Magenta Monster

Moments (first published on Turquoise Monster)

This is the moment when the clouds that had glowed so fantastically tangerine
Have faded to lead, pinning the once brilliant sky into dread certainty

The moment when the chips that had been so fine and smoothly hot
Are soggy cold and taste of stale fat

We look at each other pondering a kiss to reawaken the splendor of the night
But the fizzy beverages consumed with taste bud exploding goodness
Repeat themselves, and one of us emits an unattractive belch

Sensation is muted and any sex had would be flat or painful
And yet within these moments the remembrance of glory is enough

Moments shift and move
And now the leaden dead sky gives birth to a florid blue studded with ice gems
Tangled grey ribbons fluoresce
Moonbows show delicate colours at their rims

Trinket (first published on Turquoise Monster)

A look of Dark abundance
Smoldered on emaciated frame
Glaring out defiance
Igniting me
A fist full of Nitro
Hurled to the wind
A cage of napalm
Exploded by this will alone
I swear I will not forget you
And I will not hate you
You contained enough for us both

Melissa was old, and she was hot, so very hot, she was sure that the summers had not been like this when she was young, young like the girls around her. How she envied them in their cool looking garments but they barely covered anything and she just had to dress properly, the way she always had done. Her patent leather shoes with their slight heel tapped gently as she shifted one foot at a time. Echoed by the harsher tap of her two walking sticks. The ground felt jarring these days when she walked to the shop but then it was all concret now, she remembered the dirt tracks, how on a day like today her heels would have sent up little puffs of dust as she walked.

She wanted some new cloths but they were so hard to find these days, there had been a market she recalled, one she loved so much with all the newest styles on racks and racks, so many all made near the local cloth mill. She tottered onwards joints creaking and aching and oh how she wanted to rest. Then she saw the girl in the long buff coat, so stylishly cut.

‘Excuse me?’ Melissa said in a small cracked voice, the girl stopped, polite, her dark hair swooping in a now archaic way. ‘Were did you get that coat?’ it was such a fine thing and even though the sun was sweltering Melissa was envious.

‘There’s a new market just down that way,’ the girl said gesturing, Melissa thanked her and headed onwards at her slow and exhaustive pace, they must have re-opened the old market ground she thought. It seemed to take an eternity and her heart was feeling strained, it hurt every few pumps and the world was a little misty at the edges, she should stop and rest but she was almost at the market.

Odd that the steps to them were still covered in briar and leaves, sighing she sat upon them, it was uncomfortable but she would fall if she did not rest. The smell of doughnuts wafted out towards her, and she smiled faintly, Alex had bought her a doughnut there hadn’t he?

Her eyelids began to droop and she wondered if she should move but a deep blanket of fatigue pinned her where she sat, she dreamed of days of clothes and boys. She missed her friends Joyce and Rosemary, long dead now. A gentle whisper awoke her, ‘Melissa are you coming or not?’ Alex was always impatient it was why she had not married him.

She stood up, straightening her skirt, for a moment she had a feeling that she should be using sticks but she couldn’t see them and she felt fine, shrugging her shoulders she followed Alex into the market. It smelt of new.

I have found museums and art galleries invaluable for generating story ideas, I will go and walk through the galleries stopping by pieces that are strange or just catch my eye. Often there will be benches and things around the place were I can sit and jot a few notes down, sometimes I will make a quick sketch or do some response writing then and there.

With smaller museums and galleries there is sometimes no where to sit so I go to a coffee shop afterwards. Now I have found that this works best outside of peak times so that means school holidays and weekends are out though I have managed to get good things out of trips with my kids but the whole thing tends to be louder and more crowded and more expensive!

Often there will be a nice selection of post cards and books which can be nice things to pick up for further writing inspiration after the visit. Many do not like you taking your own photographs or ask that you pay for a license.

Currently in the UK most museums are free but many galleries still want some kind of entrance fee so that needs to be taken into account.

I awoke on the morning of the Literature Festival and felt the zing, this was it, this was the day I would become a proper writer. Not one with zillions of half finished projects but one with focus and drive!

I had booked the workshop months ago – the toast I made was left cold on my plate, congealing butter oozing. I wore my new jumper but forewent the coat. It was a nice jumper, black with an old fashioned looking pattern of concentric rings around the neck but look close and you could see the rings were space invaders and pac men and the like. It had been knitted specially for me.

The air smelt of frost when I left the house, there was a faint wet glitter left but that was all.

I remember I picked up a coffee, one of those too large affairs in a cardboard beaker, I thought it would help me get through the workshop, make sure I was awake, attentive and full of pep. If I had not stopped for it, things would have been very different.

I stood outside the venue sipping my hot beverage in desperation, the steward had said I couldn’t take it in with me and it had cost more than £3! I could not bring myself to just discard it, but the session was about to start at any minute. I thought on the phrase my grandmother would have used had she seen me hoping from foot to foot the way I was doing, ‘have you got a flea in you bonnet?’ I could hear the voice clearly, I shuddered and went to put my coffee down in defeat.

A hissing, whine filled my ears and the air pressure above me changed causing my ears to pop in that painful way they do when your in a car going up and down rolling hills.

‘WRITER!’ It was a croak, a horse cackle made of clicks, it… wasn’t human. I turned my head and stared into a putty grey face with big faceted black orbs that glittered. The mouth was all fleshy tendrils with a curved viscous center part. Blood pushed it’s way into my head but I was fading into the darkness of a faint. ‘Will do’ I heard through cotton wool fog.

I came around to a keen coldness pushing at my bones, fingers numb and back aching, I appeared to be in some sort of cage in a wind tunnel. I could not move except to wiggle and shift the angle of my head. A strange smell of electricity and crab filled my nostrils.

My horror on realisation that the monster held me and the cage was its legs, turned my stomach inside out, the wind splattered it making me rentch more. This could not be happening, this must be a dream. It was impossible, a giant flea could not have kidnapped me!

My inner critic responded with, ‘it is not a flea, fleas do not have wings’, and though the legs were hairy and shaped as a fleas they were grasping me in a way more reminiscent of louse gripped onto birds to be transported. It seemed like an eternity that I scrabbled to cling to the grotesqueness fearing that I would fall, for I was being transported over a glassey looking body of water. I reasoned it was a long way down to look that way.

I set my mind to a carmness, it didn’t work but I tried anyway, fear was paralyzing thought which was a most dangerous situation. The Flea was obviously an alien or I had had a mental breakdown, yes that was the most likely, a nightmare, just a very vivid one. I started to laugh and laughed and laughed and laughed until I retched once more. Hysteria had a steely grip on me. It was a better place than the reality I found myself in so I stayed there until exhaustion put me in a stupor.

Some indefinable time later I became aware that we were loosing height and I tensed for an impact. The thing landed on top of a cliff of yellow stained limestone. It released me from it’s clutches and I staggered, there was no where to run to, I was stranded with another cliff behind.

I sank down and sobbed expecting a blow from the creature at any moment. It did not come.

‘Writer!’ it clicked. ‘write!’ And it flopped from an upright position to a scuttling wood louse type of locamotion. It went to what I had initially thought a pile of general detritus, it was a round dome, crude but the more I looked the more I noted door and a whole for smoke and the like. It went in and came out with an old manual typewriter. I had seen them in films but never in real life, it was old and heavy and it was placed at my feat.

It looked at me, I could feel that that was what it was doing, though the glittering eyes did not appear to have actually changed. ‘Write’ it clicked again.

‘Erk..’ was all I managed to squeek, I cleared my throat and in a stupidly high voice managed to ask ‘write what? Waht do you want?’

‘Novel’ it clicked.

I blinked and stared at the type writer, ‘oh.. ok’ I muttered and sat, though I expected to be skewered at any moment and to have my life blood drained from me. ‘I’ll…’ I swollowed. ‘I’ll need stuff,’ it stared at me. ‘P..paper and correction stuff, food, a loo?’ It turned away from me and I wondered if it had understood. Or indeed weather typing fastly would be a good idea or not. Would I be returned at the completion of the novel or would I be a reading snack?

I felt a shiver run down my spine, I wanted to laugh – well now I had to write that was for sure. I typed ‘The Cliff’ as a title and began writing, slow and clankily but I was at last writing.

“But Officer it wasn’t my fault! Not really – it’s the fault of the publishing company. I mean it’s just inhumane what they do aint it? I gets to the end of me story and it was a real gripper, by me favourite author too and what do they do?

Theys put a sneak peak for his next novel in there and so Iz read it and then I haz to know what comes next right? So I goes to the shop, that fancy big book shop with the coffee place with the squishy seats that like eat ya right?

But guess what?! Their closed.

I know it was three o’clock in the morning but when I needs to read I needs to read! And I was in the grip of the story line – I was!

So I did what anyone would have done, me. I bashed in the window – or at least tried – I reakon it’s that tough bullet proof stuff cos the bin just bounce and hit that sculpture. That was sad that waz – I love that sculpture – its a bit of art a bit of culture innit?

Anyways I thoughts to me self well if you can break double glazing with a tap from a high heel then maybe that would work. So I took off me shoe and used the bin to hammer it, right ard it was too – Mashed me hand and everthink!

But it worked and the glass frosted and broke in a lovely flower pattern. It were so pretty I took a photo with me fone – look officer! Look at that!

But then there was all this like metal shuttering and this wailing fit to burst me ear drums was screeching all around, it’s amazing anyone could sleep through it! Though I don’t reckon many people sleep in bookshops!

I thought about the grill and I thought you know I bet it aint any arder than wood and it’s thinish so I took out me loppers and lopped it and the metal curtain just sort of fell away in a clutter. I looked round as I heard sum shouting and was worried that some thugs might be out and about but it was this crowd of people all watching me – they waz saying stuff but I couldn’t understand them cos of the noise right?

Anyways I walks into the shop and the screeching is worse and there were lights flashing and I thinks blimey! Their alarm systems a bit faulty anyone would think they were being broken into!

And then I saw the book but as I headed towards the damn thing this guy who turned out to be you tackled me. So I bite you and struggled free and then Iz got the book and was putting the money on the counter when you grabbed me again officer!

See it’s all a miss understanding really but that’s ok as yous gave me a lovely room to read me new book in, smells a bit funny I think it needs a hose down or somthink? Thanks for the tea as well by the way.

Just to let you know – it has the first chapter of the next book in it so I’ll be going to the book shop again shortly ok?”

Teaspoon Song (first published on Blue Monster)

Out in the kitchen of the mind sat a teaspoon, cold and silver and shiny. It looked to the sky to see if the stars were cradling the moon once more but alas the ceiling got in the way.

The teaspoon became despondent with the lack of sky and began to lament in heavy sobbing cries, ‘Oh stars where are you, why deny me your wondrous sight?’ But being a teaspoon without a mouth no one could hear the words and the teaspoon sat forlorn and alone.

Eventually someone came and made a cup of tea. They put the kettle on and put the tea bag, white with freshness, in the mug with a slightly raised floral pattern. Then once the plume of incandescent steam rose from the kettle, water was dunked upon the unsuspecting tea bag. The little teaspoon was whipped from its place on the side and plunged into the scolding liquid – fortunately being made of metal this process did not hurt the teaspoon and it dutifully fished the teabag out of the insipidly yellow brew.

Cow juice of the white fatty kind was then added to the beverage and the teaspoon dutifully stirred it. Once the clouds of fatty emulsifers had diffused through the drink adequately the mug was taken from the kitchen. The teaspoon was sticking just above the rim.

To the teaspoon’s astonishment it was taken outside and the mug sat upon a wooden table. The teaspoon could tell it was outside by the contrasting cold of its handle that stuck out of the tea. The tea was also cooling quite fast. Unfortunately the teaspoon was immersed in tea and therefore still could not see the stars that pinwheeled above him.

Eventually though, the mug was knocked over and the teaspoon lay in the muddy remnants of tea with icebergs of shattered ceramic around it. The teaspoon was happy and content – the stars winked back at it.

The End

I had blankets and cloths mainly in my crates, there was some food but not much as it had been very heavy, I worried seeing the supplies that had been brought in that they would be assuming people would bring food with them. The sled would be the base of my bed, the foam matting was softer but I knew how the chill could seep into you from the floor. I was so tired and yet my very bones buzzed and I itched to get to the council meeting in some small hope that there would be some way out of this hell hole of a cave.

The council had put canvas up as partition walls to give privacy and to cut down the cold drafts that whistled through the cavern. I wondered if the winds would stop once the Nesu had sealed us in. I put down my many satchels and bags and lent the ruck sack against the bed. I shuddered and smiled with relief when Jenleg brought me the cup of frothy stim, it’s fragrant steam whipped out the stench of confinement that was already growing. Sanitation was going to be an issue in more than one way.

We left and went to the council.

Everyones ears were dropping, I didn’t think that was a good sign. I took a stool and sat still sipping the stim. It tasted good and reminded me of how hungry I was. My mother gave me a disapproving sniff but did not say anything, I was not part of the council, I was the child of two of the elders and my mother did not believe in heredical position. I took my seat and noted with a feeling of disgust that it was one of the ceremonial chairs – they had wasted a resources trip to bring these here?

Jenleg noticed my sneer, ‘yes we waisted time on things like the chairs – it was decided that our culture must survive, even if it is just through artifacts in a cave, they will burn all we leave on the surface Gingnar.’

I felt my stomach drop at that statement, ‘so there really is no hope?’ I asked too quietly I didn’t really want an answer.

‘There is always hope,’ my father smiled at me, and I knew he believed his own words, I however found them hard to swallow.

‘There are many things to be discussed and organised,’ came my mothers sharp reply and I looked down at my long fingers, they seemed an orange grey in the half gloom of the cave. Would I ever see their coloured splendor again?

‘How are plans progressing with locating an exit point?’ this was Ulnka a very elderly woman, I could see the cold damp was already paining her and, yes the first bloom of the sickness was on her fur, it was slight just a vague scragginess to her. I wondered which would kill her first, and then the treacherous thought snaked it’s way through my mind, if she died quickly there would be more food to go around. I was appalled at myself but the echo of it was there in my mind I shook my head to try and dislodge it.

‘The Cho-Lo’s should have results within five hours I am told, of course we dare not analyse the entrance of the cave incase the Nesu realise what we are doing.’

Cho-Lo’s – the Echo locators? They’d managed to get a team and equipment down here without the Nesu realising, I felt a little impressed I have to confessed and also bitter, I was training to be a Cho-Lo much to my fathers disappointment. Why hadn’t they given me more warning and put me on the team? I felt acid rise in my gut and bit down tooth against tooth in order not to shame myself with an outburst.

‘There is also the exploration team, we sent them off with trackers as soon as we arrived, they are hunting for a way out, there maybe some small side brunch, a squeeze, anything that could offer a way out.’ The other elders where nodding and I realised that the little speech was for me and Negra the other youngling at the table, the elders all already knew this stuff, they were wasting time informing us. ‘Every 24 hours we will make a speech to the population in the carven and make up other exploratory teams – these are mainly for show and morale though will be properly equipped and may prove useful. If… if we are stuck down here the extra space the explorations may unearth could be a life saver. We are pretty sure there is a source of water within the carven though it has not yet been located.’

A murmur, evidently most of the council had assumed there would be a ready supply of water. I shuddered. ‘Negra,’ my mother spoke, it was as always a strangely soft voice, she never spoke to me with such tenderness, ‘you will be helping Naxtor he is helping the new arrivals set up camp.’ Negra nodded and stood, giving me a furtive glance, worried that I would be jealous, well I was but I just nodded encouragingly. Besides working with Naxtor was not going to be fun, he had been the highest ranking officer we had in the Enforcement and Services or Enserv as it was known.

We had always been less than the Nesu and now they were exterminating us. But I couldn’t honestly say we would do things differently, the sickness was pretty terrifying and though no Nesu had become ill with it, there was no saying they wouldn’t.

‘Ginglar?’ my focused snapped back to the table, everyone was staring at me.

‘Sorry I was just… thinking,’ I said lamely and then because they were still staring at me, I realised they wanted a response to something, ashamed I stuttered, ‘I missed what you said last.’ It was lame and I felt the glow peaking my ears as if I was a babe who had forgotten it was without catching cloth.

‘You are to head the Escape Team,’ my eyes went large in disbelief, ‘you are the only trained geologist and though you never did the subterranean field trips we still feel you are the closest the council has to an expert.’ My mother was watching me intently I could see her purples were as open as it was possible for them to get.

This is one of the collections of Flash Fiction I found out about via the National Flash Fiction Day stuff. My story did not make the cut but it’s got good stories in there and is well worth the read 🙂

Yesterday I went along to The Albion Beatnik in Oxford and listened to some fantastic stories being read out. I myself did The Kissy Bunny and Melvin The Coconut. I decided again a few other selections I had with me as there were children in the audience.

Turned out there was an aspect of competition to the night which I hadn’t been expecting.

It was a lovely event and I wish I’d had the money to buy other peoples books – never mind next year hopefully 🙂