Tag Archives: short story

A Battle of Sticky Preportions

Tymon was tiered, his brow poured with sweat as he grappled with his foe. The smell of the last twenty minutes perspiration was beginning to waft further than just his nostrils. There was little he could do to remove the sweat bar flick his head to try and stop it from streaming into his eyes. His hair, he reflected, was far too long for the kind of harsh physical punishment and he made a mental note to keep it shorter as he punched and rolled for what seemed like the hundredth time in under a minute.

He fought with his adversary in a small room with bare walls. The heat borne from his body created a hot oppressive and muggy atmosphere which slowly became hotter as his ordeal continued. The bare walls, a natural cream colour, reflected the harsh white light back into his eyes giving him yet another reason to close them and think of England. The whole room reminded him of other days and other battles, all hard fought but he had won them all; that day would be no different.

His hands and wrists were covered in a thick sludge which clung to every crack and crease. The substance had little resemblance to what it had once been yet it still held that distinct smell. He rolled to the right using his solid right should, and then forward using his lesser left shoulder. He punched with the heel of his gnarled and tough hand pushing through his target into the table beneath it. He continued his toil punching and rolling, and rolling again until finally he felt that he was done. The dough was kneaded and ready to be put in the oven.



Filed under Flash Fiction

A Knife and Body

I looked at the corpse on the slab before me in horror; the look upon my face must have been equally are disturbing. Breaking a neck creates little blood and in theory far less trauma than a gun or an axe. The naked flesh looked pasty, almost ill. I didn’t want to touch it and the more I looked at it the further away from it I wanted to be. The thought of putting my hand inside the body was even more repulsive and every hair on my body stood on end at the prospect.

I stretched out my hand toward the knife sitting ready for me. The light in the room glinted off the polished steel which reflected the cold colours of the ceiling and the surrounding walls. The handle was cold to the touch like only steel could be and it felt heavy in my hand. I dreaded the feel of the knife grinding through flesh and bone as I cut it up.

I stood there for a moment wondering if it was really worth it. After what felt like minutes I decided, a Roast chicken dinner is worth more than a little discomfort.

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An excerpt that I really enjoyed writing (unedited)

Another day’s walk up the river and I found a village or a reasonable size. It had its own church and looked to be bustling with activity. But most important of all it had a long jetty sticking out into the water with a number of boats moored to it. As I neared the settlement some of the smaller children spotted me and ran to meet me, they laughed and giggled as they came towards me. The sight of children free and not besieged made me smile and I laughed with them and gave them some of the bread that I had brought with me. By the time I reached the village it seemed like all the children had come out to greet me.

The language that these people spoke was different from any that I had heard before and communicating with them was impossible. So instead I merely pointed towards the boats at the jetty and said boat, slowly and loudly. Two of the children looked at each other and ran off, the rest drifted away slowly as I sat on a tree sump just outside the village and waited for something to happen. Shortly though the two children brought a woman from the village to see me. She was dressed in the fashion of Troy, with exotic colours and long flowing robes that clung to her figure in all the right places.

I stood to greet the woman. I bowed my head as was custom in Sparta and waited till she acknowledged me. “Iiwy neferankh” the woman said, “I am Aneksi.”

“I am Helen, thank you for meeting me.”

“It is no trouble lady; it is I who should be honoured to meet one such as yourself.”

I paused for a moment. This woman, this Aneksi, she thought she knew something about me which I had not told her. I wondered for a moment what it was that she had called me and what language it was.

“You ponder the words which I spoke to you, neferankh. It means perfect life in my land. It is the term we use for one such as yourself.”

Almost as a knee-jerk reaction and still confused I asked, “One such as myself. And what would that be?”

Aneksi stopped for a moment, “Oh what is the word” she muttered to herself, “the language of you Greeks is so clumsy I forget your…” She trailed off as she continued searching for the word. “Elf! That’s it; you are an elf if I am not mistaken.”

The shock on my face must have been all that was required for her to know that she was right. “Come Helen, do not worry about your secret. Few in my crew will recognise you for what you are save one, and he is an elf anyway.” We both chuckled and Aneksi led me to her ship and as she did so I examined her more closely. She was uncommonly short, even for a woman, but she was broad shouldered. Her steps were firm and lacked the usual grace of a woman, yet she still commandeered the attention of a woman. She had long red hair as well, which fell past her shoulders but not quite to her waist. There was something different about her which I could not quite put my finger on.

We walked through the village quickly as it looked like it might rain, and sure enough, just as we reached to boat a light drizzle began to fall. The boat was small, with only ten oars on each side though whether each oarsman pulled one or two oars I could not ascertain until I went below decks. That part of the design was strange, in those days to have your oarsmen covered on a single tier ship was considered decadence not required to protect mere slaves. There was no mast on the ship, signalling that it worked out of a local port. It was perhaps sixty feet long and twenty wide; a snug fit for all aboard, and even more so once I got bellow and saw the cargo it carried.

Aneksi led me along the deck of the ship past barrels and boxes which were all lashed to the boat with thick, strong-looking rope. Near the rear there was a hatch with a ladder down to the deck where the oarsmen were. As my guide opened the hatch a cacophony of sound erupted from below which I had not noticed before. I jumped a little and Aneksi placed a hand on my shoulder to reassure me, “The men are quite safe my dear. I have hand picked every one of them from the free peoples of this world. Most of them already have wives too.” Aneksi winked at me and somehow that made things ok.

Aneksi descended the ladder and I followed behind. There were twenty men seated haphazardly between twenty benches. There was a narrow isle through the middle of the ship which led toward another bench. The noise which I had heard from above was the sound of twenty men cheering and shouting as some played games of chance, others told jokes and talked and still a few others swung from the roof of the ship almost as if they were racing. The bench at the far end of the ship was occupied by a single man who was quietly sitting reading. What he read was not a book though; it was a scroll of thin paper with no language which I had ever seen before. Indeed what was on the page did not look like a language at all but instead an organised series of pictures.

Four or five paces back from the ladder was a doorway which Aneksi opened and ushered me through. As I passed Aneksi I entered a small but comfortable cabin with a large bed to the right and a desk with four chairs next to it to the left. Neither the desk nor the chairs were large but they and the bed still took up most of the room. In the small space between the bed and the chairs, backed against the wall was a bookcase with a large number of scrolls crammed into it. “This is my cabin which, if you care to join us, will be yours.”

Before I could protest the door to the cabin opened and the man who had been reading entered. “Kamose.” he said smiling and inclining his head toward Aneksi, “Senankh.” As he turn toward me and bowed.

Aneksi lent toward me, “Sentankh mean ‘sister in life’. It is how Egyptian elves greet each other.

I looked my brother in life in the eye and replied, “Sentankh” bowing as he had done.

Aneksi and the elf both broke into laughter. The elf leant back into the oar deck and shouted something in his native tongue and the deck erupted with laughter. Aneksi spoke to me, “You just called him your sister.” I erupted into laughter with the rest of those onboard the ship.


Filed under Flash Fiction

I finally finished

So over the last few weeks I have been editing a short story I’ve been writing. I have been over, under, around, through and back through the thing about five times. So today, with my laptop that overheats in winter let alone summer I sat in a sweltering room and put in my final edits. So now I have sent it to a mate for a final read through, which I assume will come back with hundreds of edits, but oh well.

So now I’ve finished I kind of hoped that I would be elated and ready to get going on the next story that I have lined up and to my joy I was. I’ve jumped straight back on the horse and started my new story, about a minor character who I mentioned in the last story. I love who that happens, you write a character and think they are really interesting so you end up writing a whole book about them.


This who thing had got me thinking about inspiration and the metaphorical ‘muse’. I find it interesting where different people get their thoughts and ideas from. I find that I get mine from within my own writing or the people I know well. I rarely find a situation or a landscape can give me an idea for a scene or story but people are a constant source of inspiration for me. Indeed, I think it far to say that in all the things I have written every single character is based on a particular person or an amalgamation of two of three people I know.


A funny thing about writing about people that you know though is that I sometimes find myself projecting my feelings about my characters onto my friends and visa versa. This might get me into trouble one day but I hope it won’t. I remember chatting to a friend a month or two ago while I was still in Exeter and asked her how her brother Sammy was… It was a great conversation for the simple fact that she doesn’t have a brother but she played along for at least ten minutes before I twigged.


Anyway here is a short extract from the story I just finished editing; it is the part which refers to the character who will take centre stage in my next story.

“There are many tales from within the elven communities that there once lived a woman who fathered the wolves whom the vampires use as slave; tales of a woman who is even older than I am and for whom life is no longer a linear entity; a woman who is so beautiful that she could tame a starved jackal. This woman was so old and travelled that she no longer remembered her true name; some even say she had no name for she was never actually born. Legend has it that this woman has played a part in every major event on Earth since the dawn of the Ancient Egyptian civilisation some seven-thousand years ago. My father told me once that he had met a woman who may have been party to at least one of these legends and that one day I would meet this same woman. He told me that she was the wisest of elves and that she had taught him a great many things. He told me when she came I would have no doubt about who she was. He told me her name also, Ledacia.


She arrived at my sister’s wedding as a guest of Susanna’s having been a consultant for dance at the school. She too had set up various schools of dance on many of the new colonies; she specialised in the form called Ballet. I had heard both of the girls speak of her many times but always by the name Irisi and it was by this name that Susanna introduced her to us.”

So as you might imagine the next story is going to be at least mildly EPIC!!!! And lets hoe I don’t project this character onto anyone else they might have rather a lot to live up to.


Before I go to sleep here is one fantastical thought for you which came to me while I was writing this. What would the world be like if the worlds most treasured people were ‘muses’.

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