Jun 18

writers-island-badge.jpgCan you feel the horror?  This is the first of the  Writer’s Island posts that I have been promising for a while.  It’s a potential start to something. Tell me if you think it’s worth pursuing.

***

Good morning.  Can you hear me at the back?  Excellent.

There were many hateful acts perpetrated at the beginning of the 21st Century, but it wasn’t until the Opening Night of the 2012 Olympic Games in London that the world understood the true horror that the Age of Terror could bring.

The weapon used was like nothing that had been seen before.  It appeared above Tower Bridge and floated in the air for a moment getting brighter and brighter.  Colours flashed out in every direction and crowds gathered assuming it was part of the celebrations, which had been going on all day.  It wasn’t until it crashed through the centre of the bridge that people started to panic and back away.  As the mighty towers crumbled, the ball of light shot into the water and turned the normally muddy waters of the Thames into the purest mountain spring.  The water leapt into the air and rained down on everyone.  The crowds tried to escape the water but it touched everyone and then dissipated on the air.  There was a brief moment of complete silence as everyone tried to figure out what had just happened.  Tower Bridge lay demolished in the water, the dust settling, as the water of the river settled on the millions.

Just an hour later the body count started.  It was indiscriminate.  Some blamed the motorway system because that was where everyone was dying; on the way out of London…  Then some who had not been in London that first night and left got through unscathed.  The disease was apparently diminishing the body’s ability to process air.  The Prime Minister left the city to go to a ‘more secure location’ and died when his helicopter plummeted to the ground.  The Queen and most of the royal family had also been in the capital for the Olympic Games celebrations and again, as soon as they hit the edge of, what was later referred, to as the bubble.  

So, doctors and other support workers flooded to London to try and help but as they reached the capital they felt the effects of asphyxiation and drowned where they stood.   There was the traditional level of national panic and all travel in and out of the capital halted.  The dying stopped.

The death toll of the first week was a massive 2.6 million.  

Panic gripped the entire world as everything stopped to watch the terrifying images of destruction in London.  Riots and looting, suicide and murderous rampages.  The very worst of society laid out for all to see.  The piles of bodies that no one had the time to deal with.  Volunteers recreating scenes from horror movies and black and white film as they pile them in lime lined pits.  Names going onto a database as the bodies were searched for identification.  Reporters inside London reporting from secret locations hiding from the mayhem; reporters outside in tears as they recognise a neighbour, a celebrity, someone they saw on the underground.  

Hospitals were overcrowded with the injuries of panic but no one appeared to be suffering from the strange asphyxiation disease.  Scientists began to theorise that whatever it was had burnt itself out and recommended that the exclusion zone around London be lifted.

People in London started to go about their daily business, trying to keep the stiff upper lip, ‘we will never be defeated’ attitude, but as soon as they tried to leave, they suffocated and died.  

There was no escaping whatever it was that had decided to keep them in

The scientists did test after test but could find no chemical or biological agents in the air.  There was nothing to say that anything had changed except for the ring of death that seemed to encircle London.

Slowly as it seeped into the public consciousness, that London was now truly only safe for the people who were there now some decisions were made.  No barriers were put up, as no one had gotten sick from coming into contact with the bodies of those who had tried to leave.  It wasn’t a contagion in the people; it was just the area.  No one was outlawed from leaving or entering London (although it was seen as the quickest way to commit suicide, so the area around London became a place of death).  Spiritualists said that the air was thick with negative energy, and their counterparts inside the city were reporting the opposite – that now the initial fear had died down the energy inside was very positive.

The centre of power moved to Manchester and they communicated with the MPs still left in the capital.  The rest of the population turned their backs on what had happened to the Londoners, and all the known lines of communication dried up.  Lights were still seen glowing from the centre of the city and the bells of the churches could be heard ringing clear across the otherwise silent cityscape.

We built this centre of learning on the bubble’s edge to help people understand what happened and how we can move forward in our understanding.  If you follow me onto the balcony I will take you to the edge.  You will see it clearly marked.  We are in time to see the daily test of the air.  You will see a box being placed at the edge, inside is a young rabbit which will be let out to immediately cross the edge.  Yes, it is a little cruel but there are no other ways of seeing if the bubble is still toxic.

As you know this was the last time this particular test was seen at the centre. The rabbit, codenamed FreedomBunny, was the first living creature to survive crossing the edge.  All witnesses to the event were found at the site, seemingly killed with the effects of the bubble.  The same day, the Trusmann Organisation bought the apparently useless land rights with the intention of returning the city to it’s former glory.

He did not realise it at the time, but he had some sit in tenants…

 

written by bec \\ tags: ,

Jun 10

I was feeling all kinds of ranty and pissy today - not because of anything that happened - it was a perfectly acceptable day - full of good talk and friends and you know the usual. I was just so tired and riding a headache fading in and out (Ooo, side note that 4head pain relief stick thing is a bloody marvel and I may never take another pill for a headache again… Hey 4head guys? Cheques in the post right?) and unable to grab… the er… the ermm… you know, thing that makes the day stick together.

I had a whole plan of going to bed as soon as I got in but, well, I had no ideas for this post so I knew that was going to take some time; and I was hungry.

But tiredness… and then I saw an envelope. with handwriting on it. A letter. A hand written letter. And after I read it I was smiling and I felt really truly… something or another. I don’t know. I have to start writing more, I mean with a pen. The physical act of writing is so therapeutic - it always has been.

And the really great thing about it no one can read my handwriting (well, hardly anyone) unless I try to keep it neat, and where’s the fun in that?! My drunk spider scrawl on speed is like the best encryption in the world. When they come up with the code based version of it the world’s banking systems are safe… and as long as they give me credit and credit for the source then happy as Larry am I.

I just hope some ideas come out of it. Another cool thing about pens - they never run out of power.

written by bec \\ tags: , ,

May 28

Today was an absolutely pathetic day for me. I went to the doctor’s and have had my blood pressure medication doubled. W have to wait and see what this will do to my ‘mood’ before anything else can be added into the mix. So I am going to have to try and raise my mood some other way. I have been recommended Dong Quai and am giving it a go - it’s all worth a try! Am just going to accept the early morning blues and just take it as further proof that I really am not a morning person.

writers-island-badge.jpg Anyway - this is the Writer’s Island post I have been blathering on about for a while. It’s a once a week flexing of the writing muscles triggered by a prompt. This week’s is The Return .

***

“We are experiencing technical difficulties. Mainline Trains is sorry for this inconvenience and thanks you for your patience.”

The forced cheery recorded voice did nothing to raise anyone’s spirits and the groans and mutterings only served to increase the air of desperation and despair in the carriage. The train manager rushed through - not looking panicked, but walking in such a way to convey an air of importance and urgency that no one confronted him this time. This felt like more than just leaves on the line or a shorted fuse.

Not that it mattered how long the journey took, it was getting there that counted. Two more stops. Two more planned stops before reaching the beginning and end. If only she could get the butterflies in her stomach under control. It was ridiculous feeling this way. Nothing was going to happen. She would get to the station, have a coffee, wait for her train back and leave. It was just as well she liked trains. Two changes, three hours and spending time with a lot of impatient strangers for a complete waste of time. There was no way she was going to achieve her objective.

If the train ever starts up again she would get off at the next stop and have a wander around. See somewhere she had never seen before - a bit of an adventure of cheer herself up and help forget this foolishness. As soon as the idea settled in her head she felt an immeasurable sadness overtake her. A sense of lesson not learnt bubbled in the void she had never filled because it didn’t exist to anyone but her.

She thought about what had started this as she sipped the Jack and Coke she had nostalgically bought earlier. It was starting to go warm which didn’t help stem the overwhelming flood of memories fueled by the list of reminders of sweet pain and drama. The letter that had fallen out of an old book, a photograph found, an old song on the radio, a man wearing his coat and then the damn news reports showing the same video over and over and over, Every item and repeat a body blow until she could barely stand.

She had tried writing it out but the words wouldn’t come, her old trick of singing it out but her voice was cracked and emotionless. She tried drinking but the alcohol just opened new holes in her head that apparently could not be closed again. Therapy had been tried many years before but she hadn’t been ready then and she still didn’t feel ready now. She was too tired to deal with all this in anyway but this. A grand and unforgettable act that would hopefully fly past the world’s nose unnoticed.

Fly past the world… Fly past the world… Fly past the world… And try not to think about the way things always end up. Ended up. Things will be different from now on, luck will change. Just so long as the train got to the station where she had spent so many of her happiest moments. Where she left her happiest moments.

It was ridiculous to think that by returning to the place where her dreams died she would find them again - like they would be floating in the ether waiting to pop back in and live again. She smiled as she remembered every nightmare of the last few years and how they would end with her full of light and warmth.

She just had to hold on a little longer and get there.

written by bec \\ tags: , ,

May 24

So, the great and wonderful BBC decided to take my weekly special time with David Tennant away to show the Eurovision Song Contest (Russia won, UK came joint last - that’s what we get for entering someone who can’t even win The X Factor) so I was facing a night in slowly drowning in my own boredom.

Then I thought about what I was going to do last night (but my leg hurt so I didn’t go) - cinema. Couldn’t decide what I wanted to see so did a little tinkling with the times on the Odeon website and figured I could see two.

I really wanted to see Indiana Jones (I know reviews all over the shop say ‘hopeless’ but I’m a sucker for Spielberg) and got there just in time. Getting to see a good trailer beforehand really helps me with the buzziness. And the one today was for The Dark Knight which I now cannot wait for.

Turns out that was the most exciting thing I was going to see in that screen.

I mean, yes, there was all the elements that made the old ones great. The humour and the chases and the excitement and the rest of it were all there and they were the same as before. And that was the problem. It was all the same as before. This film would have been a winner if it had been released in the 80s - reviews would have been jumping about extolling the wonders of the Lucas/Spielberg team. And they would have been right. For then. But now, we, the great cinema going public want and demand a little more.

And that’s exactly what I got with the next film I saw - Iron Man.

Holy God, that was a good film. I knew it was going to be full of action and heavy bass lines and adrenaline but I never expected it to be funny. And I laughed and felt good and… I have no idea how close to the original it was and I don’t really care - it was a damn good experience. I am very glad I saw it. And Robert Downey Jr? Oh how I have always loved him in things and oh how I love him in this.

So much I will probably see it again during the week.

OH I FORGOT.

The many deaths part of the title - all the people I killed because they rustled, talked, moved, coughed and slurped during the film, trailers and adverts.

written by bec \\ tags: , , ,

Apr 19

This post is random in the style of Penelope over at It’s Me… Penelope

First up a huge Happy Birthday to aka_monty over at The Daily Bitch , she is ‘celebrating’ turning 40 (the age I can’t wait to get to) so please hop over there and wish her all the best!

Okay, so I would like to apologise for yesterday’s immensely sucky post. I have reached new levels of crap with that and, yes, I feel really bad about it. I have quite a few excuses but no real reasons for it.

I picked up the pills that I forgot to blog about. The mean doctor prescribed me Provera. Being a serial Googler though I’ve just seen that you should avoid taking them if you have High Blood Pressure and a history of Depression. Further proof that he didn’t read my notes… Knobhead. But I’m seeing nice GP on Wednesday where I shall question the credentials of Meanie.

Have decided when I move into my own place I am going to buy a cello and learn to play it. There are ones on Ebay for about £150. Yo-Yo Ma makes it look so easy!

I have been doing more singing recently - building up lung capacity as much as possible. Made me think about the Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert when I embarrassed myself quite badly. Not being one to shy away from that kind of thing though I am proposing a summer version where we could do a kind of end of school concert? Any thoughts?

My wireless is bouncing up and down like a yo-yo (ma - oh I crack myself up) - what I wouldn’t do for a stable connection! Was really annoying especially as I was having a really entertaining IM conversation!

Offering a choice of post tomorrow - truth or fiction? Yes, it’s a GBBMC08 post so lots of sex eitherway…. or something truthful but embellished? Gotta make Sunday exciting somehow!

written by bec \\ tags: , ,

Apr 13

There wasn’t much else to talk about. The decision had been made a long time ago, although neither of them knew it. GBBMC08 Logo

The television was on playing re-runs of a show that she had loved for years, and under normal circumstances she would be shushing the room to watch; but today she was barely staring at the screen, her eyes full of tears that had no purpose. She leaned up and switched the main light off, she wanted to be in the comfort of the dark, the flickering screen her only focus.

The last of her house mates left for the evening - each of them at a loss on how to deal with her shifting moods, and unreasonable dreams. The realisation that she was alone sent a shiver through her; the fear that anything could happen and it would only happen to her. A shared experience with only herself and the moonlight. The moonlight that was shining in through the window that was not covered in any way. She felt exposed to the world and the paranoia that had always been with her crept through her skin making every nerve ending tense. She could feel the unseen eyes on her, and closed hers unless they could see inside her soul.

She had to shut the curtains, block out the world, stop anyone from seeing her disgrace.

Sliding onto the carpet in a fluid movement she stopped to pull down the nightdress she was wearing, as she had refused to get dressed, not seeing much point. Her dressing gown providing warmth as she crawled, keeping to the edge of the room so that her progress would remain unmonitored by anyone standing outside. Banging her head on a chair leg that shouldn’t have been there she let out a quiet curse.

"Fuck"

and then started to laugh to herself before clasping her hand over her mouth and swallowing her mirth. The window was over her head now and she sat with her back to the wall and reached up to pull the first curtain across slowly. It slid over effortlessly, and she shifted slightly to pull the other one across. This one jammed and refused to move. She would have to stand and risk giving the eyes something to report on. Holding her breath, she counted to three and stood quickly, grabbling the curtain and yanking it across to complete the barrier between her and the world.

She let out her breath quickly and listened to her heart pounding, and then noticed that she could only hear her heart. The TV had gone off and the orange world outside had turned into black.

Finding the candles in the cupboard took more time than necessary and she arranged them on the candle holders that had been arranged artfully but never filled during a distraction attempt. She felt round for the jam jar which should have held matches or a lighter and found it empty. The kitchen also came up short and she knew she would have to go out to the corner shop to get matches, or batteries for the dead torch she found in the cupboard next to the spot where he had last sat.

Her eyes started to adjust to the dark and she could see her long coat and shoes by the chair she had thrown them the last time she had left the house. How long ago was that? Four days? Five? She caught the lump in her throat as she remembered him walking out of the door promising to be be back soon… and then the realisation that he wasn’t going to fulfil it. She knew her ocat would be long enough to cover her nightdress not that she really cared what she looked like, or what anyone else thought

She put her coat on and inhaled; It still smelled like him. The had held each other so close when she went to find him only last night. When she embarrassed herself by waiting on the platform for his train to pull in, just to spend a minute with him; one minute that turned into 30 as he held her and she cried.

She wanted more. She knew it was over but she had to have just one more minute. A second. Just once.

Shoes, keys, purse, phone.

She threw open the door and stopped. He was there. By the gate. He couldn’t have been. This was ridiculous. But there he was. The sound her phone made as it hit the floor broke the moment and he walked forwards. She stepped back against the door as he picked up the phone and looked up.

She dared not breathe in case it stopped the hallucination. He stood up so slowly it almost seemed untrue and then closed the door behind him. The click of the lock held a confirmation but what of? He turned and handed her phone to her.

"I brought round some candles in case you needed them."

"Ah, candles I’ve got. I was on my way out to get matches."

"I wouldn’t go out there - it’s not safe…"

She put the phone down on a table behind her, not breaking eye contact. She missed and the phone clattered to the floor again. They both smiled at a forgotten memory and the world stopped.

The kiss was sudden and deep. Frantic movements full of hunger, longing, animal. Her jacket hit the floor at the same time his did. She pulled at his shirt and he threw it off as she unbuttoned his jeans. He pushed up the nightdress and broke the kiss long enough to pull it over her head. He gasped as he realised she was naked and pulled her to him, trying to make them become one person. She continued to set him free of his clothing and he stepped out of his jeans and shorts. The whirlpool of emotion that surrounded them tightened and her breasts heaved as she gasped a lungful of air. There movements slowed as he lowered her onto the sofa and entered her with a force that only passion could be behind. She arched into him bit her lip as he thrust into her, not in any way expertly or thoughtfully, but unrefined, needfully, desired. He came inside her and collapsed against her breathlessly. She held his head against her, feeling his breath on her neck and smiled.

He was saying something but she couldn’t hear. Her heart was pounding so loud it threatened to explode from her chest.

He moved above her, looking into her eyes and uttered again the request to take it upstairs.

Tomorrow would bring panic and morality; embarrassment and explanations, but right now in the dark it was the way it always should have been.

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written by bec \\ tags: , ,