Monthly Archives: July 2015

Monday’s Finish the Story – The Plan

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wpid-2015-07-27-bw-beacham This is my contribution to this week’s Monday’s Finish the Story, brought to us by Barbara Beacham. Finish the story begins with : “He thought he found the perfect hiding spot.” He thought he found the perfect hiding spot from which to plot his escape plan. He had overhead the slaves discussing V.E.T today. Pfft. Do they really think that cats can’t spell? He knew that simply hiding in the lair wouldn’t work, because the slaves, despite appearances were smart enough to find him. Plus there was also the issue of food, so he couldn’t just hide in here forever. He extracted a set of claws and tested them against the leather lounge. Not bad. But over the years, the slaves seemed to have become impervious to threats and actual demonstrations of violence. More was needed. But what? He flicked his tail back and forth, running through the scenarios, until it came to him. Of course. He jumped onto the kitchen benchtop and dragged the car keys into his mouth, careful not to bite into the stupid squeaky keyring. A few minutes later, the deed was done. The keys buried deep within the litterbox, never to be found. With a satisfied swish of his tail, he pushed open the nearest bedroom door and hopped back into bed.

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This is my cat Brutus, demonstrating his version of the Cat in Bag. He’s 16 now, so (hopefully) his evil plan hatching days are behind him 🙂

Monday’s Finish the Story – The New World

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This is my contribution to Monday’s Finish the Story – brought to us by Barbara Beacham.

Finish the story starts with: “The petroglyphs told the story of an unusual event.”

It told of the day that our world died. And it told us of a time before the event which plunged our world into darkness. They say these carvings were made by those who had seen the old world. A world where we could create daylight with the touch of a finger, and fly around the world inside the belly of a giant bird. A world where there was more food than we could ever consume. And water. There were oceans and rivers in this world, so much water that you could immerse yourself in it.

Then the rock fell from the sky, and our world was changed forever.

But this is just a story, a child’s tale. Some say that there was no old world, and that the carvings were made to give us something to dream about.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers – Albatross Island

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Here’s my contribution to this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, brought to us by Priceless Joy.

Albatross Island wasn’t known for its warm inviting waters or white sandy beaches. The tiny speck of rock stuck out of a remote, wind swept corner of the North Atlantic, unknown to most of the world. We called it Fools Island, after the fools who thought to live on it once, and the fools think to visit it now.

They come to chase the big waves. 100 foot giants, pushed off the continental plates beneath the island.

This year like every other, they descended upon the island during storm season when the biggest waves formed. Most of them rode in on boats and jetskis, but the diehards stayed in the old abandoned fort on the main part of the island.

Why do we call it Fools Island? Because Albatross Island sits inside the crater of a dormant volcano, and everyone failed to notice the rumbling of the earth beneath. Needless to say, this year the surfers got a lot more than they bargained for in their search for adventure.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers – The Special Vintage

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Here’s my contribution to this week’s FFfAW prompt, brought to us by Priceless Joy.

Chateau Vieux Monde stood at the top of the hill, catching the first rays of the sun as it rose over the valley.

The Allen’s watched the sunrise before walking up the main steps. They had waited years for this moment, so the few extra minutes meant nothing. Conventional medicine had brought David no relief, and they had sold everything they owned to travel to this remote little corner of France based on nothing more than a rumour.

And now here they were- pressed into an oppressive little room deep beneath the Chateau, rank with the musty smells of earth and rot.

Monsieur Le Monde stood by a large black barrel and half filled a small tasting glass with a rich golden liquid. “Who first?”

David took the glass and gave it to his wife. She took a sip.

“Did it work?”

Monsieur Le Monde pressed a small knife into her hand.

“See for yourself Madame. Test your immortality.”

Monday’s Finish the Story- Midnight Brew

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Here’s my contribution to this week’s Monday’s Finish the Story, brought to us by Barbara Beacham.

Finish the story begins with:  “The barista shook his head. That hedge couldn’t have moved closer overnight. Could it?”

Ever since they’d been selling the new coffee, the customers were complaining about its unusual side effects. That they were seeing fuzzy outlines around trees, and shadows flitting at the edge of their vision. Some people were even talking to dead relatives. The barista didn’t believe in such things, so when one of the regulars bet him $50 to drink a double espresso, he just thought that it was easy money. Except now he wasn’t so sure. The coffee came in a small black bag  with a name, and nothing else. “Midnight Brew.” He hesitated, twirling the tiny espresso glass before taking a sip of the  thick black brew. Heartbeat quickened, pupils dilated, everything came into sharp focus. It tasted of chocolate, and flowers, of his first kiss, of mothers milk, of tears, and of life itself. He shook his head and blinked. Was the topiary hedge waving at him?

Weekly Photo Challenge – Doors

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A few years ago I was in Rajasthan India, a part of the world filled with the most beautiful antique doors, which beckoned indiscriminately towards humble homes and ornate palaces alike. These are a few examples from my trip. I have also include a shot I took on the Inca Trail of a doorway high up in the mountains, looking out onto the misty mountainside. I think this photo captures the ‘otherworldliness’ of this place quite well..

JSno may be dead. But..

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Olly, you are in sooo much trouble. How much trouble? Thats right..

In a fever induced delirium the other night my thoughts turned, as one would naturally expect at 3am, to Westeros and the  deceased state of one Jon “Bastard” Snow of Winterfell.

The soul sapping virus within me (perhaps its from Asshai) offers a theory which I’m throwing out there into the fighting pit of  theoretic frenzy on everyone’s favourite Snow.

Here goes:

1. Jon Snow as we knew him is dead, but he’ll be back. He just won’t be the exactly same person, as previous examples of revivals have shown (a la Dondarrion and Stoneheart). They’re always a bit ‘different’ when they come back, but so long as he’s a bit more animated than the Khal Drogo effort, we can gloss over the fine print can’t we?

2. Whether he is Azor Ahai or not is yet to be seen, but if he is half Targaryen, and especially of the future dragon riding variety, then he probably isn’t going to have a problem with fire, so;

3. When his traitor “brothers” stick him on the funeral pyre, what if he doesn’t actually burn because he’s Jon Snow-Targaryen afterall and they don’t get burnt do they, and he’s back (thanks to Melisandre), and look his sword’s aflame now just like Stannis’s was supposed to be; and

4. He’s technically been dead now, so his “Watch” has ended and he’s no longer bound to his oath. Because really, we’ve got two more books and who knows how many seasons of the tv show to get through – and if this whole Ice and Fire thing is about Jon Snow then we can’t afford to have him moping about on the Wall feeling guilty for being alive the whole time. JSno needs to go global.

As for my own fate, well the one thing I’ve learnt from the lives of the Westerosi’s is that things can always get worse. Cold sore is coming.