Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 305

This week's picture prompt is one of my own. And if this looks familiar in some way, it's because it is at Lacock Abbey in Wiltshire (and I'm told by my family that live close by it's pron: lay-cock), where they filmed some of the Harry Potter movies. This room was from the scene about the Mirror of Erised - where Harry speaks to Dumbledore. I thought it would make a nice prompt. 

A Tricky snippet, which I may or may not use. It worked perfectly for where I am at. The last time I wrote a Tricky piece for Mid-Week Flash was Week 302. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here. 

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Suspicions

Tricky waited nervously. She had no idea what was going to happen next and to put it mildly was terrified. No one seemed to know anything about what others might know and whether their knowing influenced another knowing, and if no one knew who knew, then what? A tangled web that Adric had spun, and had his father caught up in, though she knew The Baron could get himself out of it easily enough. Oh how she hated all this.

She paced the empty ancient room, which had once been furnished by the impossibly rich, the overlords of the time before the shift. Just this bare shell showed their opulence: the stonework on the floor, the arches on the walls, even the vaulted ceiling. But now it was just an anti-chamber to a larger system of rooms that made up this mangled palace. No one quite understood how the different building and landmasses had been thrown together, and why ones like these survived and remained intact, while others had fallen and crumbled. No one knew anymore, too much had been lost, they could only shore up what they had and maintain it.

Tricky looked out of the windows, which had glass intact though cracked in places – a luxury that didn’t exist anymore. She watched the river water flowing just a few feet below. How it hadn’t infected this place with its dampness she didn’t know. They had all sorts of tricks to stop it back then and clearly someone still knew how otherwise this room would be covered in mould. She’d seen it in multiple buildings on the outskirts. It depended if people valued a particular building, whether they would save it.

Tricky wanted to sniff at those living here, how they were the new overlords, but she couldn’t quite. They were trying to manage so many different aspects all running simultaneously, while trying to keep people safe, especially from the likes of the network.

Tricky shuddered. She thought the time of political and powerful threats were over for the people. The shift had seen the end of it, but here they were again, worrying what someone might be capable of, or might do just to gain … what? Control over others? Control of a landmass? What did they think it offered them? Did they see the work that went into trying to keep it going and safe? But they didn’t care about working and safe, they only cared about having possessions, about gorging themselves on objects and things that didn’t belong to them. She hated them. She felt the rage and frustration of being caught up in their road of destruction. She wanted no part of it, but they had decided she was the crux of it; they wanted to claim her knowledge and her inherited possessions for their cause. The rancid, corrupt minds of inflated egos and ugly intentions. She wanted to see them dead.

She heard footsteps outside – hard not to on the echoey stone floors that ran through this place – and took a deep breath. Who would be coming through that door, friend or foe? And would she know the difference? 

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 304

This week's picture prompt was created by hungarian born, Sarolta Ban. She doesn't give this a name, but it is located in the alterego category.  It's not the first time I've used one of her images. I used one on Week 28, and Week 24 . She has some exceptional images, worth checking out. 

Took a while but then this story arrived sometimes you have to follow your beliefs. Just say no to caged birds. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here. 

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Delight

I heard the car pull up. We’d been driving for a while, and I had no idea where they were taking me. The box wasn’t very comfortable but it beat the cage. I heard shuffling and a car door open, then the box was jostled as they picked it up. I heard them walk on crunchy ground for a while. Then the box was put on the ground. I heard strange zipping sounds, and then more footsteps until the sound of them faded. I heard a car engine in the distance, then nothing. Silence.

I pushed up on the cardboard above me, not expecting it to give, but it did. I opened the flaps with the tip of my wing, and pushed up, opening them out to their full wingspan. I hadn’t been able to do that in years.

The air was thick with fog, or was that smoke? I couldn’t be sure. I had little recollection of what fresh air smelt like. I stepped out of the box and flexed my wings a few times. I hadn’t flown in at least a decade.

Cage life was torture for anyone with wings, but humans like to have you there to coo at you. They also expected you to be grateful to have been caught in the first place and kept alone, trapped, and living with the indignity of shitting where you eat. Some days they were lazy and let it get really smelly. All I could do when that happened was hide in the corner and cover my face with my wing in shame. I would hear them talk about me as though I was some tiny toy. But mostly I was just an ornament.

They had clearly had enough of me, which is why they had dumped me here. The novelty had finally worn off, and as I hadn’t died in the cage, they were now going to abandon me and force me to fend for myself in a hostile land.

I beat my wings a few times and hopped over to a rock. I needed to get above whatever was causing this fogginess and feel the sun on my body.

I beat them again, expecting to feel tired, but instead I was exhilarated, my energy rising high. And with another hard beat I rose using that energy, climbing higher and higher until the clouds around me began to brighten.

I broke through and got my first glimpse of sunshine and sky in … I no longer knew how long, but since I was a baby. It was magical. I caught a thermal and glided out above the dense cloud, until I came across a gap that showed me the ground.

It was indeed smoke. I could see patches of the ground consumed by flame and others black from where it had passed.

I stayed high, it was easy up here, the warm thermals keeping me buoyant, and not requiring too much wing strength. Then I spotted a flock ahead of me, and made my way towards them. They were white-winged like me.

I joined the tail end of their formation. The wind drag lessened and I felt I had found my place.

I soaked in the view of the sun glistening on the smoky clouds and imagined water, large expanses of it. And somewhere in my mind I knew that was where we were going, and I could see the route. I hoped my wings would hold me up that long.

But soon the light was fading and the formation was descending, fortunately to an unburnt patch of land. I tried for an elegant landing but I stumbled a little. Folding my wings hurt after such a long time expanded but it was a relief too. I joined them pecking at the ground, and followed them towards a small stream. I placed my feet in the water and squawked with delight. They joined in. And then I saw the movement in the water and caught up the little fish in my mouth. I’d never experienced anything so blissful.

Then as the light left the ground, we huddled together, and I spotted the rings on their legs, too. I wasn’t the only one who had found freedom as the world burned.

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 303

This week's picture prompt is a photograph taken by Nathan Dumlao over on Unsplash. I thought it was a very thought provoking capture. 

I had to think hard about how to generate this idea, but I think it worked. I do like me a dark tale.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here. 

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Party

Trisha couldn’t bare looking at the bright yellow smiley-face balloon anymore. It was deflated and shrivelled, just like her. She opened the window of the chauffeur driven car and let it go, watching it rise up into the city streets, before being caught by a rush of air from passing traffic and thrown to the ground.

Maybe a child would find it and get a few moments of joy. She’d bought it for that reason, but now it represented something more sinister.

She hadn’t wanted to go to the party, but Hal had insisted, and he was hard to resist. She knew they enjoyed their hedonistic weekends and revel in their rich white privilege, dragging her along as the token minority, but they were far too debauched and triggered unhealthy events. She didn’t mind a few drinks, but when they started hitting the hard stuff – the pills – it made it a bit more difficult to control. And this time it had gotten out of hand.

Trish was only thankful she had been so out of it she didn’t remember much. She didn’t want to; the few snapshots that kept coming to mind were enough.

Trisha’s phone rang and she glanced at it: Hal. Yeah, he’d want to know how it had happened; he’d want all the gruesome details – and they were indeed gruesome. She wasn’t sure she wanted to put words to those images.

“Hey Hal.”

“Trish, where are you? What happened?”

“I’m back in the city, on my way home.”

“But you just left … you didn’t say a word.”

“Did I need to?”

“Well … yeah! Patrick is freaking out.”

“I knew he would, but it’s not my fault. I told you both it wasn’t a good idea.”

“Not a good idea, and why it wasn’t a good idea are two different things. You should have told us.”

“How, Hal? How exactly would that go?”

“But you’ve partied with us before and it’s never gone down like that! Is it a time-of-the-month thing?”

“You think that’s PMS rage?”

“No, I mean celestial, Trish.”

“It wasn’t full moon, Hal, you know that.”

“So then, what the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know. Could have been the chemical combination, it could have been the people.”

“Well those people won’t be a problem anymore.”

Trish felt sick. “I didn’t plan for this to happen, Hal!”

“I know that Trish.”

“It’s why I got the hell out of there.”

“I gather that.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to tell me what triggered the change, and how exactly it all went down, just so we have all the bases covered.”

Trish thought as much.

“I’m not telling you while I’m in the car – or over the phone for that matter.”

“Then we’ll come over … tonight?”

“Okay. But no drink, no drugs, no pushing me to perform tricks!”

“Oh my god, Trish, we’re not looking for a repeat, we’re looking to get the details so we can get our stories straight. It takes a bit to get this all smoothed over you know.”

“ I know, white privilege and all that.”

“Yeah, and thank god for that! If we weren’t monied rich guys we’d all be in jail after that display.”

“You guys didn’t have to join in.”

“Of course we did ... though I think you still have a lot to teach us.”

Trish could hear him smile, and allowed herself to smile too, the knot in her stomach loosening a little.

“You’d better come over, then, so we can talk about it.”

“Okay good. We’ll see you tonight.”

“Alright. Later.”

Trish hung up, feeling a little less like the balloon she’d set free. An image of that balloon dancing around the ceiling as the three of them had let rip came to mind. If it had deflated too soon, it would have been incinerated like rest of the bloodied contents of that room. She thought about how she was going to explain turning to them, but suspected they might alright know.

Trish sat up a little in the car thinking about what she was going to say. It was going to be an interesting night. It had been a long time since she’d talked about it to anyone.

Review: Rollie: A fictionalised biography by Michael Wombat

Rollie: A fictionalised biography by Michael Wombat
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

What an incredible read. I was quietly weeping and sniffling towards the end.

Michael Wombat has taken the remnants of someone's short time on this earth, a box full of letters, a diary and some photos and certificates, and brought it to life. Filling in some blanks with a few fictional pieces of dialogue and events. It brought alive the world of what young airforce pilots in the second world world experienced while training.

Michael Wombat spent years reading and researching other accounts from people who went through the same training during that time and knew all about the organisations, and the terminology and used it to fill in the pencil drawing of Rollie's life. I was gained a sense of who this young man was, and how he interacted with friends and family. And it was extremely touching, and I'm really glad I read it.

Even if, like me, you aren't particularly into war stories or accounts, this book gives you a glimpse into someone's life and explains all the nuances and terminology from that time. I definitely recommend it. Well done Michael Wombat for enabling us to remember Rollie and all those like him.


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Review: The Foot & Ankle Pain Bible & The Head, Neck & Shoulder Pain Bible, by Chris Kidawski

The Foot & Ankle Pain Bible: A Self-Care Guide to Eliminating the Source of Your Foot Pain by Christopher J. Kidawski
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Wish I'd found this sooner!

I used to suffer planters fasciitis, but after 18 months of pain, I found an exercise on YouTube that I did three times a day that resolved it in two months, but since then I have developed foot tendonitis, but after reading this book - in two hours which is unheard of for me - I know what exactly is causing it - and how to resolve it. I am beyond excited.

This is not a long book, but it explains everything clearly AND there are pictures and diagrams to show you how to do the exercises the author, Chris Kidawski talks about. It is all muscular. I can't wait to get stuck in. I am simply waiting on some mobility tools to help me (massage balls).

So many people think that pain meds, immobilising the painful part of the body or icing it will help - it doesn't. They think yoga or pilates or a bit of stretching is all you need. It's not. You have to work out what your body is doing, and look further than the site of pain. I had pain in my arm and fingers when I slipped a disc in my neck and trapped a nerve. It paralysed a whole back muscle, but that was not the site of the injury it was the discs in the neck.

And Chris is right, when he says: "With our want-it-now society, very few people are willing to do what it takes to reverse their diseases and ailments in a more natural, permanent way."

Chris Kidawski has a degree in Kinseology, is a movement, and fascia expert and strength trainer. He knows how to put in all the information you need and get straight to the point. Most helpful book I've read in ages. I have just bought his book on shoulder and neck pain!



View all my reviews The Head, Neck & Shoulder Pain Bible: A Self-Care Guide To Eliminating Upper Body Pain by Christopher J. Kidawski
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Another excellent book from Christopher Kidawski.

It's full of clear instructions and explanations. As someone who slipped two discs in my neck, due to muscle tension this is definitely something for me, and I'm already using it. It does involve buying the recommended tools, and also confidence to try this out yourself. Although I did email Chris for help and he responded immediately with guidance videos.

I also have had a lot of physio help for more than a decade and used many exercises, so am confident I won't damage myself because I know what pain is damage pain, and which is releasing muscle - I've had physios release muscles before, it's initially sore, but in the long term really helpful.

There are pictures of how to go about treating yourself, and diagrams of the muscles structures.

I would definitely recommend.

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Interview with Lisa Shambrook about Kill The Goblins

Ginger Nuts of Horror: Horror of Humanity feature: Why Horror by Miranda Kate Boers

 

A couple of years ago, in 2020, I wrote a feature article for Ginger Nuts of Horror, a horror review and discussion website, and for some strange reason I didn't share it on my blog. And now, as the hosting site for Ginger Nuts had problems, they had to move their website, and my article is no longer readily available - at this point I haven't been able to find it in the archives. So I decided to republish the article here on my blog. 

It was part of a feature they were running about horror and mental health, and as I have now published my first self-help book, I am often asked why I'm a horror writer and this article covers that.

What drew me to horror, first as a reader and then as a writer.

I still remember being out on the sports fields at school and classmates surreptitiously passing around a worn paperback urging me to look at a certain page number. To this day I still remember the line: ‘putting his member into her like stuffing dough into a purse’ – or something along those lines. It’s from The Dark by James Herbert if I remember correctly, and there was something repugnant yet compelling about it that made me want to read more, so I did, I read lots more – especially of Herbert’s books. And not just for dark, crudely described sex scenes, but for the dark sinister feel and the brutality of the horror – a brutality which had overlapped into my life since I was born, being a child of domestic violence and having been on the receiving end both verbally and physically as a teenager.

I moved on from James Herbert, lapping up the likes of Guy N Smith and his books Deathbell and Satan’s Snowdrop, and then I discovered Stephen King – Firestarter being my first. I became one of his Constant Readers. And then Clive Barker came to my attention, and he encapsulated both horror and a surreal fantasy that was so extreme it was difficult to explain to people who have never read his work. I could only describe it as being so far beyond fantasy it was ‘the fantastic’; his use of crude, harsh, blunt words giving it a harder edge than a lot of books in the same genre, placing it in darker realms. But I loved it and consumed as much of it as I could find, and for me personally it was the ultimate in escapism, feeding the fantasies I used to disassociate from my real world.

I also reached a point that I was so used to reading this type of horror that it was hard for me to gauge how dark it was: I remember recommending Weaveworld to a friend, only thinking about the fantasy side, and they struggled with it. I did the same with Fear Nothing by Dean Koontz, when suggesting it to my book club.

It’s led me to ponder many times why I was so unaffected by it where others weren’t, and I knew it was reflective of my childhood. I had witnessed and experienced such real, tangible horrors that fictional tales like these didn’t affect me negatively, in fact they helped me escape and see that it was possible that things could be worse. I could relate to the fear and the suspense of uncertainty in a much more visceral way, whereas happy-go-lucky chick-lit or romance novels, where people’s struggles were minor in comparison, just didn’t cut it for me.  

Despite their darkness, many horror books have a baseline of good triumphs over evil – and I needed to know that, I needed to believe it could get better and that there were people out there that got away or recovered.

The fallout of experiencing the kind of abuse and trauma I did as a child is that it has repercussions as you grow up and try and hold down relationships and jobs. I suffer from Complex PTSD, which shows up in lots of forms from anxiety and depression to suicidal ideation, and is caused by prolonged and repetitive abuse over many years. It also means I would disconnect from life around me and live in a fantasy in my mind, a form of dissociative behaviour that has caused me to struggle a lot, and which is what led to me moving from reading to writing my own horror.

I started with flash fiction, which enabled me to express emotions – emotions that I hadn’t been allowed as a child – through characters and situations. I could express their hurt and I could express their anger, I could explore what was going on. It was a release, and in sharing them I was also able to open a dialogue about them – a much needed dialogue.

The opening to my debut novel in September 2019 was written in 1991 as a mere snippet for a competition to win a copy of James Herbert’s Portent, but I knew then I wanted it to be bigger, that I wanted to express to the world what would drive a woman to murder, how that was possible, how a person’s mind can be broken. But I wasn’t ready at that time to write it and I knew that. I needed to unravel myself and gain some life experience, and after years in therapy I was able to finally write about that character’s break from reality and her recovery – all be it in prison. I wanted the audience to feel sympathy for her, to understand her, and realise that life is not black and white, it’s a whole world of grey and that mental health is a fragile thing and if people aren’t paying attention things can go array.

As a reader I want to be able to relate, to engage to connect in a way I struggle to in real life, and for me that connection has to be with characters and storylines that aren’t straight forward or ‘normal’, that are off kilter and warped in some way, because that is how I feel in myself. They add depth and give me a sense of belonging, and as someone who has suffered a whole half century on this planet without one that is paramount. I might go and visit other genres to read and write, but horror will always be my true home.