Prison of Hope Chapter 1

MrBinks:

Lovely stuff from a fellow Eurogamer.

Originally posted on Steve McHugh:

To gear up for the forthcoming release of Prison of Hope, I posted the Prologue a few weeks ago. If you haven’t read it yet, you can find it HERE.

I now present to you, Chapter 1 of Prison of Hope. Enjoy.

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C H A P T E R 1

France. Now.

My mistake came in the form of saying “yes”—a simple, but powerful word that along with its brother, “no,” can do a lot of good or a lot of damage. Once that first word had left my lips, I was duty bound to follow through. I could have come up with an excuse to get out of it—hell, I could have shot myself and said someone was trying to kill me. Should have, would have, could have. Instead, I convinced myself it wouldn’t be bad, that it might even be fun. I was wrong. It was hell…

View original 3,037 more words

Mushrooms

Gaston was a terrible gardener and equally appalling cook. The latter of these annoyed him the most. With a name like Gaston he felt sure that his lot in life was becoming a head chef in a French bistro or some swanky London hotel.

He had all the tools. Expensive japanese knives, copper-bottomed pots and pans, specialist slicers for bananas, garlic, carrots and eggs. He even started his own allotment to encourage creativity and healthy eating. Alas, it was to no avail. After 5 full seasons all he had managed to grow was impatient, a ginger beard and five mushrooms.

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Catch up with the rest of the Friday Fiction stories over at Rochelle’s blog. 1 photo. 100 words. Endless possibilities.

erin-leary

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Walkies

I used to love it when he took me for walks. The longer the better.
We’d often end up off the beaten track; looking for exciting, unexplored areas behind the city. A quiet escape from the usual bustle of everyday life.

It was tiring. She was always quite demanding but the older she got the more those demands irked. Scratching at the door to be walked, or for food, or to see her friends. The incontinence was bad enough, but one day she turned and bit me.

Last Sunday, I strolled behind as I took her for one last walk.

c2a9dawn_landau

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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers, and to all those that read and comment. I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve come up with this week.

Friday Fictioneers. Your favourite Friday flash fiction… every Wednesday.

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50 Shades of Ken

Some more writing for FAWM15. Draft musings that I thought I’d publish.

50 Shades of Ken

He cuts a figure
the shape of “O”
All hulked and hunched up
He’s feeling low.

She will not touch him.
He knows not why.
Been reaching for her
but she’s out tonight.

Shrugs off the covers
picks up a pen
torn scraps of paper
become a gem.

She wants attention
it cannot be.
The words are flowing
and he’s out to sea.

His phone is buzzing
His eyes aglow
New friends and faces.
Starts saying “no.”

She sits in waiting
For him to call
All slight and smoking
Staring at the wall.

He carries himself now
there’s no more need
All proud and puffed up
Alone but freed.

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Someday

Marvellous musician and all round good guy Greg Lines is once again taking part in February Album Writing Month. A fun challenge to aspiring songsmiths everywhere to complete an album within the month of February.

As has become (almost) tradition, I’ve thrown words at Greg to see if any of them stick. These ones did, and you can hear the results, er, here.

Enjoy.

Original lyrics

Chance encounter on a speeding train
A smile reflected
and I mispronounced your name.

We took a chance along uncharted lines
Speeding headlong
No time to read the signs.

It used to be One Day,
Now it’s Someday.

Days rushed passed in a haze of lust
Catching a breath
taking stock of them and us.

It used to be One Day,
Now it’s Someday.

Taking every moment to slow down time
We consumed the days
like bottles of wine

We used to believe, we would live forever
Now you say “goodbye”
instead of “see you later.”

It used to be One Day,
Now it’s Someday.
It used to be One Day,
Now it’s Someday.

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