one I was told to expect. We were in the middle of the ocean. 

I could see the land, a couple of miles away, and looked back to the guards again. I could make it. One jump, and then it was just swimming. 

People were yelling at me, but I took no note of it until Jim walked through the guards to face me. Was he under arrest too? Why… why was he holding a gun? And why was it pointed at my head?

“Time to give it up, Pip. Just raise your hands, and nothing will happen to you.” His voice shook as much as the gun in his hand. 

“What happened, Jim?” I asked, my voice quiet, my heart beating almost out of my chest. 

“I was caught. It was this, or a bullet in both our heads. I managed to convince them to let me help them catch you instead. It was the best outcome for both of us.” Jim shrugged, and I shook my head. 

“It’s not an outcome. It’s a deal. You made a deal to turn me in to save your own skin.” I scoffed, and turned to the wall, using my arms to push myself up, and stood on the edge, turning back to face Jim. All of the guards moved forward like a wave, closing in on me. 

“You’ll die if you fall.” Jim said, his voice scarily calm all of a sudden, as if he had already accepted my decision before I had told him of it.

“So? I’ll die if I don't."

I watched a tear fall down Jim’s cheek as a cacophony of explosions filled the air. I didn’t fall backwards of my own accord, but of the force that caused scorching pain to spread across my torso, my arms, my legs. The wind stole my scream as I fell, air whipping at my body, grabbing at it. 

I hit the water hard, the strength leaking from my body leaving me with nothing with which to swim. A red stain spread across the water as I slowly sank, inky blackness engulfing me until my air ran out, when it overtook my insides as well.

And done!

This is based on a dream I once had, as most of my stories are. I had the following written in my notes app;

Water prison. Cell hopper. Surrounded by water. Tries to swim away. Shouting. Shooting, blood in water. Slowly sinks.

Kind of morbid, but I'm amazed I actually understood my nonsense note. Also, I wrote this entire thing on my phone, in my notes app, because my computer currently does not work. My notes app is slowly becoming my best friend. Anyway.

That's all for now...

Bye!

A Review – Dust & Lightning by Rebecca Crunden

I am not entirely sure when this post will be going out. I am writing it before Christmas, but I probably will not post it until the New Year.

As it is, I read this book in an evening, and am writing this the following day.

I will introduce the book, and then we can get into my review! Also, isn't the cover gorgeous?

In the near future, humans have gone beyond simple space travel. By the year 4054, multiple solar systems are inhabited, and taking a spaceship is as commonplace as taking an aeroplane.

Unfortunately, not everything about the future is so advanced. The central planets, led by Earth, have risen high at the expense of cheap labour on distant worlds. Dissent is widespread and arrests are common. Sometimes prisoners are released; sometimes they disappear without a trace, sent to labour camps in other solar systems.

When Ames Emerys receives a letter telling him that his brother Callum has died en route to the remote planet of Kilnin, he takes the first ship he can off Earth, desperate for answers. But the secrets Ames uncovers prove far more dangerous than he could have imagined.

And trouble isn’t far behind.

Amazon UK • Amazon US

My Review!

Space travel, humans occupying multiple plants on different solar systems, and a mystery. It’s 4054, and Ames has received news that his brother Callum has died. But there are already things surrounding Callum that Ames cannot believe, so why should this be any different? Callum was arrested for murder, the same Callum who would apologise if a bully hurt his hand hitting him. And everything about Callum since has been shrouded in darkness, files offlimits, and any communication impossible. Besides, Ames can’t even think about dealing with what would happen if Callum really was dead.

Despite having a travel-ban put upon him, Ames puts himself on the first ship he can to the planet Kilnin, his mission simple. Find his brother. He knows people on Kilnin who have told him they saw Callum, although according to what Ames was told, Callum never reached the planet. With so many lies and so much deceit, Ames is desperate to know for himself what happened. On the way, Ames finds himself a partner, and his one man team doubles in size. 

Ames is a character you cannot help but like. He might be a bit of a criminal himself, and some of the laws he seems to regard as simply guidelines, but it is clear that nothing will stand in his way. Callum means everything to him, and you can’t help but believe he will be able to get to the bottom of everything. After all, nothing seems to have stood in his way thus far. Besides, having two different coloured eyes, and hair that is a different colour on either side of his head leads to a great built-in disguise – simply flip the hair, using it to cover an eye, and he looks like a different person.

The whole world that has been created is a wonder to behold. Earth has grown so polluted that the entirety of the population has breathing problems, and you can no longer see the night sky. Stargazing has become a thing of the past. But, with space travel, a whole new world has opened up. People can leave Earth, for the right price, and go to live elsewhere. But, of course, with such advances in technology and science, there can be one thing that can cause a massive downfall – a corrupt leader, with a secret agenda. The political aspects within this novel have been depicted wonderfully, with people in their day to day lives either strongly for or against the leader. People feel so strongly, insults fly, and most keep their political opinions to themselves, to avoid confrontation. 

If I have one complaint, it is that there was not enough for me to read. I finished reading this book, which is about 100 pages long, and was instantly desperate for more, feeling almost empty after the ending. The world within these pages is one that, although there is corruption and destruction, I wanted to spend more time in, and get to know more. This made me want to learn the history of the future, and the different things that have been suggested to be potentially possible are incredibly interesting. Everyone expected flying cars by 2015, thanks to Back to the Future II, and obviously that never happened. But what about in a few thousand years time? How will space travel develop? Will we eventually be able to mould other planets for our use, and will we end up destroying them as we will our own planet?

With plenty of action, and a clear mission for Ames, this book is a wonderful science-fiction adventure. You can read it well within an hour and a half, as I did, and when you are done, you will certainly be off to find more books by this author. 

And done!

I am honestly a little too tired right now to try and think up something amusing or in anyway smart to write down here, so I'm just going to leave it as it is.

That's all for now...

Bye!

Short Story – Happy Birthday

The stubble of the grass turning to hay scratches the back of my neck like your chin in the early morning, when I arise before you and you try to pull me back to bed, wrapping your arm around my middle and snuggling closer. I stretch my legs out, daisies tickling my bare ankles, my socks tucked into my shoes, left haphazardly next to me in the grass.

The clouds dance, a waltz in the air, so breathtaking you can’t take your eyes off them, intertwining with each other before pulling away, returning, leaving. The pale blue of an approaching dusk spread across the sky, fading away to let the dance take centre stage. Orange rays cast a spotlight, wrapping the clouds in a layer of light so delicate, you might miss it if you blink.

My shoes dangle from my fingers, my toes traversing the soft terrain as I slowly walk to the path. My skirt clings to my legs with the gentle breeze, and I feel your soft touch as you hold me, your hands rough, but unable to cause harm. A glance towards the sun bathes my face in a light that makes me squint, the ever setting sun sending oranges and pinks across the sky, too beautiful to look away from, no matter how much the light may hurt my eyes.

The shadows lengthen on the ground. The world that exists only when there is light, but only in its absence, growing steadily taller and thinner. The directions a signpost provide become untrustworthy, its hidden, darker form moving, still offering directions, but not telling you where you are going. A path with no clear destination, and yet, we blindly follow, with hope in our hearts. Every path has to lead somewhere, and it’s all we can do to cross our fingers and touch wood that the ending will be one we desire.

My footsteps are quiet on the path, people walking this way and that, knowing where they are going. It matters not when they arrive, only that they enjoy the journey as they all inevitably pause at one moment or another to take in the dimming light of the day coming to a close. In the low hum of chatter I hear your voice, calling me forwards, and I blindly follow. In the sound of your voice I feel safety, a warmth the sun can’t provide after it has set, a security I believe in more than trusting the moon to make way for the sun tomorrow morning.

A small gate, one that has known too many stories to count, fleeting moments in people’s lives as they pass through. Such a trivial object, a wooden construction on the side of a path, its planks weathered and worn, ignored and passed by most, and yet, there are a few who cannot traipse the path without acknowledging it. It separates two worlds, a well traveled path and a track only visible by the line of grass that lays flat against the ground instead of standing tall. The world where everything is known, and sturdy, and the world where you could walk through with a spring in your step, watching the setting sun against the wildflowers, or where a small hole, hidden from your sight, could roll your ankle and leave you with the only option available – walk on, pushing through the pain, because there is no one around to help you.

The wind was not strong enough to break the small flowers, standing tall on their thin stalks, despite how fragile they appeared. Their colourful heads swayed gently back and forth to a soundless music, and with the slow rocking I could feel you tapping me on the shoulder, revealing a little yellow flower, held carefully between your fingers, when I turned around to face you. I mirrored your smile as you tucked it behind my ear, caressing my cheek so tenderly I wasn’t sure if it was the touch of your fingers or the petals of the flower. 

In the daytime, when the world seems as it should be, everything is bright, full of life, hope, joy and normalcy. When the sun sets, though, everything changes. The people on the streets change, the lights, the colours. The clouds change from white, floating in a shallow pool, to black, lurking in an unfathomable darkness. A strange feeling sets in, telling you that you should be seeking shelter, safety, for darkness is where danger lies. An instinct of a defenceless prey species, perhaps, or from childhood, and parents calling you inside when it starts getting dark. 

At the end of the field is another gate, metal, unlike the wooden one. One temporary, one permanent, as if I had the choice to turn back, to return to the wooden gate and pass back through, but as soon as I was on the other side of the metal gate, all hope would be lost for my return, and I would remain on the other side forever. I looked down at the small collection of wildflowers I gently grasped in my hand, a few already starting to wilt. Life was so fleeting, anything could come along at any moment, and suddenly, you are gone. 

The sun spilled its remaining energy across the ground, the moon taking the crown as it rose to look over its newfound kingdom. The light it gave was cold, chilling the metal gate in the few moments it took me to reach for the latch, and as I stepped through, the sun slipped away.

“Hi.” I lowered myself to the ground, and crossed my legs, pulling my jumper a little tighter around my shoulders to ward off the cooling breeze before it could reach me. “I brought you these.” The flowers, despite their wilting petals, gave a small reminder of life, of what could be, as I set them on the hard ground next to the stone I couldn’t bear to look at. What need was there of a reminder to tell me you were gone? I carried that around in my heart without two sets of dates to let everyone know you would never wake up to pull me back into bed again, never hold my hand and point up at the clouds, laughing over our different interpretations of shapes. You would never give me another flower, or hold your hand up to mine to make a heart in the shadows.

“Happy birthday. I love you.”

And done!

I watched this after watching tick, tick... BOOM for the first time, which might be why it's pretty lyrical and poetic. Also, probably why the ending is kind of depressing.

Side note, tick, tick... BOOM is an absolutely amazing film, I have been singing the songs for days, and have been rewatching it whenever I have moments to do so. You should watch it.

Anyway, that's all for now...

Bye!

Feeling like an accomplished writer

Accomplishment

Every writer has doubts about their writing. It doesn’t matter how many times my Mum will tell me that my writing is good, there’s always a little thought in the back of my mind, wondering if it’s really that good. Plus, she’s my mother. She’s biased. 

But, sometimes, you will get someone you’ve never spoken to before leave a comment on a blog post, or on a tweet, saying just how much they loved reading your story. Sure, you will also get those saying that you should change your entire writing style, because they don’t think it’s an acceptable way of writing, but still. 

I had a bit of a moment, a few minutes before writing this, where I felt something I am not sure I have ever felt before – unquestionable faith in my ability to write a good story. And it wasn’t because someone told me they liked reading something I wrote, or because my Mum told me I was a great writer. It was simply because I spent nearly 17 minutes listening to someone read my own writing back to me.

I submitted a story to the podcast, Nonbiographical, which I wrote in its entirety on the evening I said I would write it. 2368 words, which then sat in a document, on my computer desktop for nearly two weeks before I opened the document again, checked it over, and sent it. I will admit, I had my reservations about the whole thing. The only place I have ever published my stories before has been here, on my blog, and I certainly have never had anyone read out anything I have written.

But then, I was sent a link, and I followed it to Spotify. I proceeded to sit in shock for the entirety of the podcast episode, and for a good few minutes afterwards. What I heard read out didn’t give me the experience I get when reading my own work. When I read the words I write, I hear my own voice in my head, reading them out. I skim the words, think about what would make it better, wonder if it’s any good. What I heard was something strange – I listened to my story as if it was the first time I was experiencing the words, even though I had read through all them at least ten times. I experienced my story as a reader might, reading the words for the first time, except I had the added aspect of ‘did I write this? Really?!’

The conclusion I came to is that you can never truly judge your own writing, because you know the thought process behind every word, you know the struggle of trying to remember how to spell that word, and you know how long it took you to get over that plot hole. With the words on a screen, or a page, in front of you, you know that those two paragraphs were switched around when you were editing. You see the words, the concepts, the plans, you don’t lose yourself in the story. Take away the words from in front of you, close your eyes as you listen to someone read your story to you, and you see what inspired the story. You see the images you tried to put down into words, and you know that you succeeded. You brought those images, those feelings, to life, and they live within those words, even if you can’t see or feel them when you read it yourself.

And, of course I named this story something strange, a last minute addition to the email I sent, just to make sure the weirdness of who I am came across… ‘A Cup of Mint Tea, With A Side of The End of The World’. So aptly described by Nonbiographical as a ‘post-apocalyptic story about a young girl left to fend for herself after the end of the world.’ 

You can listen to A Cup of Mint Tea, With A Side of The End of The World on Spotify and Apple Podcasts.

I really hope you experience what I did when listening to my story.

And done!

It really is rather odd to listen to a podcast of your own story. Nonbiographical is accepting submissions of short stories, if you are interested in writing one for the podcast. You can find out more by listening to the episode with my story, or you can get in touch with Nonbiographical on their Twitter.

That's all for now...

Bye!