Only Speaking for the Dead

Morgue

“No.”
He’d said the word of denial so much in the past two days, it had lost meaning. Yet he’d forgotten what other words sounded like. He’d didn’t want to speak again as to speak was to imply that everything was right with the world, that something as normal as conversation could occur.
“Please, this is important to our inquiry.”
His hands shook on the metal table. It was ice cold, his fingers numbing as he clenched down. He nodded and the sheet was removed. He didn’t want to look and yet his eyes were not his to control anymore. He looked over her, so small and vulnerable where she was laid.
Words did not want to come to him again. Breathing seemed too wrong to do now where she couldn’t.
He nodded again.
“Sir, for the tape please.”
“Yes,” he heard someone say (it had to be him didn’t it?) “that’s my daughter…she’s dead.”

Advertisements

Should I Finish My Book before Finding Out What’s Wrong with It

editing (1)

This is the current cover of my book because help is what I need

I have been working on my book for four years and I know it’s not ready yet…

So I printed it.

Am I mad? Yes. My reasonings behind this was because the printed book that has just arrived in my house is 505 pages long and isn’t even half of it. I have spoken about this before and while I believe a book should be as long as a book should need to be I do think there is something fundamental that I’m missing.

My dad is a writer. Has been since before I was born and might be the reason I decided to even give it a go (runs in the blood). He’s the unfortunate soul my book has been thrusted upon and hopefully the one person who can actually help me.
However, I regret giving him a half finished book. Even then I know there are things within the finished half that I’m going to change. Perhaps I should have finished it. But something tells me I’ll never finish.

I guess I’ll find out in time if it was worth it!

Truth is What We Make it

Court

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

“I swear.”

I mean what would happen if I didn’t. Come on, seriously, who doesn’t swear, whether they are telling the truth or not.

“Where were you on the night in question?”

“I was at home…alone.”

I was standing over a dead man’s body in the middle of some dimly lit street.

“And can anyone testify to that?”

“Only God as my witness.”

He gave up on me a long time ago.

“Did you know the victim?”

“No, never met him.”

Well at least that is true.

“And so, you do not know of any reason why you would attack this man?”

“No sir.”

Simple, I wanted to know what it would feel like.

Family Curse

Plague

Jack died first. He was three and the youngest of the four siblings. Of course, they’d mourned, no one, not even the doctors knew what had happened. It was horrible, of course and so painful.

Then Sam had died. He was the oldest, twenty and a rugby player. How could he have fallen so ill, his skin turning blue within hours, sweat steaming from his forehead?

It’s a terrible thing, to feel so helpless as a parent, to lose two children. But they still cooked dinner with them, helped their two remaining children with their homework and kissed them goodnight. But in the night while staring into the darkness they knew, deep down, their suffering wasn’t over.

When Tom caught a fever, they knew what was to come. They held their breath because the doctors had said again and again, it was just a coincidence. He couldn’t die. They’d taken him to the hospital, the best doctors with round the clock care if anything went wrong

They buried their third son the following week.

Ben seemed to know what was coming, he was the last one left and even if he was only eight he cried and sobbed all day and night. Three torturous days past. But Ben was wrong.

His father died first. They had both been stressed and traumatised with the ordeal, he had been allowed to feel under the weather. So, his wife had woken, hugging a cold and stiff body.

When Ben finally fell ill, they didn’t call the doctors, instead his mother had curled around him in her bed and the two stayed together, defeated by this curse until Ben went limp in her arms. She realised she no longer had tears to cry for her last child, putting him in the bed as she grew numb. The end would come for her soon as well. She took comfort in that.

But after a week she realised, her own curse was to live.

The Most Adorable Stray

cat

It was the most adorable stray. It had been scratched across its back, so its fur was patchy and matted. Its fur was a dirty shade of brown, almost yellow and was a skinny thing.

Tibbles, she christened him.

“Here Tibbles,” she said squeaking softly. The cat hissed and took a swipe at her from under the car.

“Woah!” she shuffled backwards nearly falling over.

She was crouched on someone else’s drive where Tibbles had hidden away. She smirked knowing what was about to happen.

“Okay, I’ll go.” She got up, making a show of walking away as if the cat could see.

“Meow, meow, meow,” came the pathetic cry from behind her.

Everyday they went through this, with Tibbles running behind until Sarah tried to pick him up he’d hiss and run away.

“Ah and our time is up,” she called out as she reached her house. Tibbles hopped onto her fence, streaming through the posts.

“Mew!” He became whinier whenever she left. However today when she opened her front door Tibbles cried again and tried to follow her through.

“No, no!” her actions were instant and without thought as she pushed the cat back outside.

He meowed pitifully as the door was shut on him.

She felt awful. Tibbles was quaint and needed someone to feed him. And he had chosen her. And in a cat’s world that was the biggest compliment. The feeling grew worse as the heavens opened up and rained streamed down her windows.

He was the most adorable stray.

Her mind made up, the next day, she armed herself with a net and a packet of ham.

“Here Tibbles-Tibbles. Here Tibbles-Tibbles,” she called up and down the road.

Nothing.

She walked once down the street and then up, but Tibbles was nowhere to be seen. Down trodden, she returned home.

Through her front windows she could see all the way through to her kitchen. Where, on the dining table, Tibbles sat as if saying, ‘what took you so long?’

He was the most adorable pet.