Friday, 10 August 2018


I've had this storyline bumping around in my head for about 3 weeks; unable to work it out, until today. I just sat down and wrote it! 


I woke to a heart monitor in a hospital bed, wondering how in the hell I came to be here – how did I survive the car accident, as atrocious as it was – and where were my parents?
The nurse looked up from her desk and stood, “Oh good, you’re awake. Do you know where you are?”
“What happened?” a whisper came from my throat, “My throat...”
“You’ve been sleeping for some time, Evan.” She said, “I’ll get a doctor.” She checked my vitals and scribbled something on my chart then left me alone for what seemed like an age, but it was only about a minute or so and she returned with a doctor – a kindly man whose smile warmed his face, and yet his eyes avoided mine completely.
“Evan Murdock Williams, am I right?” he pulled up a stool from the other side of the room and perched himself on it as he looked over my chart. Looking up, he saw me nod, and he smiled a little, “I’m afraid to say that you’re the sole survivor of the accident; and I’m wondering how you did.”
My eyes moved from the doctor to the nurse and back, my voice straining “What do you mean?”
Placing the plastic chart on the bed next to me, he sighed moving uncomfortably on his seat, “The car was a fireball when the emergency services arrived; and you were found in a nearby ditch with huge head injuries – so bad we thought you’d never make it. And yet, here you are.”
I blinked, “A miracle?”
He shook his head, “I don’t believe in God or those kinds of things, son. Whatever happened to pull you through and have you sitting here talking to me, well, I’d like to know what or who helped you.” He gave the nurse the chart, as he turned from me, “We’ll keep you in for another week and you can return home.”
“What about my parents?”
The doctor gave me a sideways look in such a way, he didn’t need to tell me that they were dead, “I’m sorry. Like I said you are the sole survivor of this. Not even the truck driver survived.”
“What truck driver? The road was clear.”
The nurse rushed from the room, “I’ll get the police in here to talk to him.”

After talking to the police and telling them that there wasn’t anything which looked like a truck on the road that night, they told me the horrible news: “... but there was an eighteen-wheeler coming from the other direction, Mr. Williams, surely you saw the headlights.”
“I would remember if there was whopping big truck on that road because I was sitting in the front seat next to my Dad. And I didn’t see any truck on that road; Mom was in the back seat sleeping.” I snapped, “So you tell me, how did a big truck like that suddenly cream the car I was in, and yet I have survived this accident?”
The two cops couldn’t tell me anything than what the doctor had – and I was at a loss as well – and they turned the left the room; leaving me to my loss and on my own.

I was permitted home after a week in the hospital. The doctors told me that since I could walk up and down the hallways and up and down stairs without fall over and was eating well, it was time for me to go home.
The cab dropped me off in front of my family home and I stood outside of it with my overnight bag collecting the mail, which had accumulated over the last two weeks. Looking over at the driveway, I expected to see the large green Four Wheel Drive my folks owned, but instead I saw my little blue sedan hiding in under the car port, covered in dust and waiting for me to drive it. It looked kinda sad that it was sitting there without the other one as its partner.
Unlatching the gate, I picked up my bag and walked up the path to the house, which looked as empty as it really was now. Stepping over the dozen or so newspapers in front of the door, I unlocked the front door and walked inside to the deathly silence of my parents’ house.
There’s a real drawback to living on the same property as your parents’. When you lose them, you have to deal with their house, their things, and their legal shit a lot sooner than everyone else does in your family because you’re their next door neighbour in more ways than one. Okay, you’ve saved yourself a lot of dosh over the long run, but really, it’s heartbreaking to walk into their house and not hear their voices, see their faces or know they’re going to be there ever again!
Tears blurred my vision. I dropped my bag and the mail, “Oh shit!”
“Evan?” A woman’s voice asked from behind me, and I turned to find Aunty Susan standing there, “Oh, Evan, I knew you were coming home today. I wanted to be here before you got here to open the house up. To get out their Wills and have the lawyer here.” She held me as I sobbed onto her shoulder, “I really didn’t want you living here; and this is the reason why. But we have to talk to the lawyer.” She pulled me off her, “There’s something you need to know.”
I looked at her and found she wasn’t crying. She didn’t look upset, “How can you not be sad?”
“Because your parents did something in the 1970’s I really didn’t like.” She said picking up my bag and the mail, “Let’s have some coffee and talk before the lawyer gets here – because we’re going to get a visitor you don’t know.” Aunt Susan walked through to the kitchen and started opening the house up and turning on the lights, “I did some shopping, so the delivery guy will be here soon.”

An hour or so later, I had gone to my place out the back and had a shower and changed my clothes. While I was out there, Aunt Susan had pulled together coffee, some cake and other things to ready the place for company.

She was serious about this.

I looked at her and frowned as she fixed my collar, “Now, you have to be understanding about this, okay?” Looking beyond her shoulder, I saw a man walking up to the door of the house and heard the doorbell ring. She turned, answering it and letting in a small, spritely man who had a briefcase and dressed in an Armani suit with short oiled hair, “Evan, this is Mr. Beechen. He’s from one of the world’s oldest law firms.”
He looked up, offering his hand to me, but I didn’t it, “I don’t know you, so please understand if I don’t shake your hand.”
Smiling he nodded, “Of course, Evan. We are one short, but can proceed in this matter.”
We all sat at the kitchen table, and he pulled out a folder which had enclosed my parents’ Wills and he read from them. There was money, furniture, the house and other things bequeathed to family members and to me.
“And now, comes to the person who we’re one short of...” he said, as a knock at the door sounded, “Aaah, here he is finally. I never doubted his arrival, just when he would arrive.”
Aunt Susan opened the door and there stood a man who was a stranger to me, and yet I felt as though I had met him before in a past life or two. He held his hand out and smiled, “Evan. Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” I couldn’t stop myself, as my hand shot out and took his, “You don’t know me and yet you shake my hand, interesting.”
Snatching my hand back, “How do you know I’m like that?”
“All in the details, my boy.” He walked past me and into the kitchen as I looked over at Aunt Susan and found her looking at her feet, fear emanating from her in waves, “And don’t worry about your dear Aunt, she’s got a right to be scared of me.” Mr. Beechen pulled out a chair for the man and he sat as the lawyer poured him a fresh cup of coffee and offered him some of the food to eat, “So, where are we up to in this?”
Mr. Beechen sat next to him and smiled, “Right where you’re expected to be, sir.”
“Well, proceed.”
“Very well.” He looked over the papers and found where he was up to, “Oh, here we are: ‘As in the original agreement from the year of nineteen hundred and seventy-seven, in the grounds of if – and when both Mary and Robert Williams both die at some point in their lives – their eldest of their offspring will be Evan, the King of Hell’s son, as he impregnated Mary on that year of the agreement on the eve of their marriage in nineteen hundred and eighty.’” He looked up and across the table at me, “Well, that means that you’re a Prince.”
“What?” I looked over at the man, “Who in the hell are you?”
“Oh, I’m the King of Hell. You can call me Dad.”
“I had a Dad, he’d died three weeks ago.”
“No. I caused that truck to be on the road because your parents made a deal and lost their souls to me personally during a swingers party in 1977.” He grinned, “You’re Mom didn’t know what she said to me was real, and they were too stoned to realise they also signed your life away too.”
“But all those miss-carriages?” Aunt Susan sputtered.
“Well, I only wanted heir, so...” he shrugged.
Looking at the table, I suddenly felt sick, “Oh god.”
“Nope, he’s not going to help you now.” He looked over at me, “Okay, Evan, your folks shitted away their souls and yours in the process without thinking. That was their fault... now you have a place to come to, a Kingdom to rule over – with me – isn’t that great?”
I glared at him, “No. I like my life. I have a job here and nice car and my house; which is on a quiet street.”
“I can get you anything you want, why would you want to live in squalor for when you could be living in the lap of luxury?” he glanced around, “This is so... tiny.”
“This is my life.”
He sighed, “I noticed you didn’t say anything about having a girl in your life.”
“I have problems keeping a relationship going.” I mumbled, “What’s it to you?”
The man sat back, glanced at his lawyer and then smiled at me, “Well, in Hell, you can have as many women as you want.”
“I want one woman, but I can’t have her. She’s married.”
“I’ll break up the marriage, and you can have her.” He snorted.
“Why not? You get what you want, when you want. That’s what it’s like being the son of mine – but you’ve had a life where people fear you. It’s been like that since you were born; or haven’t you noticed?” he grinned.
I thought back over my life, how the bullies avoided me at school – even though I was the shortest kid there. I never had a problem at night clubs from anyone; and when a fight broke out and my friends were pulled in, I’d step up and people would look at me – with that look of...fear.

He was right.

People feared me.

“I don’t like it. Why do people fear me?” I looked at him.
“Because when I took your parents’ souls in 1977, and then came back on their wedding night and told your Dad to ‘take a walk’, I took yours as well when your Mom and I bumped boots.” His eyes sparkled at the memory of doing my Mom, “And your Mom... oh she was...”
“Oh shut up!” I shouted standing, pushing the chair back hard enough for it to fall over, “That’s my Mother you’re talking about!”
“And I have your soul in a little jar in Hell if you want it.” He grinned.
“Screw you... Dad.... I’m staying here.”
He pulled a black clay talisman from his pocket and put it on the table, “If you change your mind, Evan, here’s my calling card. Mr. Beechen, let’s go.”
After they left, I picked up the talisman and looked at it. How was a person like me going to use the information I had just been given to my advantage? Like anyone does: I just found out I have an inheritance from the most powerful being around – besides God – and he thinks I’m not interested.

I’ll bide my time.

Saturday, 4 August 2018

The Game

I've picked up another one from Chuck's Flash Fiction from 2013... I've chosen the same 5 words as I did in 'The Right Hand Man' but I've turned it around and made a different story out of it. 


It was a labyrinth, as I turned the corner of yet another long, vanishing isle of books. I have no idea how I got to be inside this library, but it was a huge place I had gotten lost in within minutes.
I knew I was looking for something – something to get me out of here – but I wasn’t quite sure what it was. As I walked along this isle, I had to make sure I didn’t touch the books.

Don’t ask me why, it’s the rules of the game.

What game? I don’t know that either... I just know whatever this is, is a big horrible game of getting me lost; and all I want is to get the fuck outa here!
Panic welled in my guts for a moment. I take a breath, and calm down... then I keep moving for another few metres. Hey! An envelope! It’s sticking out between the darkened, spines of two books! Pulling on it, I find it hasn’t been here for long – it feels fresh and cool, not mouldy and wet.
Looking around I wonder who else has been around here long enough to plant this here and for me not to see them. If I don’t open this soon, my mind will begin to play tricks on me; so I pull it open and find it doesn’t tear and a skeleton key slides out and a slip of paper. Written on the paper is one word: Undertaker.
“Oh great... I have to get out of here and...” a grumble of thunder overhead signals the beginnings of a storm and – as the rain hammers down on the large glass dome overhead – my surroundings become darker, causing the tall shelves around me to look more like cliff faces than bookcases, “I have to get the fuck outa here.” I shove the key in my pocket with the envelope and run back up the isle the way I came in, finding my way back to the front counter where I started.
But once there, I found it was empty and the counter itself was covered the dust of never being used for over a decade – the type of dust which carves into timber and damages it when it’s not brushed away. Cobwebs infiltrated the bookshelves behind it, hiding the books on reserve to the point I couldn’t read the titles on the spines – not that they had any at the point they were published.
Turning to my left, I walked to the door, but found it locked from the outside; chains were wrapped around the handles like large rusty vines and the padlocks had rusted shut. Yes, there wasn’t any way for me to escape.
Lightning and thunder began to play a game of chase around the skies as the winds picked up, howling around the building, and the rain became heavier still.

Walking through to the study out the back behind the counter, I decided to wait until the storm was finished. I knew I had to go to the cemetery and find out where to go next. I made myself comfortable on the lounge and rested; it might be the last time I get any sleep for a while.

I wasn’t going anywhere until the storm was over.

The sunshine woke me as I lay under the broad branches of a sprawling Oak Tree outside. Sitting up, I wondered how I got to be outside and where the storm vanished to. A squirrel scampered near the tree, tail twitching nervously as it eyed me, wondering if I was a danger to it or not. It came closer, picking up an acorn and inspecting it closely – tail twitched as we watched each other. Shoving it in his mouth, he took off up the tree where I lost track of him.
Looking around, I slowly stood to hear the distant grumbles of the remains of the storm on the horizon where it was destroying another town (or was it the town I was just in?).

I had to find the cemetery, so I began to walk.

I was starving, but I’d get food on the way if I found any.

The nearest cemetery wasn’t far; strangely enough, only at the bottom of the hill I had been resting on. So, I looked through the locked gates, looked along its stone walls and thought of a way to get in, when I remembered the skeleton key, and dug it out of my pocket. Slotting it into the lock, I didn’t need to turn it as it clanged and the gates swung inward, crashing against the back of the walls.
As I stepped through, a man in old-fashioned Undertaker’s clothes stepped up to me, “You’ve won.”
“Won?” I asked.
He held out a cube, “Take this and all will be revealed.”
“Like what?”
A lop-sided smile crawled up his face, “Don’t you get it? You’re part of a game and you’ve outplayed the others. You’ve won.”
“What have I won?”
“Take the cube and find out.”
I reached out for the cube and a bright light filled my vision. With my other hand, I shielded my eyes for a moment. When the light abated, I found I was in a dank, crap-smelling prison cell. There was a rattling at the door, as the bolt slammed across and iron door creaked open.
“Well... aren’t you a smart-ass.” He stood there in a suit glaring at me, clearly not pleased with me.
“Yeah, shithead, I put you into a game with a few of the other prisoners here and the prize was your soul back and trip up to the hot-shot place in the sky... guess who won?” he snorted.
“Oh. Thank you?”
He stepped to one side, “Come on. Your Angel is here to take you home.”
I looked beyond him into the hallway to find a person I’d never seen before, but I knew deep down inside I could trust, “You’re taking me home?”
She smiled, “Yes I am.”
“One question.” She looked at me as she took my hand, “Where is home?”
Tears filled her eyes, “You really have been here too long; and the horrible thing is that you don’t recognise me, do you?”
“Should I?”
“I’ll take you home.”

Friday, 27 July 2018

My Own Worst Enemy

I haven't seen any Flash Fiction Fridays lately, so I thought to dig through the ones from years back and start over again. This was the first one I did in 2013 - pick one from 5 tables... it turned out more interesting this time than it did first time around.


The best way to see an art museum is after the crowds have left the building and the doors are shut for the night. Yes, the after-hours tours are always fun and more personal – more intense – than the daytime ones where you’re forever trying to hear what the tour guide is saying over the hubbub of the other people milling around the place.
It just doesn’t do the art and other work justice either when you’re sharing personal space with them either... when you’re breathing the same stale air as another person and want to reach a certain feeling with a statue or painting and some stranger is mumbling some crap about it that they’re ‘really not into it, because the artist wasn’t my first choice to study at uni’. Or they’re on the phone talking, talking, talking.. or texting, tweeting or commenting on Facebook, looking down instead of up and around for five fucking minutes of their mundane lives!

Yes, the after-hours tour is well worth it – even if it costs twice as much!

It takes you places you’d never thought possible – like the basement of the place where there’s real art there sitting amongst corridors of other art which will most probably never see the light of day with massive sponges to pull up the moisture which would usually destroy the work sitting in the darkness where the red-eyed mice live and the spiders cringe in the corners of the corridors as you pass by with your torches clutched in your hand, terrified that you might step on something in the dark.
But, then I saw it... the piece I had been waiting for... the painting which I had only seen photos of in books – and owned a huge print of in my bedroom.
It’s a painting by an obscure artist nobody had heard of from the 1500’s who worked for Michelangelo for three weeks in Florence before being fired for doing something minor and stupid and was sent on his way. This artist did only one major painting in his life and this was it: ‘The Love Triangle’.
In it is a gorgeous woman, who sits behind a window of a house, dressed in something only a person of wealth would own. However, as I stared at it, I found she wore a locket around her neck – her fingers were touching the chain tentatively as she stared out at the artist from within her – I don’t want to say prison – home, where if you looked hard enough, there was everything in there a house of that time had. There was a large, stoic fireplace, a bed, and a table where sat vegetables, a bowl of fruit and an urn filled with what could only be ale or larger. Bunches of dried herbs lined the walls and I spotted a man sitting at the table with a meal in front of him – but he hadn’t touched it, he was looking over at her instead.
“Sir, I said don’t look at it too long. This painting has pulled people into its hold before.” The guide told me firmly.
“I have a print of it at home... I’ll be okay.”
“No. You don’t understand, we have lost people on this tour because of how this painting affects them.” He took my arm gently, “This way please, sir, I can’t stay here long. There is more to see.”
“Okay, sure... no probs.” I turned for a last moment and took a last peek at her to see she was smiling at me through the window,  her hand on the glass of the pane; when it wasn’t like that before.

My drive home was a blur, and I unlocked my front door, flicked on the lights and found the print above my bed wasn’t there. My guts hit the floor, as I wondered where it vanished to! Dropping my backpack on the lounge I raced over to my bedroom and found it on my bed, facing the ceiling, and I stopped a few feet away. How could it be positioned like this when – if it had fallen off the wall – it would have been face down on the bed. I climbed onto the bed, carefully picking it up to find she was looking at me again... her hand on the pane of the glass, smiling at me.
“But, that’s the painting.” A whisper choked from my throat before I dropped it back onto the bed and turned to break eye contact with her to find her sitting at the window, her long dark lochs of hair cascading down her back and the gown that eye-catching green velvet was so much better up close than... but wait, what was she doing in my bedroom when I...? I turned to see the man at the table looking over at her, then his eyes shifted to me and I jumped, “Who? What’s going on?”
“Well, you’ve been pulled into this place too.” His voice was edging on angry, “And she won’t let us go.” He stood and walked around the table glaring at her back, “What was it for you? Her eyes? Her hair? Or was it the locket?”
“I’ve always loved her as the person in the picture.” I admitted, “But the locket has also been a mystery.”
Looking back at me, he snorted, “I’m sure you have your ideas of trying to get out of here, and believe me, I’ve tried everything to get out – and everything you do fails.”
“But we’re in the print of this.”
He shook his head, “No, we’re not. You came back to the art museum and stole the painting and hung it up on your wall last week; they don’t know you have it yet – or they won’t, not until you don’t show up for work tomorrow.” The man smiled, “I have figured out one thing though.”
“And that is?”
“I have forgotten who I am. But I know I am you... and you are me; because we both love her for the same thing.” He smiled, “And at long last, I’ve figured out how to get out of this.” He pulled a brass dagger from his belt, “And believe me, it’s not going to be pretty.”

I woke in the local hospital after undergoing emergency surgery. My next door neighbour had heard my screams of pain and called the police and ambulance and they found me next to the painting with a knife sticking out of my guts and blood everywhere. The painting was back up on the wall and when they rushed me out the door, I spotted her. She wasn’t at the window anymore; no, she was sitting on the bed with her face in her hands weeping.
It took me while to figure out what happened to me, but I didn’t want to tell anyone about it – I mean, who in the hell would believe me? So, I healed and went home to find the painting was still on the wall of my bedroom and she was sitting on her bed still weeping.
I wondered if she thought I was dead or if the other man escaping had broken her heart; in truth, I wasn’t sure.  What I did have to do was call the art museum and tell them what I had done – but really how could I tell them that I had done it when I don’t remember doing it?

The curator came into my house with a few other people and walked over to the painting. They did some tests on it and confirmed that it was the original as she had returned to the window, looking out with her hand on the chain of her locket.
“But how did you do this?” the curator asked, “We have so much security around the basement and the art museum, I’m still not sure how it works out that you did this.”
“Neither do I.” I shook my head, “If you don’t take it away from here, I’ll do it again; and I’ll...” I looked at the painting and motioned the curator away from it, outside into the hall outside my place, “...I’ll get trapped in it again. And I’m worried she won’t let me go.”
At first I thought he didn’t believe me by the look he gave me, then he nodded, “So the rumours are true. People are getting pulled into her dimension through the window.”
“I’m not the first?”
“No, and the man in the picture who isn’t there now is somebody who was trapped in there last time. He really didn’t like her doing that as it destroyed a family.” He smiled, “Now, we have proof!”
“You survived it!” he gripped my shoulder smiling like an idiot, “We’ll take the painting away and you won’t be bothered by it anymore.”

The security system was improved in Chicago as I raced through the darkened galleries of sculptures and paintings and found the doors to the basement, nearly fell down the stairs to where I could smell the dankness of the sponges sucking up the moisture down here... where she’d be always placed so she couldn’t pull in anymore people.
I turned a corner, hearing her siren song, knowing it was time for us, for me to free her. I knew what to do this time. As I approached ‘The Love Triangle’, I spotted more than just her in the painting. There were other men, other women, in this piece. They all sat around the table waiting to be released. I pulled out a replica of the dagger the first guy had used on me, and sliced my hand.
As my blood oozed from my wound, dripping to the floor and onto my shoes, I smeared it across the painting and onto the locket – which became real in my bloodied hand as I swept across it! Closing my hand around it, I ripped it off the painting and turned to find five people standing around me who had been in the painting only moments before.
“It’s mine, the locket is mine!” I said.
“Actually you are mistaken.” A woman’s voice said next to me, “It’s mine and you are the proof of how your envy makes you into your own worst enemy.” Holding out her hand, she smiled, “Now, that’s mine, along with your soul, because envy is a sin.”

I sat at the table looking at the food she had prepared for me. She sat at the window looking out at the people looking around the corridor. They were looking for me, but would never find me.
Now I was the man in the painting sitting at the table wondering if I’d ever get out. But I knew how to get out. There was one tiny problem...

Sunday, 22 July 2018

The Invasion

I noticed there was no Flash Fiction Fridays for a while. So, I've thought to write my own. Well, really, I've had ideas popping into my head like crazy lately and thought to keep mine going... 


1st, May, 2018

I thought having Netflix would be a great idea; so did my parents and friends. But we had problems from the very start with the installation of it. The damned thing just wouldn't work!

Every time I wanted to watch something, the television couldn't connect to my wi-fi or Netflix itself would have signed me out for some reason or another; and the very idea that it was doing this all the time during the trial period was really pissing me off.

And my folks had given Netflix and wi-fi to me for my birthday; so it should have worked straight up.

However, no matter what happened, it was so temperamental and weird that I didn't know what to do. One minute it was working and I could watch anything I wanted, but then it would have its glitches like you wouldn't believe! I'd stop an episode of something I'd be watching and go out out Netflix and watch free-to-air television only to come back hours later to find it was still running the shows I had stopped – it hadn't stopped at all, or even paused it. So, I'd have to turn off my phone, the television, the wi-fi and modem and it would sign me out of Netflix and I'd have to sign back into it.

15th, May, 2018

After two weeks of this happening three times a day, this was driving me nuts – so much so I just didn't want the fuckin' thing anymore.

However, I got a lot of things done around my house.

All my laundry got done, the carpets were cleaned, the house cleaned out and dusted. The floors were washed and window sills were scrubbed as well. I spent time renovating my garden and washing the car too... all of this in just a little over two weeks; and still I was trying to get my Netflix to work.

I did notice that while I was driving around my neighbourhood, I didn't see much of my neighbours. They had stopped having parties, stopped being seen outside and had stopped being very friendly to anyone around them. When one of them had their power disconnected, he completely freaked out and the police took him away.

That house stands vacant now... nobody has seen him since.

Well, okay, I haven't seen him for two weeks – seeing I can't ask any of my neighbours if they've seen him.

Anyway, last Sunday, I went for a walk around the streets and found there wasn't a single car around. Sure they were parked in the driveways and in the streets, but nobody was driving anywhere. But as I walked past the houses, I saw the people inside their houses staring at their television screens, watching Netflix movies and television programs.

Of all the times I had to have problems with my Netflix; and I had to figure out that it was designed to brainwash us into being the biggest, laziest mammals around! Stepping back from the window of the people's house – where they didn't even notice me peaking through the window – I walked back out onto the street, pulled my hood up, shoved my hands in my jeans pockets and started to walk home.

I was scared to death that what I just saw was going to me one day; that is if we fixed up my reception on my Netflix.

Gawd, I hope we didn't.

29th, May, 2018

It's been another two weeks and my property is the best-looking one on the street. Nobody is leaving their houses anymore. The police have been sending out drones to check up on us all; and every time they do, I hide from them. I pull the curtains, turn on the television up loud and sit on the lounge and make out that I'm watching a Netflix movie or a series of theirs.

But I don't think they're convinced about me anymore.

My front yard is too tidy and I'm the only one who goes out to do my shopping in my car in my neighbourhood anymore. The rest of my neighbours get their groceries home-delivered now; it's as though I live in a retirement village – or an alien village somewhere like on Mars, where the air is unbreathable.

Everyone's houses are now horrible-looking and I wish I knew what to do... except suffer in silence, as I don't know anyone else whose Netflix doesn't work properly.

You may be asking why I don't contact my parents or my brother about this, I have. I've been trying to phone them, but they don't answer any of my messages on the home phone or their mobiles. And I've checked their Facebook pages and they don't have accounts anymore. It's as though they no longer exist; and I'm too scared to go to their houses in case I get picked up for not being where I'm supposed to be... oh crap.

The computer has begun to do a scan.

It's never done that before... I knew I shouldn't have written this on here.

But how else am I going to get the word out that something in Netflix is …

hey, my Netflix account is working now. I'll be back soon... there's a movie I want to see. I'll be back in a day or so.

15th, July, 2018

I am sorry to have been away for so long. It's been around three months and I found this on my computer when I jumped on here today. I meant to come back and finish the article about Netflix and how it's brainwashing our population; making us lazy.

But really, I don't think it is.

It's a great thing to have added to your life. There's so many movies and documentaries and wonderful things to follow on there; and yet it's endless what you can watch.

I love Netflix and the movies I can access through it....Yes... Netflix is good... Good is Netflix.

Hey there's a light outside – many lights pouring from the skies above! Wow, look at that! I've never seen a meteor shower like this before! I have to get my camera to record this!

'… an uncontrolled Human has been detected.'

'Invade as per commanded. Overtake this planet immediately; it must be conquered. Kill the Human.'

Saturday, 14 July 2018

The Secret Garden

Flash Fictions aren't happening right now, so I thought to keep mine going - besides, I've had a few good ideas. I've been doing up my backyard and thought to add in this one about mental illness and how it can affect a person too.

I pulled out my bunch of keys from my pocket and sorted through them as I kept a careful eye over my shoulder. It’s unsafe to be alone here. It’s unsafe to be looking down right now. I had leaned the two bags of potting mix against the wall and the two plants were waiting next to them.
I found the key, slotted it into the padlock, turned it and it unlocked easily. But the slid-lock was stuck, so using all my weight I yanked on it and gave the gate a good hard kick and... it swung open easily.
Yes, it had caught against the building.
But getting into this place was well worth it.
My garden – my secret garden to be exact – was worth it.
I walked into it, leaving the potting mix and plants in their spots to hide my padlock and keys in a good place so I wasn’t locked in, then I went back and picked up the bags of potting mix and the plants and brought them through.
As I dropped the bags onto the old red picnic chairs, and the plants onto the ground next to well-established plants, I turned around and looked at what I had already done here.
It was beautiful!
I had blocked out the neighbours, grown a lovely hedge along the side fence, and introduced a large greenhouse to grow my own food and herbs.
Yes the garden was going very well.
Picking up the keys and padlock in one handful, I walked out the gate, pulled it hard shut and locked it again – which is just as difficult to lock as it is to unlock – before walking away to the house and letting myself in there.

The weekend came and I had bought more potting mix and a few more plants before that arrived. I walked out the back door of my house and out into the garden where I felt so much more at home and more secreted away from the world than ever.
Scanning the yard, I spotted empty pots I had picked up from garage sales and off the side of the road, at charity stores and at cheap stores as well – all waiting for me to organise them around the garden and put the plants waiting around the edges in them. Yes, the garden looked like an unmade bed, a disorganised bedroom waiting to be fixed up by me.
I sighed, looking around at the plants and pulled out the phone and took a ‘before’ shot of the mess, then put it away, then went to work.
Pots were set around the garden first to see what they’d look like. That was fun, and I took my time. Then the plants were looked into and read. I picked and chose which ones were going where... and then changed my mind three times! I filled all the pots with mix after putting in a square of shade mesh in the bottom to cover the hole (so the mix wouldn’t disappear through there and into the soil). I placed the pots of plants on the top of the soil and looked at them... they looked really great!
One by one, with the plants in their places, I bumped them out, and opened a hole in the middle of the potting mix-filled large pots and inserted them into their new homes.
My hands turned black. The rich aroma of the potting mix filled the morning air as the sun filtered through the clouds overhead and the coolness of Winter here in Brisbane kept me from sweating it out. I love this time of year. It’s a time of year to clean up, fix up and organise my garden without damaging it.
With blackened hands, I picked up my phone again and took an ‘after’ shot, where it looked great. I had cleaned away all the empty bags of potting mix and stacked the little pots from the plants. I had watered them into their new homes with Seasol (a liquid fertiliser) and collected together their labels and poked them into the sides of their pots, photographing them with them in – so I knew which one was which.

I looked around my garden as I walked out of the gate, past the car and stopped at the entrance of my townhouse, where Paradise ceased to exist and the horrors of the world started. My feet were just inside the boundary of the last place around where nothing could harm me or my world – well according to me – and that’s all that matters.
Looking to my right, I saw them walking towards me – the police – and they stopped just shy of the boundary looking at me; pitying me. I looked at them.
“Have you finished your garden?” one asked.
“Yes.” I said.
“We beg of you, please, you must leave.”
“But this is my home.” Tears welled in my eyes.
“The trucks are here to pack it all up and move you to your new location.” He said.
Looking down, I sniffed, “It just wouldn’t be the same.”
“I know. But they’re going to destroy your place whether you’re here or not.”
I looked over my shoulder, then back at them. I had my house all packed up anyway, knowing they were going to do this on the day I finished the garden, “Bring in the trucks. I knew my garden wasn’t really a secret to you guys anyway.”
He turned and walked towards some people and they talked to him, “She really does think her garden is a secret; and she thinks it’s the end of the world.”
“Do you think she knows we’re her family?” a voice asked the policeman.
“No. She thinks this place is at the end of the universe. And that I’m a cop and not her Dad.”

Saturday, 23 June 2018

The Dreams

Chuck has us working on an X & Y kinda stories. We pick something from table X and one from table why and smoosh them together and - hey! - we get a cracker of a story! I chose Stephen King's The Stand and Indiana Jones (And the Lost Arc)... well... it was okay I guess. 


“No... no,, Stu, run!” her eyes snapped open to find him staring at her in the darkness of their bedroom. Tears brimmed and poured down her cheeks as she held him close, sobbing, “Oh, I dreamt you were ...”
“Franny, was it the same dream?” he turned on the bedside lamp on his side before looking back at her. She nodded and he lay against the pillows sighing, wondering what it all meant, “I haven’t had any dreams like that – not since Mother Abigail.”
Sniffing, she snuggled against him, wanting to be near him, “I don’t know what it means – I wish to god I did – but I don’t.”
Stu kissed the top of her head, knowing she was scared about what these dreams might mean. Could there be another Randall Flagg out there? Could there be another plague – much like the one they just survived – doing the rounds to kill off the rest of them? He just didn’t know; and he didn’t like seeing his wife in this much pain about not wanting to sleep, “We will find out what this is about, Fran, I’ll ask around and see if anyone else is having similar dreams.”
“I don’t like losing sleep, Stu, it’s starting to affect my health.” She said.
“Yours and mine alike.” He reached over and turned off the lamp, but didn’t let her go; instead pulling up the covers and holding her as close as he could to protect her as much as he could from what was going on inside her head.

Teddy sat on the front porch with Stu sinking a nice hot cup of coffee. It wasn’t quite as good as they used to be, but he was getting used to the taste.
“I’m sorry about the quality, but drying out the beans is something of an art form.” Stu smiled, “I’ll get it soon enough.”
“Nah, it’s okay, not everything is going to be perfect in the first few years. Remember Glen Bateman told us that.” He peered into the bottom of the cup for a moment before setting onto the table in between Stu and himself, “So you didn’t invite me here to discuss the quality of your beans, Stu. What’s going on?”
He ran a hand over his head of short curly hair, “I’m not sure. Franny’s been having nightmares about me; tellin’ me to run. It’s woken her up in the middle of the night for the past week.”
Teddy sighed, “Geez Louis man, I dunno what to say. I’m no doc.”
“I don’t want to talk to no doctor, they’ll just fill her fulla pills.” He leaned back in the porch chair, “I want to know if your wife has had any bad dreams like my Franny?”
The long-hair man adjusted his glasses, then pushed his hair back, “Nope, not that I can think of, or remember.”
“Shit. It looks like I’m taking her to the hospital then.” He shook his head, “I hate hospitals.”
She stood at the door, just out of sight knowing what was happening to her in her sleep was probably going to be something bad... it probably meant it they had to go away from Boulder for something important. Looking over at her lovely little baby girl, Abigail, Franny realised she’d probably had to leave her behind.

The doctor at the hospital sat in his chair with a worried expression on his face as they sat down across from him.
“Tell us what’s going on.” Stu said taking her hand.
“Franny, you’re fine. There’s nothing wrong with you. I don’t know why you’re going through these dreams; and if they’re like the ones we all experienced last year, I’d say you’re both in for an adventure.” He put his pen on the open file, “But you have to know something. You’re pregnant; and being pregnant can cause all kinds of weird things to happen... like nightmares.”
“I’m pregnant?” she smiled, “You could have opened with that, you know.”
“But this running dream, and you being in danger, Stu, it’s probably something I wouldn’t worry about too much.” The doctor smiled, “Besides, it may well be your hormones.”

Once inside the door, Stu watched his Franny opened up the rest of the house. He was going to be a Daddy... wow! Smiling, he saw her grab the kettle off the stove, fill it with water, return it to the stove and turn it on for a pot of tea.
“Do you think we should pick up Abbie from... what are you looking at?” she asked standing in the middle of the kitchen.
He walked over to her, took her hand, “You.”
“Stu! Franny! Are you both home?” Teddy’s voice called down the hall, “Where are you?”
Stu turned off the stove and walked out to where he saw Teddy was standing there with his rifle at the ready, “What’s going on, man?”
“Pack your shit, we have to bug out.”
“Aaw crap!”
“What’s bug out?” Franny asked.
Teddy looked at her, “Evacuate. Somebody has shown up from out west near Vegas, some stragglers who were the last to get hit by radiation... we gotta leave before they spread it to us.”
As they packed the last of their things into the back of the SUV, Franny tied their little sweetheart into her car seat, “Where are we going to go?”
“Rapid City.” Stu said.
“That’s a long way, and the petrol might not work in the cars anymore.” She said.
“That’s a risk worth taking. Get in and we’ll take turns driving.”

Rapid City looked pretty nice after the long hours on the road; but it was far from empty. Stu slowed the SUV to first gear and could feel they were being watched.
“We’re not alone, Fran.” He said, “They saw us coming from miles away and they think we’re nasty.” As the words passed his lips, a man stood out in front of their vehicle, levelling a twelve-gauge at the windscreen and Stu stopped without panic.
“Out!” the man shouted, “We’re not happy for new people to show up out of the blue sky here.”
Unbuckling his seat belt, Stu got out of the vehicle and Franny moved over to his seat. He looked over at her as he smiled and put his hands up, “I’m friendly, we all are, friend.” He said, “We were evacuated from Boulder.”
He lowered his firearm slowly, “Are you Stu Redman?”
“Are you going to fill me fulla holes if I say yes?”
“Hell dang it man. We ran out of vehicles to get to Boulder. You and your woman, you’re famous. Everyone knows you!” the man slung the rifle over his shoulder and put forward his hand, “Welcome to Rapid City. Sorry about the rude welcome, but we’ve had our fair share of Flagg’s people show up here.”
“Well, I’m glad to say we’re not in any way related to him.” He shook hands with the man, “Well, you know me, what’s your name?”
“Bill – everyone calls me Billster; it’s a mix of my first and last names.” He smiled, “Bring your people through, there’s plenty of houses and the power’s on too!”

Their new house was fully furnished and the garden needed work done to it – but Stu loved getting in and getting his hands dirty in that sense. Franny was quickly making the house a home as she started looking around the stores which were selling new and old items from the other houses not currently being used.
But she still suffered the nightmares; which bothered Stu to no end. This time, though she started writing them down, and seeing more in them the longer they stayed in Rapid City.
Stu soon found himself a job with a landscaping crew to help around the city to make it look like it did before Captain Trips came to kill off the population. The committee running this place was hoping to have this city up and running like it did before, to make it feel as though nothing had happened.
He came home one day to find Franny had gotten a map of the city and pinned it to one of the bedroom walls upstairs. She was looking through her dream journal and pushing pins into the map, making notes, pinning them off to one side, then taking string and playing connect the dots with it all.
It gave him the creeps to see her doing this.
“Honey, what are you doing?”
She turned, “I’ve been seeing more in my dreams, Stu; and it’s this city I’ve been dreaming of.” Closing her journal, she took a step back and looked up at the map on the wall, “It looks messy, but it really is what my brain is showing me.”
“And that is?”
“I have to ... we have to... go into the hills and find this.” She showed him a brass idol, “It’s there, and we must get it to protect the city.”
“Or you’re needing to work.”
“You don’t believe me.”
He put the book down and took her hands, “Honey, I love you and really hope your dreams stop, but really you need help.”
“We got help, and the doctor didn’t find anything wrong.” She said, “Can you please trust me?”
Taking a deep breath, he smiled, “Okay, what do we do?”
“We leave tonight.”
“What about Abigail?”
“She will be okay, we will be gone for only a little while.” She grinned, “I got a babysitter!”

In the dark, the hills looked like mountains looming over them with haunting, deep holes for caves. Stu had flashbacks to the nightmares he had last year in the cornfields for a moment and those dead, red eyes of...
“Come on, let’s go.” She took his hand and turned on her flashlight as they started climbing the well-worn tourist path up the hillside.
“Franny, it’s a tourist spot.”
“Yeah, for the first few miles, but there’s an area where we’ll go off on our own.” She smiled. It didn’t take long for her to prove to him how well she knew this hillside.
Soon, they came to a fork in the path, and the trees lined it upwards towards the top of the hills to a lookout; but where they were going was the other, unwalked, path. This was something Stu wasn’t too happy about, but Franny asked him to trust her.
She turned on her flashlight and he followed suit and they climbed up and into a huge, blackened hole of a cave which seemed to swallow them up whole. He turned back to take one last look at the city lights twinkling below and was surprised at how high up they really were; and wondered if they were going to come back from this or was going to be a big joke?
“Stu, come on.” Her voice echoed from the darkness within the cave. He turned and shone his flashlight into it and felt as though the light was taken up by the ink blackness for a moment; but it wasn’t, “Franny, this is creepy, honey.”
“I know. I need you near.”
They walked along a narrow pathway inside the hillside and came to a huge cavern inside the place. Looking down, they found they no longer needed their flashlights and so, turning them off, looked around from their vantage point.
She pointed down at a dais in the middle of the place, “Do you see it?” she whispered, “That’s what we need. We have to take it off the dais without altering the weight on it.”
“Or else?”
“Something bad happens.”
He regarded her, “Hon, that’s just something for the house isn’t it?”
“No. It’s to help us all.”
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
The two of them found their way down to the staging area where the dais was and the idol sat in a pool of glimmering light. Stu pulled out of his pocket a plastic bag he normally had on him in case he found a tree in full fruit, and he started filling it with sand from around the area. He found a few rocks and pushed them into the bag, wrapped it up, felt the weight and thought it was about right.
He walked up to it, the bag of rocks and sand in one hand, the other hand ready to take the idol. In one swift movement, he swapped them over.
Franny grinned when it was the right weight and walked to him, “Oh you did it! Thank you, sweetheart!” As they looked it over, the bag on the dais moved and two stones fell out onto the floor, A grumbling started up and they stood, looking up towards the back of the cavern where a massive rolling sound thundered around the cavern, “Oh no! The weight shifted!”
“What the ...” Stu looked up to find a huge white ball catapulting towards them, “Holy crap! Franny! Run!”
“No... no,, Stu, run!” she screamed as they turned and ran away from the huge ball, along the only way out – a huge tunnel – with the ball coming after them, destroying anything in its path.
Side by side they ran with the idol in their possession; and when Stu spotted a clearing to their left, he grabbed her arm and pulled on it, she knew exactly what he was saying. They both jumped the side wall and made it into the nature reserve alive just as the moon rose over Rapid City and that massive ball rushed past them leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

The next morning, Stu and Franny sat at the breakfast table with the idol between them. She still didn’t understand what it was or what it meant; but when she went to bed the night before, she didn’t have any nightmares.
“So, Fran, what does this thing mean?”
She smiled, “It’s a bigger mystery than I thought... I’m not sure. But wasn’t that fun?”