Interlude

Posted: June 19, 2012 in Fiction

Life interrupts.

Pencil now being sharpened…

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TaB#2

Posted: April 2, 2012 in A, Fiction

His name was Kendal, like the mint cake.

Stupid name I know but this time you couldn’t blame the parents.

Kendal was an angel.

Last time I saw him was in a seedy hole called Flamingo’s on Simpson Street, an empty tumbler was on the table in front of him and his hand gripped it, the knuckles strained.

He sat like that for maybe an hour, staring at the wood panelling opposite but obviously seeing something different to the dark grain. Occasionally his eyes would flick to his hand and the empty glass and he’d turn it, then back to wood or space.

Troubled.

Oh my, was that interesting?

AST#2

Posted: March 13, 2012 in Fiction, S

I drank the coffee, burning my mouth in the process but desperately needing the caffeine to kick start my brain.
Finn headed to the door, which he opened and stood for a moment before turning back toward me, his eyes suggesting I join him.
I did and looked out over the white world that glistened before us.
The land was white. The sky was white. The trees were pencil drawings in between. From here the ancient oak and ash looked like they had grown leaves.
Black clouds swirled over the sky like smoke all heading in the same direction and a new canopy grew before my eyes as the trees filled with blackness.

The day flew by. We took it in turns to watch the wood and the crows in between the everyday stuff that needs doing. Finn needed to go home at some point if only to grab some clothes. I needed to get some food in, silently cursing myself I didn’t stock up earlier, as the cupboards were showing a distinct lack of sustenance.
The dark came early, or seemed to, I’m not sure which.

She arrived that night.
The air announced her.
Everything changed around 2.30am.
Finn had stayed over and lightly knocked my door before entering.
“You feel that?” he said
“Oh yes!”
The dark night was still silent but the temperature had plummeted to an unbelievable cold.
Eleanor was here.

A Sandpaper Tongue

Posted: February 3, 2012 in Fiction, S

A sandpaper tongue woke me.
“Shit, Finn, what are you doing?”
“I thought it obvious.”
My chin took another rasping lick.
“I am trying to wake you.”
I struggled to focus, my body telling me it should still be asleep.
“And succeeding, although I could try the claws out version if you’d prefer?”
“Funny!” I replied “Well, I’m awake, now get off.”
“And the reason for this?” I mumbled “And this?” I tried to make a dramatic sweeping gesture but my arm, kind of, just flopped about.
“I thought a naked Finn in your bedroom would be a bit more startling than this”
He raised his head up in a regal stretch and flicked his tail.
“Plus it was the only way I could fit through the catflap”
“Point taken.” I said “Not that I haven’t seen it all before but it does remind me to get that catflap nailed shut. Now shift already. Get thumbs and get coffee on. There are clothes in the chest.”
I showered quickly, pulled on jeans and was tying my wet hair into a ponytail as the smell of coffee hit my nose.
I headed to the kitchen, where Finn stood, tall and clothed, with a mug in his hand, the handle turned toward me.
“Good boy, I’ll buy you a kipper.”
I took the mug and sat down while Finn grinned inanely at me.
“OK, what’s the problem?”
“The crows are coming”

There’s a bar on the corner where the Angels meet.

Its old fashioned-ness falls on you as you walk through the door, the air as heavy as the dark and ancient wood that fills the place. There’s no straw on the floor but there might as well be. All in all it’s a bit of a shit-hole but that’s what you’d expect when it’s frequented by lowlife’s.

Oh yes, don’t believe everything you read, most of them, most of the time are twisted little bastards with massive chips on their shoulders. Don’t let the Glorious Divine Light fool you either, they turn that off and on as it suits them, usually when they want someone to look a complete idiot or to rip their head off. And they do that a lot.

Me? OK, yes I’m bitter. I was one until I was royally shafted, lost my wings, or rather had them taken from me, and was cast down here like a naughty dog for all eternity. That was a long time ago but I still take every opportunity to repay that treachery. I have a good memory. A very long memory.

These days I do what I can. Because I see them for what they are I make it my business to watch them. I watch where they go, what they do, who they talk to and who they don’t talk to. With special attention paid to the new faces in town. Most of the old ones I’ve got sussed. I might even call some of them friends if I’ve had a drink or two.

I call myself Helen now. It’s a little ironic.

Hello world!

Posted: November 27, 2011 in Fiction

The first entry in this thing should probably be about me.

I could make something up I suppose but I figure does anyone care?

I thought not.