More to Me Than HIV

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More to Me Than HIV

First published in Gscene July 2020 For last years World AIDS Day I put together a public project of work joining other people living with an HIV+ diagnoses at Jubilee library.For last years World AIDS Day I put together a public project of work joining other people living with an HIV+ diagnoses at Jubilee library. For the project I spoke openly about my journey having being           Read more

More to Me Than HIV: GScene post Aug 2020

More to Me Than HIV is a project that aims to breakdown the stigma that has historically been attached to this virus.  When I saw my piece in last months Gscene to promote the More to Me Than HIV project, I was extremely proud, but a small part of me was filled with anxiety; but why should I feel this way? I have been on effective antiretroviral therapy since the Read more

More to Me Than HIV: first published in GScene July 2020

For last years World AIDS Day I put together a public project of work joining other people living with an HIV+ diagnoses at Jubilee library. For the project I spoke openly about my journey having being             diagnosed HIV+ 32 years previous. Back then there was no treatment and a lot of fear and misinformation concerning how HIV was transmitted. As such stigma was rife, Read more

Blanche Street

Writing Everyday in October: I Love Trish.

Ipswich 143 - Version 2
The taste of blood slid across Howard’s tongue as the Norwich to Ipswich train rattled along the track. For the last half hour he had nervously bitten his nails, all in the pursuit of the latest high. Howard’s best mate, Kes, (everyone called him Kes, because he was always high as a kite) had raved about the mind blowing time he’d had the other night at the Caribbean Club. Some bloke had offered Kes a new kind of high at the club toilet and he said he was off his head all night, “It’s called Trish. Think ecstasy, crossed with a trip and dib-dab of speed.”
Even before Kes had finished yabbering, Howard was hooked. Kes had said he was going to meet up with a guy called Chef and get some Trish for the weekend. That had been a couple of days ago. With no job worries, Kes will still be off his face on Trish, thought Howard.
As the train pulled into Ipswich’s train station, Howard pulled out the crumpled piece of paper from his jeans pocket on which Kes had scrawled.
9 Blanche Street, Ipswich. Ask for Chef. Say, “I love Trish.”

When the train finally pulled in to Ipswich, the seasoned travellers rushed from the platform and grabbed the waiting taxies. With no sign of a bus, Howard began walking towards what he hoped was the town centre. Half way he bumped into a young couple and asked if they knew where Blanche Street was. The woman shrugged her shoulders, as the bloke said, “You sure you want that part of town mate?”
Howard nodded while trying to ignore his growling stomach, all he wanted was to grab his stash of Trish and get back to his bedsit in Norwich.
Recognising the nervousness pouring out of Howard’s body, the man shrugged his shudders and said, “It’s no more than ten minutes away, just off Cemetery Road.”

Having followed the man’s directions, Howard turned into Blanche Street and instantly understood what the man had meant. The street was a row of pre-war dilapidated terraced houses. As he walked down the street, Howard’s stomach tightened; with most of the street lights broken it was difficult to make out the door numbers.

As he crept past one house he heard a man shout, “Madeline, Madeleine!” which caused Howard to quicken his step. Each house he passed seemed to be more decrepit than the last: that was until he reached number seven. The bottom half of the door had been boarded up. Bare wires hung where the doorbell had once been and the upstairs windows were smashed.

Again Howard felt his gut jolt, but there was no way he was going back home empty handed. Taking a deep breath he raised his hand to knock on the door, only for it to suddenly fly open. A dark silhouette of a very, very big man filled the door frame.
“Y,y,y,you Chef? Said Howard?

With no ready response, Howard tried to steady his voice without much success and said, “I,I,I,I,I love Trish.”
The man stepped back and nodded for Howard to enter the gloomy lit front room.

The first thing to hit him was the overwhelming stench of stale cigarette smoke, greasy takeaway food and something else, something rotten. While trying to manoeuvre passed the minefield of beer cans and overflowing ashtrays, Howard knocked a half-eaten takeaway box off the oversized leather armchair: spilling its contents onto the threadbare carpet. Dropping to his hands and knees, Howard went to clear up the partly chewed, greasy chicken bones only for Chef to yell, “Fucking leave it, get your arse in the back.”
Howard jumped to his feet, brushed the grease from his hands on to his jeans and then followed the man through the middle room, into the kitchen.
Hanging from the centre of the kitchen celling was a bare light bulb highlighting the cobwebs that strung from every corner, the floor felt sticky beneath his feet. Howard glanced round the near barren kitchen. The only other furniture was a tatty pine wooden table, either side sat two mismatched chairs and a bar stool. Chef nodded at Howard and grunted, “Sit.”

Like a well trained mongrel, Howard quickly obeyed, pulled out the chair and sat himself down.
Chef flung open the fridge door and said, “Beer?”

Howard stared at the man’s huge hands that gripped the rusting fridge door, his fingernails caked with black grime. A trickle of bile shot from Howard’s empty stomach into his throat causing him to nod as he tried his best to swallow his sick.

Grabbing two cans from the fridge, Chef slammed one can down in front of Howard, cracked open his own and drained the contents before Howard had even opened his.

“Get that down yah, it will stop you from being so fucking jumpy.”

Howard tried his best to stop his hands from shaking as he opened his can, only for the contents to spray all over his face.
Howard slurped at the frothing can as Chef laughed while he grabbed another two beers from the fridge. As he sat down at the table he said, “So, how’d you hear about me, was it London Tony?”

….. Wanna find out what happens to Howard and the other residence of Blanche Street? why not pop over to the homepage www.blanchestreet.co.uk and click on the doors and then hurry yourself over to the Amazon link  to and get stuck into ten terrifying tales: http://www.amazon.com/Blanche-Street-Where-neighbours-nightmare-ebook/dp/B00OWFK1SA

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Writing Everyday in October: Afterlife Exclusive: Betty Give’s her ‘Boop’ the Boot!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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After many years of being one of the most recognisable sex-symbol on earth, Betty was relieved to find her cutesy yet overtly sexy image had at last fallen out of fashion. With the phone no longer ringing asking for a guest appearance on The Late, Late Show, let alone a day time appearance on Loose Women, Betty was happy to let go of everything and take comfort in the anonymity offered in the afterlife.

Upon arriving in the afterlife, the first thing Betty asked for was an extra large caftan that would forever hide her modesty; something that had been forever on display for all to see, even on days when Betty had longed for a moment of not being stared at.

For Betty, the most harrowing times had been in the early part of her career when her American artists thought it was their, “God-dam given right to draw and show off a young woman’s titties, fanny and legs at they felt fit. ”

The abuse didn’t stop there. For decades, Betty had been forced into an unnaturally painfully tight corset underneath her trademark black dress. Every corner of The Afterlife was filled with the heavenly sigh Betty gave as the wardrobe mistress undid her corset and at Betty’s request, threw it in the furnace. It came as no surprise that her second request for the most popular menu most starlets requested when they came to The Afterlife: double cheese burger, fries, cheesecake and a diet coke; all of which was devoured in seconds.

Then came the tears.

Regardless of who enters the afterlife, tears are a natural occurrence, combining; loss, laughter, freedom and hate. For Betty, it was the latter which poured down her face as she screamed out, “This voice, this voice has been nothing but a curse.”

Although here at the afterlife, all knowledge of what has gone before, is well documented long before a traveler makes their appearance; it is only upon their arrival that the individuals final decisions are revealed, understood and duly respected.

Once Betty had allowed herself to be all cried out, she made one last simple request, “Give me peace. Give me silence.”

As the seamsters prepared her needle and thread, she wondered if Betty would say one last “Boop-Oop-A-Doop” for old times sake. Instead, the beautiful Betty sat weeping tears of joy as the seamstress carefully sewed Betty into a permanent silence.

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Writing Everyday in October: The Tenner

Trace the journey of a ten pound note through the lives of five owners. What was exchanged during the transactions? How much (or how little) did the transaction mean to each of the people involved?

Trace the journey of a ten pound note through the lives of five owners. What was exchanged during the transactions? How much (or how little) did the transaction mean to each of the people involved?

Saturday night at the hole in the wall and Jerry takes out an extra tenner, put it in the back of his wallet telling himself that no matter what else he spends tonight the tenner will be marked as taxi money only. There was no way he is going to end up dazed and soiled with his flatmate’s one night stand stepping over him the next day, taking an incriminating shot before leaving the flat and posting it on Facebook.

(click here) Six hours later…200

Pissed and hardly able to say his name, mainly because he had forgotten it, Jerry staggers into the kebab shop and screams as he shields his eyes to the bright fluorescent light. Although he can’t remember his name, he can remember to ask for extra chilli sauce of his shish kebab. Jerry knows that all he needs is some food inside him and then he’ll feel much better. It is only when he reaches for his wallet and finds it gone does he’s world start to tumble down. With no food to fuel his brain, Jerry loses all memories completely, from what club he’d been to, to where he lives. Jerry promises himself (again) that he’ll never, ever drink this much ever, ever, ever.

Meanwhile, outside The Ritzy…

Linda has had a horrible night. First she had a steaming row with her best mate, Gazza over a bloke who looked okay, but as soon as the cold air had hit it quickly transpired he was too pissed to remember his own name, let alone where he lived and had staggered off towards the local kebab shop, not realising that Linda had stayed back. Meanwhile Linda was hanging outside The Ritzy, hoping Gazza would come out too so they could go home and make up over a curry pot-noodle.

Ten minutes later…

After arguing with the bouncer that she was in fact not that drunk and promised she would not end up causing another scene in the club, Linda gave up and decided to go home alone. it was then she saw a wallet on the ground and picked it up to see it belonged to the drunk who had staggered off to the kebab shop. The good part of Linda thought about trying to find him, but when she saw the tenner folded neatly in the back of the wallet, she thought, Oh fuck it, took the tenner, dropped the wallet in the nearest bin and made her way to the taxi rank.

Outside the taxi rank…

Underneath the blanket was huddled Jamie and his dog, Wordsworth. Unbeknown to the ignoring crowds above, Jamie had a lot of interesting tales to tell, but no one had time to stop and listen. If he was lucky, he would get the occasional coin thrown, but what he really needed was a lucky break to get enough money for  and his dog Wordsworth to get the train back home to his mum and dads, but Lady Luck, The Good-fairy Godmother and his Guardian Angel had all been on an extnded holiday for what felt like years. However! Tonight Jamie’s luck changes when he watches a ten pound note fall to the ground as a pissed passer by precariously past him and plonks herself into a cab.

Then the drug dealer appeared…

Growing up, Jamie had been an avid fan of the kids TV show, Jamie and the Magic Torch and had eventually convinced himself he was the real life, Jamie. At first his parents had humoured him when he came home with a dog and said its name was Wordsworth, they even ignored his late night sessions spent under his bed shining his torch at the floor, but when it became apparent he had a serious problem with drugs, so they had kicked him out. Life on the streets was no picnic for Jamie, but his drug dealer was always popping past and doing cheeky deals with Jamie.

Jamie was delighted to have the tenner, but it was far too little for a train ticket home, so Jamie was greatly relived to see the drug dealer who who had the powder that enabled Jamie to travel once agin (Unfortunately without his magic torch as he’d pawned that a long while back) ’d pawned a long time ago) to better, kinder worlds beyond this realm.

With the deal done…

The drug dealer slipped off into the shadows and broke the one cardinal rule of drug dealing, don’t take the stuff yourself. With his newly acquired tenner, the drug dealer got out his bag of the latest street drug, Trish, rolled the tenner up and took a hearty snort of the powder and promptly collapsed. Gradually his fingers unraveled as Trish took hold and pulled him into a nightmare not that dissimilar to a short story called, I love Trish in a book, called, Blanche Street, you dear reader can downloaded from amazon.co.uk.

A gush of wind took the tenner out of the dealer’s hand and something very unusual happened in one of Glenn’s story, a happy ending! You see, the wind caught the tenner, took the rolled tube high into the air and as it unraveled, it floated down, landing in front of Jerry.

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Writing Everyday In October: Breaking the Magician’s Code.

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Wandering around with a glass of chilled Champaign in one hand, while balancing a trio of hors d’oeuvres in a napkin in the other; Bunny Brunson mingled among the tuxedo clad/designer dressed partiers, chit-chatted some empty conversation, before deciding that actually she was bored to tears and she should just ask for her handbag and fake-fur and leave… that was until she heard a voice from her distant past, and knew fate had finally dealt her a chance for revenge.

Disposing of her fancy pastries in the nearest plant-pot, Bunny downed her Champaign, grabbed another from a passing waiter and pushed her hips in to the massed circle of doe eyed fans who hung on to every word of her ex-flat mate and foe, Brandon Blade, the UK’s most celebrated close up magician; only back then Bunny had known him as plain old Steve.

Steve hadn’t changed a bit; he still had all of the ladies, and some of the men, wrapped around his pinky finger as he connected three diamond rings together like a daisy chain, then made them disappear into thin air. Bunny rolled her eyes as she watched Steve rub his hands together, before pulling each ring out from three different women’s cleavages. The crowd roared with laughter, applauding the great magician, but Bunny knew his true character.
Thirty years previous, Bunny and Steve had been roommates, both piss poor and working in one of the less fragrant Soho night spot, known to its clientele as The Rancid Rat, due to the nightly sighting of vermin scurrying across the bar floor whenever someone dropped a homemade pork scratching.

Back then, Steve had promised they would be best friends forever, riding through the bad times in a vapour of Blue Nun, embracing the good times with a bottle of the house gin. Whenever Steve got pissed he would slur, “Me and you, Bunny are like swans, bonded for life,  together we’re gonna make it to the big time.” Even when the hangover’s had subsided, Bunny had believed him; so it felt only right that Bunny would share all her secrets, from how she had lost her virginity, aged sixteen with the lad who’s dad owned the local chip shop, to more recent gossip that an up and coming magician had come to The Rancid Rat early that evening and was on the look out for help with his act.

Later that night when all the punters had left The Rancid Rat, Steve smiled through gritted teeth as Bunny spilled out her news in greater detail: “His name’s Paul and he’s a proper magician; pulls a rabbit out of the hat, card tricks, the lot. He said he’ll soon have his own show at The Ritzy and that if I joined him and this other girl, Debbie, I could earn twice what I’m getting now.”

Steve began to take more of an interest as he filled Bunny’s glass with a splash of tonic and a good glug of gin and told her to carry on.

“He asked if I was honest and said I needed to promise him that as long as i’m never late and never break the magician’s code, I can be part of his act. Aren’t you pleased for me Steve?”

By this point Steve was only half listening, as he topped Bunny’s glass with more gin, while giving his best alligator smile

The next morning Bunny had woken with her head banging ten bells a second, while her mouth felt as if it had just been sprayed with industrial strength dog deodorant. Pulling herself out of bed, she stared at the silent clock, both hands firmly stuck at midnight.

By the time she had managed to stumbled out of the house, catch a cab she could ill afford and eventually got to the audition, she saw Steve sitting were she th-1should have rightly been,
Steve turned to Bunny and said, “Sorry Bunny love, didn’t I tell you I was also auditioning; you’ll like this, not a lot… but you’re never guess what, the Darling Mr. Daniels had offered me the job.”

Bunny tried to get Paul to change his mind, but his only reply was that he could not stand tardiness, and left.

 

By the time Bunny had managed to walk back to the flat, she found that Steve had already been and gone, taking anything of value with him.

Although the next few years were tough onth Bunny, she too managed to get out of Soho and became the glamorous assistant to Fay Presto.

Bunny put all bitter thoughts out of her mind as she traveled the world with Fay and in time forgot all about her slime-ball flatmate Steve…until now.

Bunny pulled her top down a little, knowing that Steve aka Brandon could not resist a bit of breast and pushed her way to the front of his adoring crowd. Of course Brandon didn’t recognise Bunny, he just saw her as another admiring face, wanting to see him do his magic. With the rings all rightly returned, and a business card slipped to a woman young enough to be his daughter, Bunny knew it was time to break her promise and reveal the magician’s code.

With all eyes on Brandon, Bunny piped up, “Do you ever do anything more elaborate, then pulling jewellery from women’s cleavages?”
Everyone turned to see who had dared say such a thing to the great Brandon Blade. Without saying a word, Brandon turned his back and began to levitate. The crowd cheered and gave an applause; everyone that is except Bunny.

“Don’t you get bored of copying David Blaine’s magic? Said Bunny, “Don’t you think the world wants to hark back to some good old fashioned magic, say like…Paul Daniels?”

Brandon scoffed, “That’s end of the pier stuff, no real skill involved, just a lot of smoke and mirrors.”

Holding back her smile, Bunny pressed on, “Oh you’re right, particularly when they have those silly assistants, with their big hair, tits and teeth.”

With the champagne and adoration flowing through his veins, Steve found his tongue running away with him. “I couldn’t agree with you less, Paul Daniels would still be working the clubs in Soho if it hadn’t been for his assistants. As Daniels would whole heartily agree; with the big illusions it’s the assistances that do all the work.

‘Gottcha’, thought Bunny as she went in for the kill. “You mean like when he saws Debbie McGee in half.”

Caught in the moment, Brandon yelled, “Exactly!”

“But there’s no skill there”, retorted Bunny, “Doesn’t she just push a pair of mannequin legs through the hole?”

“That’s what I thought,” piped up someone else in the crowd, “Doesn’t the magician just wiggle a lever to make the feet move?”

Incensed beyond belief, Brandon threw his arms above his head and said, “Of course it isn’t a mannequin, it’s another person in there. They have to manoeuvre themselves into a tight spot and wiggle their stilettos on cue, it takes someone of great dexterity, not forgetting great legs!

Bunny threw her head back and laughed, “I heard Debbie had complained their assistant in the early days was forever farting like a trouper, making Debbie gag.

With a little too much champagne flowing through his veins, Brandon retorted, Oh Really? I think you’ll find it was Debbie with the tooting toosh, It was Debbie who farted.

By now the crowd had stopped smiling as metaphorical penny’s began to drop all around, but Bunny knew she just needed to push Brandon with one final comment. “Wasn’t it also true that Debbie complained that the assistant had blotch legs, didn’t she say they resembled a half baked Spotted Dick??!”

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Unable to contain his anger, Brandon exploded, “That woman was always jealous of Paul’s hidden assistance and for the record, Debbie has breath like a cat!

“How would you know?!” Screamed Bunny in a tone that Brandon just wasn’t used to. Puffing out his chest Brandon shouted back, “Because I was the legs of Debbie McGee!”
The crowd quickly dispersed with the young woman tearing Brandon’s business card up and throwing it in his face. Bunny in turn looked around the empty room and said, “Wow, you’ve made them all vanish Steve; now that’s Magic!

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writing everyday in October. Anna Nicole Smith, Love After Death

From our Afterlife showbiz reporter: Kelly Ross.

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Dressed in a figure hugging, pink satin dress, fabulous fake fur stole, diamond drenched chocker, perfected platinum blond hair and flawless makeup, Anna Nicole Smith made her debut into the afterlife with the usual style, panache and a touch of car-crash that had made her the most talked about woman (after Princess Diana) in the National Enquirer.
Standing at the top of the stairs, Ms.Smith raised her hands above her head, went to speak but instead slurred, “Do you Like my Body? It’s all down to Trimspa you hear?”

When the only response was a whispered, “Is she drunk?” Ms. Smith threw down her hands, pushed out her bottom lip and sulked. Thankfully a lone female voice shouted, “I love you Nicole”, which was just the thing Ms. Smith needed to get her back in her stride as she switched from grumpy brat, to the sultry, sexy, siren Ms. Anna Nicol Smith we are more attuned to.
Assured she had the audience’s complete attention, Ms. Smith thrusted her ample assets forward and swished down the stairs; gyrating her hips in a fashion that one could almost have assumed Ms. Smith was in fact spinning an invisible hula-hooping all the way down to the bottom step.
As was Ms. Smith’s want while alive, she was greeted by the maître d’ with a substantial serving of deep fried gizzard wings, large fries and a diet coke. Ms. Smith squealed with delight, chowed down with a ravenous appetite, which is not unheard of for those who have made the journey into the afterlife, burped loudly and said in her distinctive Southern drawl, “Well this sure is heaven, thank you all, I’s was famished.”
Next came the main part of the afterlife floor show that as always is the main draw for these shows. A ripple of an applause filled the auditorium as the wardrobe mistress pulled a cloths rail with a single dress, hidden under a very pretty, pink silk protection cover.

Ms. Smith squealed with delight and announced she was so glad to be changing her outfit as she was already bored to tears with her present attire.
Next, Ms. Smith was taken behind a changing screen, blindfolded and asked to strip. Not wishing to miss an opportunity, Ms.Smith shouted, “Queue music!”.
The band instinctively began to play, “You Can Leave Your Hat On”.
Unbeknown to Ms. Smith, a back light shone onto the screen allowing the full effect of the striptease to be observed. Such was the performance, one had to wonder if Ms.Smith wasn’t a little aware of the playful prank being played on her.
As the band reached its crescendo, a pink silk camisole and matching knickers came flying over the screen, just as the auditorium was plunged into complete darkness.

A cough and shuffle of anticipation rippled through the darkness as the sound of the wardrobe mistress slipping the dress over Ms. Smith’s head was followed by Nicole letting out a huge belch,
“That should give this pretty dress some room”, giggled Nicole as the wardrobe mistress pulled and buttoned Ms. Smith into her new frock.
A cymbal simmered from the percussion section of the band, as a single light pierced through the darkness.The other percussion instruments gradually joined in while the spotlight expanded until a perfect silhouette of Ms. Smith was once again in full view. Then came the big reveal as the screen spectacularly fragmented into ninety white doves, causing the audience to gasp at just how stunning Ms. Smith looked.
Still blindfolded, Ms. Smith’s voice cracked slightly as she tried to reach out to her adoring fans and asked, “Do I look pret-ty?”
A collective “Ahhh” and clapping of hands, quickly brought back Ms. Smith’s smile.

Once the applause had died down, the Grim Reaper slowly made her dignified entrance, scythe in hand. Again there was a murmuring of anticipation from the audience, which in turn made Ms. Smith let out a giggle and a very faint fart.
Unable to hold back her excitement any longer, Ms. Smith pulled in a deep breath, which in turn put considerable strain on the upper part of her dress and cried out, “Is this when I get my sur-prise? Is this when I fin-ally get the thing I’ve always dreamed off, tell me now, is now the time I fin-ally  get what I tru-ly de-serve?!”
The Grim Reaper in turn, whispered sweetly, “Yes Nicole”.
Stamping her feet in quick succession, Ms. Smith enquired, “Does it begin with ‘M’?”
To which the Grim Reaper again whispered very softly, “Yes Nicole”.

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Unable to control herself, Ms. Smith span round and round, shouting, “I’ve got it, i’ve got it, I beat E. Pierce Marshall, I’m rich, I’m rich at last I’m rich.”
The Grim Reaper waited for Ms. Smith to stop spinning and with a quick flick of her Scythe, snipped Ms. Smith’s blindfold in two. As it fell to the floor, Ms. Smith looked down and saw she was wearing a massive white, meringue inspired wedding dress.

Slightly dumbfounded and rather confused, Ms. Smith turned to the Grim Reaper and asked, “Am I ma-rry-ing the mon-ey?”
The Grim Reaper solemnly shook her skull, clicked her boney finger and thumb in the band’s direction, who again hit their stride at once as they played, Mendelssohn’s, Wedding March’.

Meanwhile, the distinctive sound of a wheelchair creaked out from within the darkness.

Nicole had a terrifying moment of clarity as she realised just what the ‘M’ stood for as the creaking wheelchair pulled itself out of the shadows, a musty Howard Marshall, dragged his dusty tongue across flaking lips, smiled a toothless grin and croaked, “I love you Nicole, I’ve been waiting for you baby and the really good thing honey, I’ve got viagra! And best of all sweetheart, sugar-pie, we have all of eternity to consummate our marriage over and over and over again.

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Writing everyday in October: Run!

 

IMG_3720“Run!”

Her horror snares me. I’m on my feet running, fast, but from what?

Crowds scurry, infectious fear.

A chorus of terror urges us, to run, run faster.

Hysteria rules, out of their homes they pour: stampeding, screaming, caterwauling.

The horror! Faces underfoot, no time to stop, just keep running.

But running, running from what?

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Writing Every day in October. Filthy Weather, Part 2

Writing everyday in October.
Filthy Weather, Part 2

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The next day despite it being even hotter then the day before, Barry lay feverishly in bed, with the blankets pulled up around him. Genie walked in to the bedroom with a glass of water which only made Barry wretch. He then calmed himself enough to say that he literally could not stomach anything.
To make matters worse, Barry was a hopeless patient; by midday Gina had enough of Barry’s moaning, made all the worse as she was unable to do anything to alleviate his symptoms beyond damping his brow with a damp cloth and wiping a way the gunk that kept building up in the corners of his eyes.
When Barry started to dry heave again, Gina apologised as she rushed out of the bedroom saying she needed to get some air. Gina was pleased to find none of the other neighbours were out on the patch of grass at the back of the flats. As Gina settled into the deckchair she notice the neighbours on the ground floor had the windows shut and curtains pulled tight which suited her just fine. The last thing she wanted was small talk with the strange mother and son combo who lived there.

Sitting back, Gina felt her body relax. High above from one of the flat windows, Gina heard a radio DJ, giving the usual cheesy chat.
“Well, I hope whatever you’re doing you’re making the most of the weather as we have reports that rain is soon on its way, next up is a tune for all you lad-ies. Here are those, Weather Girls and It’s Raining Men.”
Genie had her eyes closed as she sang along to the music, it was then she suddenly became aware of the unaccustomed sound of seagulls. Just as she looked up she saw the sky turn grey as hundreds of seagulls flew high up over the roofs. As the birds passed it looked like they were pulling behind them a glimmering golden carpet. It was in fact an unusual cloud formation; it looked to Genie as if it was chasing the birds out of the sky. As the massive cloud eclipsed the blue heaven, sun rays pierced the cloud causing it to sparkle.

“What is it?”

Genie turned to one of her other neighbours and her two children who had popped out on hearing the increasing row the seagulls were making overhead.
Gina stood open mouthed, unable to give any answer that would have made sense as the sight in the sky was beyond any comprehension she could think off. It was then Genie heard Barry’s dry cough rattling out of the window from above. Normally her instincts would have been to go to his aid, but she found herself transfixed by the gold sheet that was now covering most of the sky above.

“It’s beautiful” shouted the little girl standing next to her mother. Genie could only stand and nod in agreement; the intolerable hot weather had all been worth it.
Genie suddenly became aware that all the neighbours, except Barry had come outside, standing in their small back yards as they marvelled at nature’s gift to them. The birds had all but been chased away and the skies had turned truly heavenly.
Not a sound could be heard as people got out of their cars and marvelled at the magnificent sky that continued to sparkle a deeper hue of gold.
From down the street someone started to clap, which was followed by someone else then an another and then another until it seemed that everyone standing in their backyards where applauding the magical gift in the sky.
What happened took everybody by complete surprise, it was as if the sound of the had reached high up and touched the gold cloud which in turn broke up and showered everyone below with its gold. At first everyone threw their arms and faces up, welcoming the refreshing downpour, relived to be soaked after the amazing heat wave. However, the pleasure soon turned to horror, the rain slid down the skin leaving an oily film; but worse, so much worse was its unexpected reaction. Within seconds of making contact with its worshippers, what was gold upon the touch quickly dissolved into a brown acid burning sludge. Where only moments ago a sense of joy had filled the street was replaced with the sounds of agonising screams.
Genie ran into the bathroom, stripped off her clothes and jumped in the shower frantically scrubbing herself. At first the relief of having the clean water rush over her gave Genie much relief but she suddenly became aware that the waters consistence had changed and the same gold/brown globs of liquid where now chugging out of the shower head. Distraught, Genie jumped out of the shower, ran into the kitchen and emptied what water was left in the kettle and water jug in the fridge over her. Hearing the commotion, Barry had pulled himself out of bed and started at Genie as she grabbed at the tae-towels, pulling the mess from her skin. Although exhausted himself, Barry grabbed another tea-towel and helped Genie get clean while the filthy weather continued to hammer against the side of the flat.

*

After a fitful night sleep, Barry turned to the alarm clock, the time said seven a.m. and yet it was still dark outside as the rain continued to pour down.
“Genie, you awake?” Croaked Barry. Genie groaned an unconvincing “yes” before turning her back and pulling the covers with her. Barry got out of bed and cupped his hands against the windowpane but could not see beyond the greasy sheen on the other side. Although Barry had swallowed the sea water, he had managed to get rid of most of it over the last twenty-four hours and felt a little better, but Genie had been really effected by the downpour, although she had managed to get the slime of her skin pretty quickly, Barry knew she was still feeling the phycological effects that were much harder to wash off.
Without thinking, Barry said, “Genie do you want a drink of wate…?”

Genie’s hand shot up before Barry had a chance to finish saying anything more which in turn made Barry feel just as bad.
As he made his way down the stairs, Barry became aware of a strong smell, as he reached the bottom of the stairs he gingerly opened the door onto the communal hallway then quickly slammed his hand over mouth and gasped. During the night the rain had seeped into the entrance hall, covering the floor with an oily brown shimmer that stank of nothing on this earth, but within the slime was movement. Barry didn’t want to look too closely, but the creatures looked a like large silverfish thrashing around across what had once been the hall carpet.
Barry ran back into the flat, unable to control his tears, to Barry it really felt like it was the end of the world. As he stood outside the bedroom, he managed to compose himself enough to walk back into the bedroom and was surprised to see Genie sitting up in bed. Genie looked terrible, but Barry pulled on his best smile and said, feeling a bit better love, you look a bit better”.
Of course, Genie and barry both knew the lie that hung between them, but to admit the truth was to much to bare and so Genie nodded and said that she did feel a little bit better.

Barry, continued to lie and said, once it stops raining we can all get the neighbours together and give the whole place a clear up.
Again, Genie nodded knowing full well that that was not going to happen. in the last five years of living here the only neighbours they had any contact with was that vile neighbour Ronny on the top floor and a brief conversation with that woman and her kids yesterday in the backyard before the sky had fallen in.
Genie managed to pull herself out of bed and went over to the window and cupped her hands against the pane. In truth, Genie could not see anything, but the cool glass against her head gave her some relief. As she stared into the nothing a bolt of lightning lit up the outside world, making Genie scream.
Turning to Barry, Genie looked ghostly white. Barry tried to askj her if she was okay and ran over to the window to see what had spooked Genie so much, it couldn’t have been just the lightning but when he cupped his hands over the window all he could see was the same brown/gold sludge pulling itself down the window.

Barry continued to stare at the window without turning said, what is it babe? What did you see?”
Barry then turned to see that Genie was no longer in the bedroom. Thinking that she must have gone to the bathroom or kitchen, Barry returned to the window, hoping the lightning would strike again. After a couple of minutes of looking at the same nothingness, Barry went to the bathroom to see if Genie was okay but she wasn’t in the bathroom or the kitchen of the lounge.
It was then that Barry saw the front door was ajar. Barry threw the door open and saw the receding footprints of Genie bare feet disappearing in the hall way sludge.

Glenn Stevens’s photo.

Posted on by admin in Brighton East Sussex, Flash Blogs, Flash fiction, Gothic, Gothic horror, Horror, sci-fi, short, short story, urban gothic, Writing everyday in October Leave a comment

writing everyday in October: Filthy Weather

Filthy Weather
www.eo.ucar.edu

“The ongoing stand off between the waste collection service and the recently elected government has now spread up from the South Coast and as far as Nottingham. The dispute started when the Brighton council increased working hours and cut holiday pay. The situation has been exacerbated by the increasingly hot weather. Many of the local beauty spots have seen a dramatic increase in fly tipping. A local woman said that she no longer allows her children to play in the local parks after her daughter came home holding a used syringe. Councillor Richard T Summers said talks where on going with the union and he hoped this issue will be…”

The television suddenly went dead, Barry turned round to see Genie in her nurses outfit. “Oi, I was watching that!”
Gina rolled her eyes as she dumped her bag on the chair and said, “Oh, hello love hard day at work? Well, yeah it was actually.
Sensing Gina had once again been run ragged, Barry jumped out of his chair and gave Genie a hug, “Sorry hun, you want a cuppa?”
Gina flopped herself down on the sofa, “We got any of that wine left?”
Barry looked out of the window, the mid morning sun was already unbearably hot, then back at Gina, but before he could say anything, Gina spoke up, “Yes I know its mid morning Barry, but after the night shift I’ve had a cup of tea just won’t cut it.”
Knowing better, Barry scurried off into the kitchen and poured out the last of the white wine. As he returned to the lounge he saw Genie sitting in her chair with her eyes shut.
“Busy night then hun?” said Barry as he passed Genie the glass”. With one eye half open Genie took the glass and nodded, “More people coming down with that stomach bug. Why didn’t I choose to be a pole dancer, or a bank clerk, at least then I could just pretend to care”.
Barry flung himself onto the sofa, which nearly caused the wine to go flying, Gina was about to shout, when Barry threw his arm around her gave her a big kiss and said, “You wouldn’t be any good in those jobs, it’s in your nature to look out for others, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Gina wanted to protest, to say she had great legs for a pole dancer but she knew that Barry was right. She had wanted to be a nurse for as long as she could remember. Growing up she was forever bandaging up her toys and on occasions her baby brother.
Gina drained her glass as the sun shifted and poured into the room.
Holding his hand up to his face, Barry squinted, “You’re off tomorrow aren’t you? If its like this we could go on the beach. Find a nice quite spot, away from the crowds”.
When Gina didn’t jump at the chance, Barry added, “I’ll make us a picnic, what do you say?”
Gina snuggled up to Barry and nodded before falling asleep.

*
The next morning Barry was up bright and early, putting together a picnic, by ten o clock Genie and Barry were driving along the seafront.
As they whizzed past the main tourist’s beach and passed the Marina, Gina piped up and said, “Barry! We are not having a picnic at that end of the beach, that’s where they pump out all the sewage.
As he pulled the car into park, Barry said, “Look, it’s nice and quite and at least this end it’s not all pebbles; besides, the sewerage is pumped out miles into the sea, it’s the law.”
Not happy, Gina let out a long sigh as they grabbed their beach gear and made their way down the long stairwell. Once settled on the rare bit of sand Brighton had to offer, Gina had to admit that it was a lovely spot, a great sun trap and best of all their were no tourists!
*
By midday there was not a single cloud in the sky as the sun beat down at its fiercest.
Genie fanned herself with her book and was about to say that if they had gone to the other end of the beach, they could have popped into a bar and had a nice cool drink, when Barry suddenly jumped up, “Come on let’s have a dip, cool off.”
Genie looked over her sunglasses at the sea and shook her head, “The water’s not clean Barry, let’s jump in the car and find a bar, get a nice long cool drink.” Barry wiggled in his trunks and winked, but Gina was having none of it, “No I don’t fancy it, Barry no matter how much you think a wiggle and a grin will help, but if you want to, you go ahead.”
“Chicken” said Barry as he ran to the waters edge, waded in up to his trunks and dive din head first. No sooner had he disappeared under the water then he was up again. Genie couldn’t help but laugh as Barry staggered back up the beach; arms reaching out like a horror film zombie.
He tried to speak but his words were not forthcoming. Eventually he managed to say “Orange, orange” while stabbing his finger towards the cooler bag.
Genie passed him the carton, which Barry gratefully gulped down. Once he got settled back on this towel Barry turned to Genie, “You can’t see it, but there’s something nasty in the water, yuk, I can still taste it.”
“That will be the sh..”
Barry held up his hand, “Don’t even say it.”
Even though he had drank all the liquids from the cool bag, Barry was unable to get rid of the taste from the back of his throat. He then tried his best to lay still but each time he laid flat he started coughing and his eyes were streaming. Gina looked at Barry and said, “Come on, let’s get you home”.
*
That night Genie spent most of the night lying awake in the darkened bedroom listening to Barry in the bathroom throwing up. It had got to that horrible stage where there was nothing left but stomach lining to bring up; Gina pulled her pillow around her ears as she was convinced Barry’s stomach was actually going to make a very unwelcome appearance.

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Writing everyday in October. The Wedding (part 1)

Writing everyday in October.
The Wedding (Part 1)

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The bride was as boring as fuck, I mean honestly, I saw some paint drying that was being bored by her. The thing was though, when I was talking to her, she walked off when I was in mid flow, as if to say I was the fucking boring one!

Wait a minute, I’m getting ahead of myself now, let me start from the beginning, way before this disaster was at the brewing stage. My best mate, Jeff and me go way back. We met on our first day nursery school; I was shitting myself, both literally and metaphorically. After the teacher had got me cleaned up, she shoved me in the corner with Jeff who was playing with a load of toy cars. I Don’t really remember our first meet, but Jeff says he does; Jeff says that at soon as I sat next to him he knew we were going to be best mates, weird I know, but it was true. We did everything together, from school to scouts, collage, university and drugs.
Jeff’s new wife, she don’t do drugs and even now is totally convinced that Jeff is a clean living lad. He did tell her that he used to dabble in a bit of hash and once took an E, but that was all in the past. Is it fuck in the past! His stag night went on for five days. I don’t quite know how we ended up in Amsterdam snorting coke of some prostitutes arse; I mean we started the weekend in one of those weekend retreats in Norfolk. It was his brides idea, she said they had a spa there and that

we could go running in the morning and then have a sauna and stuff in the afternoon.
Thank fuck her dad ended up not joining us…or maybe it would have been better if he had then we could have put a stop to this sham marriage. I mean, it’s not like he had to marry her, she not up the duff or anything like that, she just has this really weird hold over him.
The first time I met her, she took an instant dislike to me which was fine by me as the feeling was mutual. Although Jeff was unaware of our pure dislike of each other, I think he was a little relived that I wasn’t flirting with her like I had in the passed. I could kick myself for sleeping with his last girlfriend, Mandy as she was shit hot, a great laugh and could keep up with our drinking and snorting right from Friday afternoon until she had to get the train to work on Monday morning.
But this one, she was…I was going to say frosty, but she wasn’t even that interesting!

So where was I? Oh yeah, snorting coke of a prostitutes arse, two rolled up notes, each taking a snort of each cheek, fucking ace. I don’t need to go into the details about what we did next, you’re all grown up enough to fill in those details; all you need to know is that we lost two days and had to spend a fortune on getting replacement tickets back. I tell yah, if Many was there we would have got a fucking upgrade. Now don’t go calling me a sexist, I’ve seen her do it, pushing her tits up and talking all breathy, like Marilyn bloody Monroe; works every time. Such a shame Jeff ditched her.
Jeff didn’t look to good on that plane ride home, I kept telling him he would be fine and all he needed was a cheeky snort I’d lined up for him in the toilet. When he got back there was a double J.D’s, two cubes of ice, just as he likes it, waiting for him. AS he sat down he shook his head, but I just gave him a wink, downed my drink. I nodded at Jeff, telling him to get the drink down him but he said he wasn’t feeling so great, so I grabbed it from his tray and necked it for hi. I swear it was from that moment on he started to lose his own sense of self. Even when she was miles away that woman was draining his very essence and I had to put a stop to it.

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Writing everyday in October Part 3, Ronny’s comeuppance!

Writing everyday in October: Hate, Part 3, Ronny’s comeuppance:

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Ronny squatted over the bucket and roared as the fermenting concoction brewed and spewed from both ends: one in the bucket the other in the sink. Ronny’s groans quickly turned to screams as his insides tensed tighter and tighter in their desperate bid to rid themselves of the poisonous prawns Ronny had so greedy gulped all in pointless pursuit of getting revenge on a neighbour he had never met.

Ronny had not anticipated his plan to backfire (quite literally dear reader) with the force of a huge ‘wet shot avalanche’. On and on went the evacuation with such force that Ronny thought he was going to be turned inside out. After what felt like a life time, Ronny’s guts took a breather, allowing Ronny to catch his breath and thank his lucky stars that the worse was over, but unbeknown to Ronny, that first explosion was the first of many more to come. Ronny gingerly lifted himself off the bucket but this just allowed the gas inside him to shift and expand as once again his whole insides contracted and forced what they could through every single orifice. At one point Ronny thought his eyes were going to pop out, such was velocity of his body trying to survivor its poisoners assault.

After an hour of constant extraction, Ronny was left crawling around the floor, covered in array of bodily fluids with every inch of his body racked in pain, and still his innards continued to contract.

Meanwhile, unbeknown to Ronny, after helping transport the soul of Ronny’s last victim, Death had decided to stop in the flat below, knowing that Ronny was next on his list. Unfortunately for Ronny, his attempts at trying to piss his new neighbour off had not gone unnoticed.

Death had tried blocking out the disruption during the hourly news reports, but was constantly distracted by Ronny stomping around in his boots. This, Death had tolerated up to a point, as he knew there would sure to be another death and destruction story within the hour of the previous one. But when Derrick’s dirty tricks had caused Death to lose all concentration during Only Connect’s, missing vowels round, well, Death was not happy. But it was when Ronny had gone all out with his bombardment of noise the next day when Death, guessed wrongly who the murderer was in Miss Marple’s, A Murder is Announced: that for Death was the last straw.

With just Death living below Ronny’s flat and no one above him No one heard Ronny’s please for help as over the next twelve months Ronny slowly began to decompose, feeling every single pin prick of pain, every nibble from the maggots, every drip of blood congealing diamond sharp in his veins.
Ronny begged for death to come, but the one thing you never want to do is piss Death off.
You see, Death was pleased to make Ronny wait as she took a break, slipped on some earphones and worked her way through box set after box set of crime, comedy and horror dramas that she had been wanting to catch up for a very long time.

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