I, oftentimes, have a conflict of mind and motion. In many ways, this current world pandemic crisis has enhanced this, for so many of us. On one hand, it has screamed; it’s time to take stock! Stop! Breathe! On the other, it has created a spiral of fractured thoughts, disconnected and sometimes just altered views of the same things. So many start-stops. Infecting the mind and the overused buzzword ‘wellbeing.’ I hoped to write more complete pieces this year for publishing – more than I have. Instead, I have poetry and paragraphs from different ideas piling up around me. It’s ok, though. Creating something is better than nothing when it comes to any artistic expressive outlet. Right now, here, there’s no rush to finish, no clock ticking at the side of my eye. Though there’s always a clock, a poltergeist sending dread up my spine, keeping me awake while much of my world sleeps around the tick-tock-mind-talking.
For a bit of escapism, I’ve been binge-watching ‘Dark’ – loving the time play in that. Also, currently reading too many things at once as usual, but the stand out is ‘Ready Player One’ by Ernest Cline. A tough book to put down – the OASIS, bleak dystopian reality and 80’s nostalgia is lots of fun to get lost in. The soundtrack this week has heavily featured – Tool, Blood Ceremony, The Blood Divine and Paradise Lost.
Upcoming release from the Devilishly Devine ‘Macabre Ladies’ is their Anthology ‘Drabbles of Dread.’
As listed in my Books page, it is live for Pre-order from Amazon now, for release on the 15th July 2020!
This will be the 4th Anthology from the talented duo – Eleanor Merry and Cassandra Angler, and I’m excited to be a contributing author in 3 of these; Dark Valentine, Dark Solstice and this upcoming Drabbles of Dread. From all accounts this one promises to be the Darkest yet! So, if you enjoy dark micro horror check out this collection (and their back catalogue!)
If you’re a writer and have a dark drabble you’re itching to share with the world, then submissions are still open for a few more days – check out their website or Facebook for details on how to submit!
Concoction V2 is set for release, worldwide, on 17th January 2020!
I am really excited to get this collection of 12 short stories out there. The collection is diverse as each of the three writers take such a different approach to writing a piece. This is a cross-genre collection, which does make it a difficult one to market but I didn’t want to restrict the writers to come at a story to fit a confined space in this case – hence the Concoction Anthologies.
It was never really a thing, certainly not a warm homely one. Definitely not when it was actually needed anyway. Just a cheap bar en-route to whatever institution one happened to be enslaved to at the time. Except on weekends, in those earlier years. The house would swell with the rotten sickening stench of animal fat disgustingly popping, spitting and bursting; angry, sticky and thick choking the atmosphere. It was a foul stench that took physical form and seemed to bind itself to my skin.
I could never srub the deathly remains of that off, a shower was never enough no matter how good the scrubbing brush reddening my skin, I can still feel it now. Murder victims at home in my pores.
Cheerfully they would chomp and grind down over fried slices of a processed baby cadaver. Some of which had been ground down and fused together with many other bits of cadavers. How many kills could be found in just one sausage?
I never got the idea of this breakfast. The weeks reward. Breaking fast with death, clogged up arteries, cancers, and the suffocating pores just for being in the vicinity. No one can say for sure what internal horrors are being born from this ghastly feast. The external ones, although denied, painfully obvious. All consumed with a smile and a misplaced, misrepresented sense of gratitude. I was the one being judged with disgust and distaste over a slice of dry toast and black coffee…
The irony of those who smugly declare, “Live and let live!”
Word prompt for this was ‘Subway,’ in 50 words. Still very much practicing writing such shorts.
Bairns rest in makeshift hammocks between metal tracks, fearful. Grown men and women create desperate distractions amongst the warmth and terror of strangers; bound as war family. Card games played between trembling silence. Disused subway trains; motionless ghost stills in the dark. Buried alive to survive the relentless bombings above.