Tag: short story

The Slacker

AJ.Dixon6 Comments

I wrote this story today on my lunch break. It’s partially inspired by my lack of activity over the last fortnight, for which I feel guilty about. I’d gotten into a satisfying writing routine which made me happy and I will strive to get back on track with it. Unfortunately because I am a hideous slacker there will be no Fiction Fursday story until next week, sorry! Until then, I hope you all enjoy this little tale of a bloke who has a MUCH better excuse for his lack of productivity!

Here’s to getting back on track!

 

The Slacker

By Adam Dixon

John pushed open the door to his office with a shaking hand. His palm left a sooty smear on the white paint and his once-sensible shoes trailed mud and grime across the blue carpet. Pulling out his wheeled chair John sat down heavily and released a pent-up sigh of weariness. He slouched comfortably, content to close his eyes and steal a few moments of peace. He wrinkled his nose as the stale freshness of the room began to flee before his breath-taking stench. He reeked of sweat and ash and blood. Another sigh followed his first, this one of resignation.

It had been a week since he had last sat at his desk. Only a week, John thought in disbelief. What had begun as a perfectly ordinary, mechanical, boring week had spiralled into long, nightmarish days filled with fear, desperation and the struggle for survival. Heroes, too, John thought. He supposed that he could count himself among the men and women who deserved that title. He’d certainly earned it. He opened his eyes and glanced down at the thing in his hand. It was a long tooth, blackened and twisted with a razor-sharp point at the end. It was smooth to the touch despite its obvious age and John grimaced as he thought of the blood it had spilled recently. He could hardly believe that he, John the humble accountant, had proven to be one of the saviours of the world, but the tooth was conclusive evidence. Perhaps it was something to show his future grandchildren now that there would actually be a future to look forward to. John smiled for the first time that week and placed the grisly object on top of his desktop screen. With another sigh John booted up his computer.

The PC whirred quickly into life and beeped at him merrily. For once John found the noise comforting; it was as if nothing whatsoever had changed in the world. Scanning his build-up of unread emails John suppressed a groan and rolled his eyes. He’d received several over the last few days from his most demanding client, a man who had managed to remain short-sighted and irritating even whilst the world was coming to an end. Never mind the fact that John had been pressed into the fight to save both of their lives as well as those of everyone else on the planet, the client demanded a quick response to his tax issues. There were a few choice words flung at John in some of them, the basic gist of them all insisting that John was some kind of over-paid slacker in a tie. That’s not true, John frowned, and I lost my tie four days ago!

John ran filthy hand through his filthier hair and took off his blood-flecked glasses. Ignoring the painful protestation of his wounded leg he stood up and turned off his computer. Nodding curtly John limped towards the bathroom. After all he had been through that week, he figured that he had earned a break. A hot shower with lavender soap and a deep sleep in an actual bed at least. The client could afford to wait this time. John carefully wriggled out of his ruined shoes and dug his aching toes luxuriously into the soft carpet. Oh yes, the client could most certainly wait!

Fiction Fursday/Pride and Seagulls

AJ.Dixon15 Comments

Time for my weekly story once again, and this time the prompt comes from the brilliant Viki Allerston. Viki has been following me via email and has been very encouraging towards my story writing. A few weeks ago Viki suggested that because I currently live in Sussex I could write a story about the great annual celebration which is Brighton Pride. She also suggested that I include the American Express Stadium, the home of Brighton and Hove Albion Football Club and the stomping ground for many a proud Brightonian. I thought this was a wonderful idea and have crafted a fun tale from the idea. Viki also suggested a few other Brighton landmarks, but I will use those for another story. Thanks, Viki!

Oh, and as you may have noticed, I have included my own Brighton motif…the mighty seagull! I hope you all enjoy my story.

P.S. If any of you would like to suggest a story for me to write in the coming weeks, please feel free to let me know by leaving a comment. I’ll give anything a go!

P.P.S. Just a quick note to say that I won’t be posting a story next Thursday as I will be getting a sexy tan/burning to a crisp in Cyprus. I’ll still read your wonderful blogs though!

Pride and Seagulls

By Adam Dixon

“I’ve always wondered why that worship that one,” said Waark the seagull, wiggling his scruffy feathers. “I mean, what’s so special about him anyway?”

“You sure it’s a he?” Kai-Kai replied as he dug his beak into his wing. “I’ve always thought it was a female.” He shuffled to adjust his balance as a gust of wind nudged him sideways.

“Nahh, can’t be!” Waark scoffed, but he still cocked his head for a better look. From their vantage point on the roof of the American Express Community Stadium the two gulls had a very good view of the whole building. They were scrutinising the gigantic image of a seagull in flight which decorated one of the walls facing the freshly-cut pitch, the same gull which was depicted onto several rows of plastic seating. They stared at the image in silence for several minutes.

“No, it’s definitely a male!” Waark said triumphantly. Kai-Kai flapped his wings in annoyance.

“I’m tellin’ you, it’s a female!” he said. “Not a very good likeness, I’ll admit, but it’s definitely a female.”

“Well, whatever it is, it hasn’t done anything to deserve the attention it gets,” Waark replied. “The humans worship the blooming thing! They even have its image on their clothes! They come here in their thousands to pay respect to it, and why?”

“They think she blesses their ball game,” Kai-Kai suggested. “Makes sense to me. They must think she’s some Game Goddess or somethin’.”

“Perhaps…foolish humans!” Waark cawed with amusement, shaking his head and hopping from foot to foot. His stomach growled again; it must have been almost twenty minutes since he last ate.

“Why are we still here? There’s a mass gathering towards the ocean today which we need to take advantage of!” Waark said. Kai-Kai looked at him eagerly.

“Mass gathering? Brilliant!” He screeched in delight. “I love it when loads of ‘em come out! Grub for everyone!” The two gulls took to the skies, gliding towards Brighton.

***

“Sweet Doughnuts, there’re a lot of ‘em today!” squawked Kai-Kai a couple of hours later, dodging around a car decorated with multi-coloured flags.

“You’re not wrong!” Waark agreed, scanning the packed seafront for his next morsel. He rode a light breeze and perched on a railing overlooking the seafront. The beach at Brighton was heaving, crammed full of humans who were whooping with delight and charging to and fro in excitement. The streets were just as crowded, with brightly-coloured garments and flags being waved with wild abandon. The usual smells of the seafront were present such as the greasy waft of fish and chips, the salt in the air and the varied scents of dozens of human bodies, but today they were greatly magnified.  Voices were raised in cries of happiness, surprise and pleasant intoxication; the humans were having a wonderful day.

“It’s that time of year again,” Waark said, his beady eyes following a group of cheering men who were dressed only in golden tights. “The Day of the Colours, my old mum used to call it. The humans make a great fuss out of it and flock here from miles and miles away. I think it’s something to do with the males of their species.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Kai-Kai said, watching two elderly men tottering along the beach holding hands and smiling. “Not sure what they’re celebratin’ but it looks like they’re havin’ a blindin’ day!”

“So are we though!” Waark giggled, shaking his feathers and belching. “I’ve lost count of how many chips I’ve managed to snatch! I even got some of that sticky pink stuff from a child on the pier! Oh, but it is divine! Come to mention it, I think there’s still some stuck on my leg…”

“Yeah, it’s been a bloody good day for it!” Kai-Kai said. “I’m stuffed! Although, I could always fit in something sweet…” Without warning Kai-Kai leapt into the air and swooped towards a group of teenagers. The group, three males and two females, all shrieked and ran for cover, dropping the bag they were sharing onto the pebbles. Kai-Kai screeched in triumph and began shredding the paper with his sharp beak. His delicious prize was revealed: five and a half sugar-coated doughnuts, still warm from the oven. Kai-Kai wasted no time and neither did his fellows. Within seconds a flock of gulls had descended, jostling and fighting one another for the contents of the bag. The noise of the competing gulls was terrific, and Waark watched it with great amusement. Less than a minute had passed before the sugary treats had been devoured with not a trace to be found on the beach. The flock dissipated slowly, with Kai-Kai flapping up to sit with Waark once again.

“Ahhh that worked like a charm!” He laughed, his beak coated in a fine layer of sugar. “Shame those others turned up when they did, they must’ve been watchin’ me!”

“Never mind, you got some,” Waark was distracted, turning to watch the bustling town once again. A procession of large vehicles passed by, each one boasting feathers, banners, streamers and flags of vividly bright colours and filled with ecstatically waving humans. Music was blaring from speakers mounted on several of the vehicles, with their scantily-clad passengers dancing and gyrating with glee. The crowd gathered on either side of the road shared the joy of the passengers, returning their waves, blowing kisses and shouting their support. Males were embracing other males in their dozens, pressing their faces together lovingly and caressing each other’s hands and cheeks. It was a curious environment permeated with deep feelings of happiness and acceptance.

“I wonder about this day, you know,” Waark said thoughtfully. “I don’t understand what they are yelling about or what this all means, but it seems like a happy occasion. What do you think?” Kai-Kai raised his wings in the seagull-version of a shrug.

“I dunno,” he said. “Don’t care that much, to be honest. As long as they bring the grub I’m up for any crazy human ritual!” Waark shook his head.

“I had figured as much,” he said, half-amused and half-disappointed. “I’m inclined to agree with the sentiment, but I love the vibes the humans are giving off today. It would almost be enough to experience it without any food on offer.” Waark and Kai-Kai exchanged a glance in silence before bursting out into squawks of laughter.

“I said almost!” Waark said, flapping his wings and chuckling. “Come on then, my greedy friend! I spy a loosely-held bagel! First one to it gets it for himself!” The two birds took to the skies, their cries echoing those of a hundred nearby gulls on the beach. As they pursued their feast, the people of Brighton continued to dance and drink and frolic and celebrate their day. Once again Pride in Brighton was a triumph for everyone.

 

Fiction Fursday/Flossy’s Chance

AJ.Dixon17 Comments

It’s Thursday again and time for another short story. This week my prompt comes from the Ben Kenobi to my Luke Skywalker of short stories, Geoff Le Pard. By the way, did you lot know that he’s published his Nano stories in a collection? Well then, now you do and you can visit the Amazon page and take a look! Go on, they’re very good!

Geoff’s suggestion is an interesting one. He challenged me to write a story in the 2nd person involving a rescue dog. Now, I don’t believe I’ve ever written a story in the 2nd person before so I’ve taken on the challenge with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. I hope it turned out okay! Thanks again, Geoff!

P.S. If any of you lovely people would like to challenge me to write a story one week, please feel free to leave a comment and let me steal your ideas!

Flossy’s Chance

By Adam Dixon

Do you remember when they first brought you home? The word hadn’t prompted feelings of security or solace before, only thoughts of misery and pain. The big place with the cages hadn’t been much better as you had missed your old master terribly despite all he had done. You liked the new humans a lot, in fact you believed that you loved them, but you weren’t sure about “going home” again. Your fears were allayed almost immediately as soon as you stepped into their house, your three legs quivering. It was much, much bigger than the last one you lived in and it smelled better too. It smelled cleaner, more inviting, with barely a hint of alcohol anywhere. It smelled of happiness and comfort, without the pervasive taint of anger and bitterness. The two little boys even gave you a new name to signify your new life: Chance. It was a good name and you loved it.

Do you remember when you saw Flossy for the first time? You were quite a shock to her as well! The old black cat was extremely put-out by your arrival, viewing you as an invader to her home of peace and pampering. You were frightened of her to begin with, but then again you were frightened of everything back then. Flossy resorted to passive-aggression anyway: she would hiss at you if you approached her food bowl and she would demurely ignore you whenever you sniffed her but she would never touch you. You grew confident and happy with that thought in mind and began to truly enjoy your new home. The young boys would take you out for your daily walks, laughing merrily as you hobbled along to keep up. You would cower whenever another dog drew near, whimpering as they tried to greet you. You even ran from adoring strangers who wanted to stroke you and call you a good boy. You were so frightened of everything, but you knew that you were safe with your new family nearby.

Then, the incident happened. You remember it well, although I’m sure that you wish you didn’t. You had been playing with the boys and had retreated out into the garden as they chased you. Barking with delight, you had stumbled into the grassy paradise eager for more. The boy’s mother had called them back, however, so you were left to amuse yourself. You knew that you shouldn’t have gone anywhere near the wall, but curiosity got the better of you. You approached the low wooden structure and after sniffing about you scented your neighbour. Too late. With a bark more akin to a roar, the gigantic hound from next door leaped over the fence and stood in front of you, his eyes alight with fire. You were so frightened! You had heard the nightly declarations of the great beast for months, listening to him boast about his strength and cunning and of how he could tear any of the local dogs apart. Staring up at his bared fangs you believed it completely. The big dog mocked you with his laughing growl and approached with deliberate menace. You whimpered and begged, crouching as low as possible because fleeing was futile. Your almost-forgotten memories of the beatings and the cruelty came flooding back and you almost died of fear then and there.

The last thing you expected was for Flossy to get involved. You were dimly aware of the sound of the cat-flap bursting open and before you knew it a black streak of fur sailed over your head and struck the big dog. The dog yelped and leaped backwards, bleeding from deep scratches on his face. Flossy stood between you and the beast, her hackles raised and her tail erect like a sword, spitting and hissing furiously. The big dog was shaken by the sudden interference and stared down at the old cat in disbelief. Flossy screeched and charged, her claws extended. The big dog yelped like a new-born pup and scrambled back over the wall in a panic. Flossy nimbly jumped on top on the wall and hurled more abuse at the hound as he raced away. You were saved!

From that day on, Flossy rarely left your side. It’s strange, isn’t it? The way Flossy saw herself as your protector after months of dislike? Clearly it had all been an act and you had never been happier to realise it. Your new-found guardian angel stalked a few feet behind you whenever you hobbled into the garden and could be spotted watching you play in the park with the children, calmly licking her fur but keeping a wary eye on everything. Feeling her watchful green eyes on you at all times made you feel as if you were wearing armour. Nobody and nothing could touch you when Flossy was around!

Sadly though, Flossy was an old cat…her death hit you hard, didn’t it? You knew that she hadn’t been well for a long time and tried to stop her from following you when her legs were aching. Flossy ignored you and followed you anyway. She was a stubborn old thing, wasn’t she! She never shirked one day from her duties as your protector, did she? It was heart-breaking for you when she passed during the night and your piteous howls of pain awoke the family to share in your grief. It was a dark day when Flossy the Super-Cat wasn’t watching you anymore…

You’re still going to lie there, then? Ever since she was buried under her favourite apple tree you’ve spent hours lying there in the evenings. Do you mean to watch over her as she once did for you? If so, you’re a very sweet dog. Flossy would be happy knowing that you still cared. But it is getting dark now, so perhaps you had better come inside. There’s a good boy.

Fiction Fursday/The Boy and the Oak Tree

AJ.Dixon25 Comments

Hello, everyone! It’s Thursday again, and time for another story! This week’s offering was prompted by a fellow blogger and fiction writer, Sarah. Sarah suggested that I write a story about a ghost who is haunted by a human who won’t leave them alone. Well, I thought that was a bloody brilliant idea and so I went for it. Thank you, Sarah!

Here’s what I was able to come up with. I hope you enjoy it.

P.S. If any of you lovely readers out there would like to suggest a story for me to write on another Thursday, please tell me so by leaving a comment. Thanks!

The Boy and the Oak Tree

By Adam Dixon

“Heaven preserve me, not again!” Catherine groaned as she saw the boy approaching. She’d had it up to her undead neck of his gawking but she could not dissuade him from returning night after night. She considered vanishing from sight or disappearing into the gnarled oak nearby but dismissed the thought. The cursed lad would only hang around anyway! So instead she was forced to wait until he had crested the grassy hill and strode eagerly towards her. He looked like a hound loping towards his master. Idiot boy.

“So, here you are again, boy,” Catherine sighed, resting her hands on her hips.

“Course I am, Cathy!” the youth squeaked, his pimpled face lighting up. He was roughly eleven or twelve years old, rather small and bespectacled. “I told you I’d be back, didn’t I? I don’t like to think of you being stuck here by yourself.”

“I have managed perfectly well for over a century, thank you very much!” Catherine snapped.

“Yeah, but now you don’t have to!” the youth said. He brushed aside lock of lank, greasy hair as it strayed across his eyes and winked at his pale companion. “I’ve got your back, Cathy!”

“Will you stop calling me Cathy!” Catherine shouted, her neat hair springing loose from beneath her bonnet. “Really, young man, you are far too familiar! A woman of my station should be addressed as “my Lady”, never by her Christian name, or by any ludicrous shortening of it! If you must insist on invading my solitude then you must learn to address me correctly!”

“As you wish, my lady!” the lad chuckled and bowed low, sweeping his right arm around in a flourrish. He glanced up from his stoop, frowning at Catherine.

“By the way, Cathy,” he asked. “What’s your station, anyway?” Catherine raised her eyes to the sky and wondered what she had done to deserve such a tiresome companion.

“In life I was the Lady Catherine Seymour of Somerset, boy,” she replied, standing straight and regaining her poise. “I did not suffer fools then and I do not intend to begin doing so now! Consider yourself warned!”

“Sure thing, Cathy!” the lad winked again and sat down on the grass. Catherine longed for the dawn and wondered if all modern children were as irritating as this one. She grumbled to herself and stalked over to the other side of the oak, wishing that the boy would leave her alone.

 

A few years passed and the boy continued to return. Catherine’s annoyance had lessened somewhat but she still found strong words to say to him.

“Young man, why in God’s name are you wearing that awful shirt?” she demanded, her stern face darkened by a frown. The boy glanced down at his t-shirt. He had grown a few inches taller and had the feeble beginnings of a moustache growing above his lip.

“It’s just a band shirt, Cathy,” he replied, scratching at his bony elbow.

“It has the image of a lunatic displayed on it!” Catherine protested.

“Oh yeah, they’re called Iron Maiden, and that bloke’s their mascot. They’re awesome! I’ll bring my iPhone next time and play you some of their music!” The lad was grinning with excitement.

“Hmph!” Catherine said, grimacing. “Keep your ridiculous fashions to yourself, please!” Catherine folded her arms and sat down beside the oak. The lad sighed and settled on the hill next to her. After a few moments of silence and picking at blades of grass he spoke again.

“Cathy, I’ve been reading up about ghosts,” he said. “And it’s got me thinking. I reckon you’re a lost spirit, held here because of unfinished business during your life.”

“Fascinating.” Catherine replied, rolling her eyes. The moon was full that night and she enjoyed the way her ethereal form seemed to absorb its lunar glow. She almost felt beautiful..

“I was thinking that if we can find out what yours is, we can help you move on. You know, to the afterlife!” The lad’s eyes shone behind his spectacles. “You could finally rest, Cathy!”

Catherine tutted and glared at the lad.

“Do you think that a few books will reveal the mysteries of the afterlife to you?” she said. “I am bound here because of the life I led and the manner of my death, nothing more. God has not seen fit to allow me into Heaven and this is a reality I must accept. Clearly, you have been guided towards me as part of my punishment!”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Cathy!” the lad looked hurt. “Come on, there must be something we can work with? Maybe your death! How did you die, anyway?”

“I took my own life on 8th June 1867.” She turned her head, her ghostly eyes meeting the lad’s shocked ones.

They did not say anything for the rest of that evening.

 

“Hi, Cathy,” the lad said, although in truth he was no longer a lad. He had grown tall and his body had filled out leaving him looking healthy and strong. His pimpled face had smoothed and his cheeks boasted the stubble of a man. He looked rather fetching, although Catherine would never tell him that.

“Hello again,” she said, scratching her nose with pale fingers. “It has been a month since your previous visit. I was beginning to believe that I had finally gotten rid of you.”

“Ha! Never that easily!” the man chuckled. He became serious and stepped closer to Catherine. “Listen, I’ve been reading more on unfinished business,” the lad’s voice had taken on a bass rumble which reminded Catherine of father. She found the faded memories it evoked unsettling.

“Have you, indeed?” She asked, inspecting a translucent nail.

“Yeah, I have,” the man replied. “I think it’s time you moved on, Cathy. All the books I’ve read tell me that you need to move on soon or you’ll lose what’s left of your mind. You’ll end up like a wraith. Now, I’ve spoken to a local reverend who can talk to spirits as well and I think he can-“

“No!” Catherine said, quivering with sudden rage. “I refuse to be examined by any priest! It is bad enough that you are still visiting me! No, I forbid it!” The man sighed.

“Alright, alright,” he said as he shrugged his shoulders. “No priests. But I’d still like to help you, Cathy. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do since I found you here.”

“Your concern is neither desired nor appreciated!” Catherine lied. She had warmed to the man over the years despite her better judgement. She found his drive to help her to be sweet, if rather annoying at times. If only she had received that level of dedication from her family…

“You’ve still got such a way with words, Cathy,” the man laughed and shook his head. Catherine turned her back on the man, hiding a smile as it crept across her face.

 

“I think it’s time, Cathy,” the old man said. Catherine had watched the man shamble up and over the crest, feeling pity overwhelm her excitement. By then she openly looked forward to his visits, although she couldn’t remember when that had occurred. She found a sense of solace in his company which she had lacked during the century she had stood alone.

“What do you mean, young man?” she asked. She still insisted on calling him “young man” despite his physical seniority over her, her trump card being that she had existed for almost two centuries and him not quite one.

“I’m dying, Cathy,” the man wheezed, mopping at his sweating brow with a tissue. He looked terrible: his eyes were sunken in purple pits and the pallor of his skin was akin to Catherine’s. Catherine gasped, moving towards him.

“What? But…you can’t!” she spluttered. “You can’t die! I…how will you visit me?”

“I won’t, that’s the real kick in teeth,” the old man replied, a wry smile tugging at his lips. He closed his eyes and grimaced, a hand over his heart. Catherine reached out to touch his hand. Her arm passed through his body without resistance and in that moment she became aware of the weak fluttering of his pulse. It was like a fly struggling against the paper which held it stuck.

“Ooooh, don’t do that, Cathy!” the man laughed, pausing to cough. “I’m cold enough in this bloody gown!” The hospital gown was already grass-stained and it rustled gently in the wind. Catherine withdrew her arm, desperate for something to say.

“I…but…you can’t…” Catherine had never felt so terrified. She had become familiar with her solitude in the previous century, but the time before she knew the boy seemed aeons ago. She was afraid to go back to those long lonely nights. Horribly, mind-numbingly afraid.

“It’ll be alright, Cathy,” the old man said. He lay down and ran a skeletal finger across his white moustache.

“But why…are you here?” Catherine managed to ask. “You’re sick…surely you ought to be with a doctor, or at least a family member or a friend?” The old man smiled weakly.

“I was, but I managed to give them the slip,” he chuckled briefly before a series of racking coughs stopped him. Catherine’s heart wrenched with every one, her eyes widening in alarm as spots of blood flew from the man’s lips and decorated his gown. He finally stopped and rested his head again, panting.

“I…had to see you…again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flickered towards Catherine. “One last…visit.”

“But what shall I do without you?” Catherine wailed, feeling wretched and helpless. “You brought light to my existence when all I could see was darkness! My family and friends never cared a whit for me, not like you do!” She cast her head about to and fro, as if her denial could prevent the inevitable. “I never even asked you your name!” She cried, half in disbelief. Had she really never asked him that?! The man smiled again and spoke, his voice barely audible over the sound of the blowing wind. Catherine leaned in close, afraid that the jealous breeze would snatch away the man’s words.

“Can still…help…unfinished…business…” the man’s eyes closed and his final breath stumbled from his throat as a rasping sigh. Catherine stared down at the body of her only friend, aghast and dumbstruck. She felt the unbearable weight of loneliness crashing down on her ghostly form, twisting her heart into painful knots which could not be untied. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears which would have flooded her face if she still had the capacity to weep.

“Damn you, boy!” she croaked, her throat constricted with emotion. “You have abandoned me…just like everyone else!”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Cathy!” A voice squeaked behind her. Catherine whirled and stood facing the spectral apparition of a young boy. Her boy! There he stood, looking as scrawny and puppy-like as the day they had met, with the familiar huge grin on his face. He scratched at his elbow and laughed as Catherine stood agape.

“What? How…?” Catherine stammered. She looked behind her to confirm that the body of the old man was still there. It was, and it lay peacefully under the oak tree.

“Unfinished business, Cathy,” the boy replied, winking at her. “All those years you sneered at the idea and here I am!” Catherine stared at him.

“But…what business have you left unfinished?” She asked, her mind a mess of confusion. The boy stepped towards her and touched her hand. Catherine gasped as she felt his cold fingers encircle hers.

“You, Cathy,” he said. “I still need to help you move on, remember?” Catherine trembled with emotion, startled by the first feeling of contact she had had in so many years.

“I figured out what’s been holding you back, too,” the boy said, taking Catherine’s other hand. Catherine looked deep into his eyes, marvelling at how beautiful they were now that they glowed with pale light.

“You never found anyone who cared about you enough,” he said. He moved a half-step closer and slid his arms around Catherine’s waist. He embraced her fondly, resting his head on her chest. “Well, now you have” he whispered, as if to a lover. Catherine’s eyes opened wide. The bubbling cauldron of emotion within her spilled over and she threw her arms around the boy, trembling.

“Oh, it is you!” She said. “After all this time waiting and it has been you all along!” She wanted to say more but could not find the words. Instead she held the boy tightly, not daring to let go. They stood for a several glorious minutes, clinging to one another like reunited sweethearts. Finally, the boy looked up at Catherine.

“It’s time,” he said with a smile. He took her hand and begun to lead her away from the oak. Catherine was afraid again, feeling the first beginnings of panic flare in her breast as she glanced back at her death tree. It had been a solid, stalwart reminder of her past for countless days and she felt uneasy about leaving it. But one look back at the boy’s eager face banished all of her doubts. The boy released her hand and made an exaggerated bow.

“After you, my lady!” he said. Catherine laughed long and loud, the joyous sound echoing into the night. She moved confidently towards the moonlit field beyond, taking the boy’s hand once again. In an instant they had disappeared together, their ephemeral bodies vanishing like smoke before a breeze. The wind blew through the now empty field, and even the old oak tree seemed to sigh. Catherine Seymour had moved on at last.

 

Paintings of the Past

AJ.Dixon21 Comments

This is a story I wrote a couple of weeks ago for the lovely Esther Newton’s Guest Post. She kindly provided the prompt for me and this one was a joy to write. It seemed to flow from my mind to and on to the page more so than some of my more recent efforts. So thank you, Esther!

 

 Paintings of the Past 

By Adam Dixon

Joe opened his eyes and looked around the room; where the hell was he? He was standing in a long hallway with white walls, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. He blinked a few times to make sure that he was awake. He was, and with a clear head and calm stomach too, which dispelled his second idea that he must be drunk. He turned his head and stared down the corridor. It was a very long one and he could barely make out the end of it from where he was standing. All he could see was a crimson carpet running along the floor like an elongated blood stain and what appeared to be a series of paintings or photographs hanging on both walls. He glanced behind and saw only another blank wall blocking his path. He scratched his head in confusion and tried to figure out what had happened.

“JOSEPH PEEL, PLEASE MOVE ALONG. THE GATEKEEPER AWAITS,” a clear voice boomed from above. Joe almost jumped out of his skin and cast about to and fro, seeking the cause of the noise. He saw nothing but the walls and carpet. After calming down a bit Joe concluded with a degree of satisfaction that he must, in fact, be dreaming after all and that by approaching this Gatekeeper the dream would reach its conclusion. He would then wake up in his over-priced but stylish flat in Brighton and wonder at the significance of it for a moment before getting on with his day. Maybe it would even feature in some of his writing in the future. Regaining his dignity, Joe took a deep breath and began to stride down the hallway.

The objects mounted on the walls were all paintings. Joe knew little about art but he appreciated the realism of each one. They all boasted a central image of a man or woman staring off into the distance surrounded by a snapshot of their lives. One showed a tall, bearded white man wearing blood-spattered armour standing amidst several fallen soldiers, the cross of Saint George proudly displayed on a flag behind him. Another depicted a white woman on a wooden stage, gesturing wildly as an audience gazed at her with rapt attention. Another saw an Asian woman wearing colourful clothing watching a fierce battle with horror and sadness. Joe noticed that the paintings appeared to be displayed in chronological order in terms of their historical period. He rather enjoyed the grotesque painting of what surely must have been a victim of the infamous Vlad the Impaler in Russia. The suffering of the naked, bleeding man was exquisitely and disgustingly detailed. The painting of a primitive black woman protecting her children from a white man with a rifle was as inspiring as it was horrific. After half an hour of walking and not paying complete attention, Joe walked into a solid wooden desk and stubbed his toe.

“Ahh, bugger it!” he yelled, bending over to grasp the injured digit and hopping about in fury.

“Oh dear, that is most unfortunate!” a woman’s voice tutted sympathetically. Joe ceased hopping and looked up. He had reached the end of the hallway. A small, plump woman with a kindly face was seated behind the offending desk, her soft brown eyes gazing at Joe with concern.

“Are you alright, Joseph? I really ought to have said something, but I saw how engaged you were with the Artwork! Oh dear, silly old fool that I am!” The woman was about sixty, with curly silver hair and wearing a practical woollen cardigan over a simple green dress. Her voice was friendly, if a little bit high-pitched, and Joe found himself liking her instantly despite his situation.

“Erm, that’s alright,” he replied, unsure what to say. “So…are you this Gatekeeper, then?”

“I am indeed, Joseph!” The woman clapped her meaty fingers together in delight and beamed at him. “I am your Gatekeeper and I must say that it is a pleasure to see you again!”

“Erm…right,” Joe gingerly set his foot down and stood up straight. “So, what happens now? Are we going to have a tea party or something until I wake up?”

“I don’t follow you, Joseph,” the Gatekeeper frowned. “There won’t be a tea party, although I could have prepared one if I knew that’s what you would have wanted. You won’t be waking up either, I’m afraid. Well, not like this, anyway.”

“Oh…kay…” Joe scratched his head again. He looked behind the woman. There were two doors set against the sterile white walls, both just as plain and unassuming. The way out, perhaps?

“I wouldn’t approach the doors just yet, dear,” the Gatekeeper said, reading his intention. “Not before I tell you about them first. I always forget that you won’t remember the last time!”

“What last time? How do you know me? You’re just my imagination, a figment of my subconscious!” Joe was becoming annoyed. “I know I shouldn’t’ve eaten that bloody stilton! Look, just say what you need to say and let me wake up. I’m a busy man, I haven’t got time for this!”

“The dead have an eternity in this Waiting Room, Joseph Peel,” the Gatekeeper said solemnly.

“The dead? What the hell are you talking about?”

“You are dead, Joseph,” the Gatekeeper said with regret in her voice. “You died on Wednesday 3rd of May 2016 A.D. You are currently approved for Resurrection in 2030.” Joe stood dumbfounded, staring. After a moment he began to chuckle, running his hand across his face.

“That’s not bad, actually!” he said, grinning. “Although I’d have thought that my subconscious would’ve come up with something a bit more exciting. Maybe that’s why my first books haven’t sold! Haha!”

“Joseph, I am not jesting,” the Gatekeeper leaned across the desk and looked intently up at him. “You died at four thirty-two A.M after your lit cigarette dropped from your fingers and onto a pile of discarded writing paper. Your flat went up in flames a few minutes later. Your severe inebriation prevented you from waking up in time to save yourself.” Joe stood still again.

“You…you must be joking,” Joe stammered. “I can’t be…dead…I was only-“

“Thirty-seven years old,” the Gatekeeper interrupted, glancing at a sheaf of note papers in her hand. “You were unmarried, living in Brighton, England and you were working as a freelance writer. I know all about your life, Joseph. This life and all of your previous lives, too. Did you enjoy the charming paintings of them? There are quite a few now!”

“Previous lives…” Joe’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Are you trying to tell me that I’ve lived as those men in the paintings that I’ve just walked past?”

“No, Joseph, that’s not what I am saying,” the Gatekeeper said with a frown. “I am trying to tell you that you have been ALL of them, both the men and the women. Every single painting you wandered past before reaching me is a depiction of the person you once were, during a single stage of Resurrection.”

“Resurrection…”

“Yes, Resurrection, Joseph,” the Gatekeeper sighed. “It really is unfortunate that you don’t remember all of this when you come through here. It’s rather tedious having to explain it all over again! Simply put, Joseph, your soul has lived forty-seven lives throughout its existence and it is my duty every time you die to guide you onto your next Rebirth. Understand?”

“I…” Joe was lost for words. He scratched his head, a look of defeat creeping across his face. “I’m…dead….but…it’s not fair! I was finally getting somewhere with my life! My book sales were picking up and I’d started dating again! Why now?”

“Life is rarely fair, my dear,” the Gatekeeper said sadly, cocking her head to one side. “After doing this job for a few millennia you’d see that, too. You’ve had much worse luck in previous lives, if that makes you feel any better? You were wrongly accused of murder in Texas in 1843, for example; you were hunted down and lynched by the townsfolk! It’s shocking that they would even do such a thing to a woman back then…”

“No, it doesn’t make me feel any bloody better!” Joe cried, slamming his fist down on the desk. The Gatekeeper jumped, her curls bouncing and her pearl necklace jostling around her throat.

“Come now, Joseph! There was no need for that!” she said, adjusting herself crossly.

“Like I give a toss!” Joe retorted. He began to pace before the desk, stomping his feet deliberately.

“Why now? What’s the point?” he said, half to himself. “Why let me die in 2016 if I’m not due for Rebirth or whatever until 2030? Surely I could’ve lived until then!”

“Then you would have come here slightly older but no less annoyed for it,” the Gatekeeper replied, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back in her chair. “Now, Joseph, you must make a decision. You have two choices: to spend an eternity in this hallway with nothing but these walls and paintings for company, or accept what has been planned and be Reborn once again. To do so you need only open the door on the left. I know which one I would choose, given the opportunity.”

“What about the other door?” Joe rounded on the Gatekeeper. “What if I choose the door on the right?”

“That door…” the Gatekeeper’s tone and expression was grave, “is where Death awaits. If you walk through that door, Death will embrace you and He will reap your immortal soul. Your death that time will be final; no more Rebirths, no more lives to lead. It will be the End.” Joe shivered, hugging himself against the chill which passed through him.

“Do…do many people choose that door?” he whispered. The Gatekeeper shrugged.

“Some,” she admitted. “But not many. Most find the very idea too awful to contemplate.” Her expression revealed what she thought of that option. “You do not have to make your decision right away, but if you delay for too long then I will assume that you do not wish to be Reborn and I shall leave you here. By all means take a few moments to think it over. I shall wait.”

Joe’s mind whirled with emotion as he tried to make sense of everything he had learned. He raised a hand to his eyes and wandered back down the hallway aimlessly. He thought about his life, or the one he remembered at least, and longed to return to it. He felt crushed by the weight of his misfortune. Life really had been improving! Sure, he’d never have become the next Stephen King, but he was all set to make a halfway-decent living from his writing.

“A bloody house fire! How could I have been so stupid?” Joe groaned, recalling the countless instances when he had glanced up at his broken fire alarm and reminded himself to get it fixed. Maybe it was natural selection at work…

Joe opened his eyes and saw that he was standing in front of a ghastly scene. The painting before him showed a man lying on the back of a wooden cart with a dozen other corpses, all emaciated and riddled with disease. A village was burning in the distance, with a line of identical carts moving out from its gates. Joe was repulsed by the scene and suddenly grateful that he couldn’t recall this particular fate.

“Okay, I’ve made my decision.” Joe said, looking at the Gatekeeper with a pained expression. The Gatekeeper nodded and looked at him expectantly.

Joe straightened and took a deep breath. He stepped past the desk and with a trembling hand he opened the door on the left.

 

Fiction Fursday/The Animals’ Advice

AJ.Dixon10 Comments

Today’s Fiction Fursday story was prompted by my wonderful blogger friend, Kate. Kate gave me a flurry of excellent prompts during my A-Z Challenge in April, so I knew that she’d suggest something brilliant for my new weekly project! Her suggestion was for me to write a story where a bloke who is down on his luck sneaks into a zoo and tells the animals about his problems. I loved the idea from the start and was excited to get writing! Here is what I was able to come up with. I hope you enjoy it.

Also, if any of your would like to suggest a prompt for me for my Ficiton Fursday posts, feel free to do so in the comments. It could be a single word, a first/final line or even a theme. Use your imagination and to kick-start mine!

The Animals’ Advice

By Adam Dixon

“She just wouldn’t listen to reason,” Bob sighed, taking a slow swig from his beer can. “She wouldn’t listen, then she left me…just walked out the door…haven’t seen her in four weeks now…” Bob lowered his head as a tear forced its way through his closed eyes. “Oh, Xena, what am I going to do?” Bob looked pleadingly at the sleek lioness in her enclosure. She sat as still as a statue, watching him with amber eyes and flicking her tail to and fro as he spoke.

“You come here at this hour, disturbing my rest, in order to spout this drivel?” she replied. The noise came from within Bob’s head rather than issuing from her mouth and her voice was cold and calculated. Bob fidgeted on his perch on the wall above her.

“Erm, yes…” he replied, feeling sheepish. “I was hoping you might have some advice for me. You know how to deal with your mate and his pride so I figured that you might have an insight I could use.”

“I care less about your trivial relationship problems than I do about tasting your warm flesh, human,” Xena growled, licking her lips. Bob shuffled further away, for once grateful for the iron bars ringing the enclosure.

“It is merely an instinct, human, take no offence,” Xena said with a lazy swish of her tail. “Nothing personal, although I must insist that you take your problems elsewhere. I require sleep or else I shall be cantankerous in the morning; the cubs will not enjoy that. Good evening to you.” With a regal bowing of her head, the lioness turned and gracefully walked away. Bob sat watching her, marvelling at the strong muscles and beautiful fur whilst at the same time feeling quite put-out.

“Yeah, whatever then, princess,” he muttered as he shuffled further into the zoo. He gulped at his beer as he wandered, enjoying the cool breeze and shade offered at night. He had been working there during the sweltering heat of the daytime, guiding packs of sweating tourists around to gawk at the basking animals, making him grateful for the drop in temperature. Gravel crunched under his boots as Bob approached another cage, this one filled with trees and wooden climbing frames. He sat on a wooden bench next to it, cracking open another beer.

“Hello? Anyone home?” he called. There was a rustling of movement within the trees and a dark human-like face ringed with white fur peered out at him. Bob waved.

“Evening, Scamp,” he said. “Aren’t you up a bit late?”

“Could say the same to you! Heehee!” The gibbon replied playfully. Bob raised his can.

“Touché!” He said, and took a long swallow. Sighing, he watched as Scamp swung up to a stronger branch in order to converse with him comfortably.

“Scamp, where’s Ursula?” Bob asked. “I thought you two were always together?”

“Not tonight, she’s resting with our young,” Scamp grinned, his throat-sack enlarging and shrinking as he laughed. “They gave her a good run-around today and now they’re all exhausted! Works for me! Heehee!” Bob smiled and shook his head. Scamp’s voice echoed in his head more resonantly than the other animals, and Bob assumed it was due to their evolutionary closeness. Scamp leaned closer from his high perch, gazing down at Bob. He lifted a horned finger and pointed.

“Say, Bob…could I have one of those?” Scamp asked hopefully. Bemused, Bob pulled a beer can from his pack and tossed it up into the tree. Scamp leaned backwards and caught it deftly, whooping in delight. He snapped open the ring-pull and cackled as foam erupted over his hand. Leaning further backwards he splashed beer down his face and chest as he gulped noisily. He balanced precariously on the edge of the branch for a few seconds before sitting upright once more. Scamp barked a quick laugh and belched.

“Ahhh, thanks! Heehee!” Scamp imitated Bob’s salute, tilting his raised can and nodding. Bob shook his head again.

“That’s alright, I suppose,” he replied, chuckling. “I just hope the guys at security aren’t watching! They didn’t mind letting me in at this hour but they’d have something to say if they saw me giving alcohol to the attractions! Technically you’re a minor, too, so I’d be in loads of trouble!”

“Our little secret then! Heehee! Why are you here, anyway?” Scamp asked, hanging from a branch one-handed as he sipped more beer. “Don’t we get enough of your ugly mug during the day? Heehee!”

“Woman troubles,” Bob admitted. “You’re always happy with Ursula, Scamp. What d’you reckon I should be doing?”

“You could try singing for her, that’s what I do,” Scamp replied, leaping back on to the branch and rubbing his throat-sack with pride. “My Ursula has always enjoyed my singing. Or if that doesn’t work, find another male to fight and prove your worth that way! Rip his fur out and toss him in the bushes with his bottom smacked! Heehee!”

“Hmm…well I can’t sing and I doubt there’s anyone relevant I could beat up,” Bob frowned. “It doesn’t really work like that with humans, anyway.”

“Can’t help you then, sorry!” Scamp laughed and crushed the empty can in his hand. He raised his arm and threw it, whooping with glee when it bounced off the side of Bob’s head.

“Heehee! Gotcha! Can I have another one?”

“No, that’s enough for you,” Bob said flatly, standing up to leave. “I’ll see if anyone else can help me.” He trudged off down the winding path, feeling more and more like he was wasting his time. Why should the animals have any kind of helpful advice to give me? Bob thought, cross with himself. They don’t know how humans behave! After a few minutes, however, Bob found himself leaning over the edge of another enclosure, chatting with a beautiful male peacock.

“So what do you think I should do, Narcissus?” Bob asked after he had explained his situation. He was watching the blue bird strut around and flick his gorgeous feathers to and fro.

“Well, what I would suggest, darling, is that you flaunt your natural beauty to win her back!” the peacock said eagerly. “Flaunt it, darling! Flaunt it shamelessly! Show her what she is missing!”

“Erm…okay,” Bob was unconvinced. “The thing is, I don’t really have a lot of natural beauty to flaunt. The moles and the receding hairline hardly make women swoon, and I can’t say I had better luck when I was younger. My parents were a bit on the plain side, you see.”

“Oh, daaaarling! That is unfortunate!” Narcissis crowed with genuine sympathy. He fanned his own natural beauty for effect. “Then I simply don’t know what to suggest! That course of action always works for me! See how stunning I am! What female could possibly resist?” He spun his feathers with a flourish, sighing with delight as the radiant colours flashed in the night sky. Bob sighed too and thanked the peacock, leaving him to prance about as he walked on. He began to wonder if he should just go home and drink his remaining beers in solitude, but he knew that he wouldn’t. I don’t want to be alone anymore, Bob thought miserably.

Bob came to a wider cage near the end of the park and gazed at the impressive shapes moving around within it. Two elephants were sleeping peacefully in the centre of the cage, a great bull elephant and his calf. The baby, who was nearly as big as Bob, was snuggled up against her father with her small trunk draped over his neck. Bob felt a pang of regret as he stroked the cold, oppressive bars of the cage. The cruelty of their fate upset him profoundly.

“I’m sorry you’re in here…” he whispered.

“The fault is not yours, young man,” a kindly voice said in his head. “Do not assume the guilt for it.” Bob glanced towards another shape as it moved closer to him. The baby’s mother was massive and beautiful, her intelligent brown eyes meeting Bob’s without fear or hesitation.

“I know, Maggie” Bob replied, scratching the back of his head. “But it doesn’t make me feel any better about it, especially not since I’ve been moaning about my life all evening. I don’t have it this bad! Stupid, selfish bastard that I am! At least I’m free!”

“Oh, you needn’t feel too bad, Robert,” Maggie said, her eyes creasing with amusement. “You help us in your own way through your Gift. If you did not come and talk to us all during the day, I am sure we would all have gone beserk by now. Do not be too hard on yourself, my dear.”

“I suppose so,” Bob replied, feeling slightly better. He turned to look at the sleeping baby once again.

“She is growing so fast, Maggie!” He breathed, his eyes widening and a wondrous smile creeping across his face. “Soon she’ll be as big as you are!”

“Oh, hopefully not too soon!” Maggie chuckled. She looked at Bob seriously, her large ears flapping as she frowned.

“Now, Robert, tell me,” she began firmly. “What is all this about you moaning about your life? What is the matter?”

“Oh, that,” Bob scratched his head again nervously. “I…erm…my partner left me. She doesn’t…erm…She wants to get married.”

“Well, that sounds like wonderful news!” Maggie exclaimed. “Why has she abandoned you? Is this how you usually operate? I don’t understand human couplings, I’m afraid.”

“No, it’s not the usual way…” Bob replied, feeling ashamed. “I…erm…it’s my fault. I told her…that I don’t want to get married.”

“I see,” Maggie’s expression became stern as she moved closer to Bob. Her great head moved to within inches of his, separated by the iron bars of the cage. “Why ever not, Robert? Do you not care for her?”

“Yes! Of course I do!” Bob said, hurt by implication. “I love her dearly! I can’t imagine life without her! I don’t want a life without her!”

“Then why do you hesitate?” Maggie asked, holding Bob’s gaze. Bob was flustered as he found himself unable to answer the simple question.

“I…she…oh, I don’t know!” He cried, throwing his arms in the air. “It’s just not something that has ever meant much to me as a concept, that’s all!”

“But it seems to mean a great deal to your partner,” Maggie said, twisting her trunk as she spoke. It was almost like a shrug. “Perhaps you need to consider whether your indifference is more important than your mutual happiness. Take myself and Rameses for example.” She swung her trunk and gestured at her slumbering mate. “Rameses was a wild one, that’s for certain, and he never considered having children before I explained to him how important it would be to me. Putting his pride behind him was the best decision he has ever made; he adores our little one and he would give his tusks for her in a heartbeat.” Maggie turned her gaze back towards Bob. “You must think about what course of action will make you and your partner the happiest. Make your decision soon, whatever it may be, before you regret it.”

Bob rested his forehead against the cool bars of the cage and reached his arm through to stroke Maggie’s trunk. It was thick and strong but full of warmth. Just like Maggie, Bob thought.

“Thank you, Maggie,” he said, tears filling his eyes. “I’ll do that. You are very wise, you know that, right?”

“Oh, it has been implied!” Maggie chuckled and tenderly wiped an escaping tear from Bob’s cheek with the end of her trunk. “But you do not reach my age without learning a thing or two about life! Now off you go, Robert. The dawn will soon come and I daresay that you have a female to speak to.” Bob straightened and wiped his eyes.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” he replied, smiling. “Bye, Maggie. I’ll see you soon.” Maggie raised her trunk in farewell before moving back towards her family. Bob strode back the way he had come, feeling lighter than he had felt in days. Maggie’s words had lifted a great weight from his shoulders and her simple probing had unlocked answers he had kept barricaded deep in his heart. He glanced up at the lightening sky, breathing in the cool scent of the approaching morning and looking forward to the day ahead. He knew what he was going to do. As he passed the Ape Section, Bob whistled and tossed his final beer can into the trees. Scamp the gibbon caught it and his surprised laughter rang out across the zoo, and Bob laughed with him.

 

The Second Coming of Olympus

AJ.Dixon9 Comments

Zeus walked carefully across the charred wasteland, both awed and repulsed by the world he once knew. The soles of his feet burned from contact with the scorched earth and he stepped over hundreds of blackened corpses as he made his way towards the ocean. A breath of wind which was far too warm brought the putrid scents of decay and harsh chemicals to his nostrils, making him grimace. The planet he loved had until now teemed with life and its population had grown impossibly high. It had seemed as if there were more humans on earth than there were leaves in the trees at one point, but now there were none.

Zeus had been amazed at the progress of humanity; amazed, and fiercely proud. Long gone were the days when the King of the Olympians had felt anger towards them for turning their back on the gods. Unruly children rebelled as they grew, and Zeus knew this fact all too well. In fact, abandonment had given him the opportunity for self-reflection and consideration, and he now clearly saw where the Olympians had gone wrong. If they had spent less time enjoying the fruits of the earth and basking in their own glory they may have retained the respect of their creation. Only Hades had remained occupied over the millennia, and even he had become overwhelmed…

But oh, how far they had come! Discoveries had been made that were beyond the comprehension of the gods themselves! For what paltry gifts could the Olympians offer mankind in the wake of such treasures of science and technology? No, they had realised early on that they must become obsolete. The world had become bigger than Greece and stretched further in the minds of men than Persia and Egypt. Men were hungry for discovery and adventure, and quickly threw off the shackles of Mount Olympus.

But who could have predicted this? Zeus stood silently among the rubble and ash which had once been Athens and gazed out towards the ocean. There were no sounds anymore, save for the sighing of the waves. The Aegean Sea had swollen beyond all proportion until it now lapped against the foot of Lykavittos Hill. Zeus waded out into the warm, stinking water and moved past the ruined shells of houses and restaurants. The waves were black with soot and detritus bobbed sadly in them; Zeus noted the wings of aeroplanes, missile casings and shredded tyres. Floating among them were the irradiated corpses of millions of sea creatures, rotting in the blistering heat of the nuclear fallout. Zeus shook his head, running a hand through his long, matted beard. His brother, Poseidon, had been the most deeply affected by the carnage, so much so that he had not uttered a word for centuries. Zeus feared he may never speak again.

So, the hubris of mankind had proven to be its downfall and the long-forgotten gods were the last beings standing. Should that be considered a victory? Zeus could see nothing victorious about the circumstances. The planet was broken, of that there was no doubt. But could it be fixed? Zeus had spoken to his brethren and they were in agreement; they would come out of their long, long dormancy and reclaim dominion over the world. They would have a Second Coming, so to speak, and in doing so would create life on earth again. This time, however, they would learn from their mistakes; there would be no more toying with their favourites, no more jealousy and no more intrigue and betrayal between them. They would secure that cursed Box and Hephaestus would bind it in the strongest chains he could forge. They would also take steps to ensure that Prometheus would never again be left alone with fire…

Zeus was confident about his plan. The Olympians would flex their dulled muscles and be almighty once again! They would create a new world in which they and other lifeforms could prosper forevermore, and this time it would be completely untainted by the fury of mankind. Zeus took a last, lingering look at the engorged Aegean before striding back towards Mount Olympus. There was a great deal of work to be done.

Fiction Fursday/Stonefur the Mighty

AJ.Dixon11 Comments

Today sees my first proper Fiction Fursday attempt! This story was suggested by Jason over at Aethereal Engineer. Jason is a brilliant writer of short fiction so of course he sent me away last week with a fantastic idea. He suggested that I write a story with fantasy elements in it but set it in a world with technology or culture no further advanced than the Neolithic period. I realised as I was halfway through writing this that I was more than likely being influenced by Jason’s own epic story, The Old Man of the Elder Trees, which is a brilliant read. This realisation gave me pause but I decided to finish it nonetheless. I hope that doesn’t mean I’ve cheated!

Anyway, it was great fun to write a fantasy story again and I hope you all enjoy what I came up with. It’s a bit longer than my recent stories but I hope it’s exciting enough to keep your interest! Pop by next week for another Fiction Fursday, and if you’d like to suggest something for me to write about in the coming weeks then please write it in the comments section.

Stonefur the Mighty

By Adam Dixon

Winter’s fingertips had started to brush the land, signalling its rapid approach. Jeb shivered as a bitter wind swept through the trees, rustling the leaves and snatching at his hair and beard. He and his brothers moved through the forest as one, their bare feet treading silently upon the grass. The four men were clothed only in hide loincloths to maximise their freedom of movement; they would need to be very fast that day. Jeb hoped that the green daub the Shaman had provided would mask his scent as he had promised. He and his brothers were covered in the sticky mixture, giving them the added effect of camouflage whilst they hunted. Their quarry still had sharp ears so stealth was necessary too, but any advantage offered to them had been seized upon.

Jeb’s brothers each carried a spear made from a sturdy tree branch with a sharpened flint blade tied to it. Jeb carried the only bow and his quiver contained just four arrows. The blades and arrowheads had been fashioned over the course of two days, requiring patience and multiple attempts before success. The experience had served as a stark reminder that their people were not hunters anymore and that cultivating the earth and raising cattle had softened their warrior’s edge. No matter, they had skill enough to do what was needed that day. Jeb grimaced and hoped that the Shaman would hold up his end of their bargain; this was dangerous work for mere promises.

They soon reached the clearing they had been guided towards. A stream flowed through the forest to the north, meandering around a pile of rocks and fallen trees. Lying upon the largest trunk at a distance of one hundred paces was the biggest wolf Jeb had ever seen. It was as tall as a horse and as wide as a bull, its lithe muscles visible beneath its white-flecked grey fur. Jeb stared, transfixed by the beauty of the animal and by the icy fear which caressed his limbs. He had never seen a Great Wolf before and he was humbled and scared. He instantly regretted his task but shook it from his mind with grim determination and held his fear at bay. This needed to be done. Stonefur the Mighty must be brought down that day.

Jeb signalled to his brothers with one fist raised, not taking his eyes from the resting wolf. He saw them fan out in different directions to form a rough semi-circle around the beast. Jeb noted with appreciation that their limbs were poised and ready and their eyes were alert. He knew they were prepared for whatever may happen. Offering a silent plea to the gods and goddesses to watch over them, Jeb signalled again and crouched down. Stocky Horeb and slender Orrin moved forwards, no longer muffling their steps. Jeb notched an arrow to his bow and pulled the string back, sighting the beast along the shaft. The men advanced fifteen paces before the Great Wolf looked up. Its yellow eyes glared across the clearing at the two humans, noting their raised spears. Stonefur growled deeply as a warning and raised itself up on its powerful legs, preparing to spring. Jeb released his held breath and fired.

As the bowstring snapped Stonefur’s eyes flicked towards the sound. It tried to leap from the trunk and out of the line of fire but Jeb’s aim was true and the arrow buried itself in the Great Wolf’s shoulder. The beast bellowed in fury and landed on the ground as blood welled up and stained its fur. Roaring it tensed its hind legs and bounded towards the humans. The events of the next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. Jeb blew a shrill note and Horeb and Orrin ran off in opposite directions. His third brother, Jonas, charged forwards and hurled his spear. Again Stonefur attempted to dodge the attack but was caught by surprise. The hefty projectile slammed itself into the wolf’s side as it twisted mid-charge, the force of it knocking it back a step. Another furious roar rang out into the forest, causing nearby birds to take off from their perches in fright. Jeb fired another arrow as the wolf turned towards the now unarmed Jonas, causing only a superficial wound in Stonefur’s left ear. This bought his brother enough time to draw his flint axe from his belt. Usually that axe would be used to chop firewood, but its purpose was far more dangerous that day. Jeb whistled again and Horeb and Orrin drew their arms back for a throw. Their spears flew across the clearing, both finding their mark. Stonefur yelped and whimpered, blood pouring from wounds in its right hind leg and left shoulder. It was still in the fight, though, dislodging the offending weapons as it leaped towards Jonas. Jeb’s next arrow flew over Stonefur’s head and he watched in horror as Jonas was rammed to the ground. The man screamed and tried to ready his axe, but Stonefur was upon him and crushed his head with one snap of his jaws. With fangs painted crimson with blood Stonefur turned to face the archer. Jeb fired his final arrow, dropping the bow as it flew and snatching up his own axe. The arrow launched itself into Stonefur’s chest, forcing a pained roar from its mighty throat.

Jeb rushed forwards, yelling at the top his lungs. Stonefur bound towards him with terrible speed. Jeb waited until it had launched itself into the air before diving forwards into a roll. He felt the wolf’s gigantic frame pass over him, his feet touching the hard muscle in its stomach as he spun. He came out of the roll in a sprint and dashed towards his brothers. Stonefur skidded to a halt and turned, panting. Its eyes flicked between the three men as they approached with their axes drawn and determination in their faces. Jeb noted that its haunches were trembling and his eyes were misting over; it was shaken and the loss of blood was slowing it down. Stonefur shook its head and growled, seeming to become drowsy. Jeb and his brothers began to spread out. The wolf backed up towards the trees, its growls and warning snaps becoming weaker. It glanced at the thick forest and seemed to make a calculation. Before it could make a run for it Jeb and his brothers charged, screeching as they swung their axes at the beast. Stonefur roared and lunged at Jeb, who leaped back nimbly before driving a fierce blow home. His axe bit deep into Stonefur’s solid shoulder and the thin blade snapped. Jeb backed off, holding the now-useless weapon raised. Stonefur’s yellow eyes met Jeb’s and an understanding flickered between them; the wolf was acknowledging defeat. Jeb felt his chest constrict as a wave of compassion and deep respect welled up inside him. Horeb and Orrin continued to rain blows on to the dying wolf, who collapsed with a thud, blood matting its fur. Once it fell the two men also backed away, exchanging glances with Jeb. Jeb raised a hand to them.

“It is done,” he panted. “We need fight no more, my brothers.” The two men nodded, and Orrin ran back to Jonas. He knelt before the dead man, tears leaking from his eyes and soaking into his beard.

“Poor Jonas,” he said, his voice croaking. He turned his face away from the crushed remains. “He was always too keen to fight. At least his sons can be proud of him now.”

“Aye, brother, that they can,” Jeb said softly, still watching Stonefur. He felt sorrow at Jonas’ death but he felt the need to honour his killer. The wolf’s golden eyes had closed and its breathing was becoming shallow. Jeb knelt down beside its great head and laid a hand on its snout. Stonefur twitched at the contact but did not open its eyes.

“You fought well, Great One,” Jeb said. “It was our honour to do battle with you this day.” A weak growl issued forth from Stonefur’s throat and then it lay still. Stonefur the Mighty was dead.

***

Later that day as the sun lowered itself into the embrace of the horizon, Jeb made his way up a steep mountain slope. He had scrubbed the green daub from his body and was dressed in his hides and furs to combat the chill in the air. He carried a heavy blood-stained sack made from skins over one shoulder and a shallow clay bowl in the other. Crimson blood slopped to and fro as he walked but Jeb was careful not to spill a single drop. After walking a good distance the ground began to level out and Jeb stopped to rest. Gazing around him he noted the height he had reached; he could see the tops of trees from the forest and distant smoke rising from his tribe’s dwellings. Jeb dropped into a crouch and closed his eyes, meditating on the events of the day.

“You have returned, tribesman,” a thin voice spoke. Jeb opened his eyes and saw that the Shaman had appeared in front of him. He stood up cautiously, wondering how the man always managed to move without a sound. The Shaman was very old, that much was immediate and obvious. His hair and beard were grey, a feature which awed Jeb as not even his grandfather had lived to see his hair change colour so completely. The man’s limbs were still strong, but he showed signs of arthritis and carried a gnarled staff to aid him as he walked. His green eyes were still sharp and intense, reminding Jeb of the keen awareness of the hawk. He was dressed in loose animal skins and bracelets made from bone rattled on his wrists.

“I have, Wise One,” Jeb said, stepping forward. He placed the blood-filled bowl on the ground before the Shaman’s feet before reaching into the sack. Using both hands, Jeb lifted the massive head of Stonefur the Mighty from within, grunting with the effort. To his surprise the old man dropped his staff and lifted it from Jeb’s hands as if it were no heavier than an infant. The Shaman stared down at the Great Wolf’s remains, a wild light touching his eyes and an unpleasant smile creeping across his face.

“Oh, tribesman, you have done me a great service today!” The Shaman rasped, his voice charged with emotion. “This wolf has plagued my waking thoughts for nearly twenty years! A good fight he gave you, of that I am certain!”

“He did, Wise One,” Jeb said flatly. “My brother, Jonas, died during the fight. At nine-and-twenty his final days were approaching, but he was a good man, brave and strong.” He left the accusation hanging in the air. The Shaman ignored it. Jeb sighed and shrugged.

“Now that it is done, I must ask you something, Wise One,” Jeb said. “Why did you require our aid to vanquish the Great Wolf? Surely your magic would have been sufficient to bring him down?” Again, Jeb aimed the accusation carefully. The Shaman snorted and glanced up at him, scorn in his eyes.

“Fool! Of course it would!” he snarled. “But the beast and I had an accord! We were never to directly oppose one another, not that it is your business to know such things! You required aid for your people and I required the death of the Great Wolf, there is nothing else to say.”

“As you say, Wise One,” Jeb replied wearily. “I have kept my end of our bargain and now I beg that you keep yours.”

“Yes, yes, of course I shall!” The Shaman scratched his beard in irritation, supporting the huge head with one hand. “My word is my honour, as it is for you. Come to my dwelling, tribesman Jeb, and bring the blood with you.” Jeb scooped up the bowl and trotted after the Shaman, who was talking to the bloody remains he approached a hidden cleft on the mountainside.

“Ahh, I finally have you, Stonefur! Heehee, but you have given me the run-around all these years! Heeheehee! If only you had stayed with me instead of insisting that you be with ‘your kind’! We could have accomplished so much together! You foolish old dog, you!” Jeb walked on in silence and thought about poor Jonas. He had little desire to speak with the old man who had demanded so much from him. He wanted this ordeal to be over so he could return to his wife and children. The Shaman squeezed through the cleft and moved into darkness. Jeb followed, pressing his chest against a wall of stone in order to keep moving. The stone was cold and jagged, ripping Jeb’s clothes and nicking his skin as he pressed on. After several claustrophobic minutes Jeb emerged into a wide opening within the mountain, blinking as a burning torch appeared by his head. As Jeb shielded his eyes and allowed them to adjust he became aware of the Shaman muttering somewhere nearby. He squinted through the amber glow and saw the old man crouched by a fire-pit, the blackened ashes of a small fire piled inside the stones. The Shaman was pouring the blood of Stonefur onto the mound in sprinkles, chanting and moaning in an alien language. Jeb moved away from the torch on the cave wall and watched the Shaman with interest. Suddenly, the Shaman thrust out a hand.

“Give me your necklace,” he commanded. Jeb hesitated. The necklace he wore boasted the fangs of several wolves and bears connected by a length of twine, each one coloured differently with age. It was a necklace which had been added to and passed down through the male side of his family for six generations.

“Give it to me, man!” The Shaman barked, his sharp eyes glaring at Jeb. “Lest you wish me to stop and let the wolves rip your tribe apart this winter!” Jeb tore the necklace from around his throat and tossed it to the Shaman. The man caught it deftly and continued his chanting. He placed the necklace on to the blood-soaked ashes reverently, waving his bony fingers in weird movements over it. Without warning the mound caught fire, ashes and all, with a bright green flame leaping up to the low ceiling of the cave. Jeb’s brain told him that it was impossible but his eyes grew wide as he watched. He set his jaw tightly as the trophies of his ancestors blackened as the dancing flames licked them, tasted them. The Shaman went on chanting from his crouched position, his eyes closed and his voice low. A pungent smell filled Jeb’s nostrils as the Shaman worked, forcing him to cover his nose with his hand. Ten minutes passed and the flames flickered away to nothingness. The necklace had joined the ashes. The Shaman rose to his feet.

“It is done,” the old man said solemnly. “The spell I have cast will keep the wolf packs and bears away from your dwelling throughout the winter, no matter how hungry the beasts become. They will wither and starve rather than invade your lands. Your tribe will be safe.” Jeb released a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.

“Thank you, Wise One,” he said, bowing low. “My tribe and I are forever in your debt.”

“No, you are not,” the Shaman said bluntly, staring at the smouldering ash pile. “We made a bargain and both sides were kept, there is no debt. Now, please leave me. I wish to be alone.” Jeb nodded and retreated back the way he had come. As he left the darkness of the tunnel and stepped out into the fading light of the evening, he chanced a peek over his shoulder. The cleft in the mountain had disappeared; he would not be able to locate the Shaman again. Jeb shrugged and began the long walk back to his family. A great weight was lifted from him and he felt happy in the knowledge that his family would be safe. They would bury Jonas that night and continue their existence unmolested by the hunger of wild beasts. As he walked, Jeb whispered a prayer for the Great Wolf Stonefur the Mighty, and bade the gods treat him and his brother as warriors in the afterlife. They deserved that much.

Fiction Fursday/ Brick Wall

AJ.Dixon17 Comments

Hello everyone! As some of you may have noticed, I recently celebrated reaching 100 followers. I’m still very excited about this news and thrilled that so many people have enjoyed my scribblings thus far. I wanted to find a way to write more regularly on my blog, as I am always writing but not finishing work very quickly. I feel like I need something to focus my creativity, a bit of pressure to get the cogs turning in my head. I’ve been following some wonderful bloggers for a few months now and if they can manage to write a blog post every day whilst juggling their own busy lives then I can at least write one short story every week!

So, from today I am launching a weekly project which I have very cleverly named “Fiction Fursdays”, and I will require a bit of help. Upon completing the A-Z Challenge set during April, I found that prompts from other bloggers not only fired up my imagination but also helped me to feel part of the wider blogosphere. So, I’d like to request that you lovely people send me suggestions for my Fiction Fursdays! I’ll take on board every suggestion given and store them away for the upcoming weeks. This will not only give me a big group of stories to be getting on with but it will also provide me with a DEADLINE for each of them. I seem to work quite well when a deadline is set so I think this will be a good move for me!

So, if any of you would like to propose a story for me to write about in the upcoming weeks, go right ahead! I solemnly promise to give each and every suggestion a bash, regardless of the genre or narrative style etc. Anything you think I can tackle or would like to see me attempt to write just let me know. I’m very excited about this! I’ll be posting a short story which I wrote a while ago underneath this main post, which will then be the first and (hopefully!) last “Fiction Fursday” short I put up here.

Sorry for the rambling, but I wanted this post to convey my excitement and eagerness to get started! I do hope you’ll honour me with a suggestion, whoever you are! Of course I will give a shout-out to anyone who suggests something to me.

Now that that’s out of the way, here is a piece of flash fiction I wrote few months ago for a competition. Sadly it wasn’t placed, but it was fun to write. I hope you enjoy it.

Brick Wall

By Adam Dixon

John padded into the kitchen, blinking at the morning sunshine. He scratched his unkempt hair, followed by his bare stomach as it growled audibly. ‘What to have for breakfast?’ he thought, casting his eyes lazily across the room. He shuffled towards the fridge and wrenched it open, examining its contents. ‘Hmm…bacon and eggs, maybe?’ he pondered. ‘Nah, not today. Cuppa tea, though.’ He took out a bottle of milk and put the kettle on. The clip-clop of shoes on tiles announced her arrival. He didn’t turn around.

“John, we need to talk,” her quiet voice floated into the kitchen. John plonked a tea bag into his mug and began opening cupboards. ‘Hmm…cereal? Frosties or Coco Pops? Hmmm…’

“Things…haven’t been going well between us for a while now,” she continued hesitantly. She took a step into the kitchen, placing a small pink suitcase next to her smart black heels. “I feel like we can’t talk to each other properly anymore. Do you know what I mean?” John took out the box of Coco Pops and looked at it briefly before he put it back.

“I think…I think we should have some time apart,” she persisted, speaking quickly. “You know, to think about our futures…because I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke. John poured boiling water into his mug and hummed to himself as he added the milk.

“John? Are you listening to me? This is important!” John continued humming. ‘Actually, bugger it, I will have bacon and eggs!’ John smiled triumphantly and fished about in the fridge once again.

“John? John! Why won’t you say anything, for Christ’s sake?!” Her heeled shoe stamped down on the tiles. A single tear followed it, splashing onto the white marble. John cracked two eggs into a glass bowl and began to whisk eagerly, still humming softly.

“I can’t believe you…how can you stand there and make fucking breakfast while I’m suffering over here? Is this why Jenny left you? And Suzie?” John stopped humming. He paused for a moment mid-whisk, before scraping a generous lump of lard from the packet and into the frying pan. The humming resumed. There came a long, exasperated sigh from behind him.

“I don’t know why I bother. I loved you, John, but I can’t talk to a brick wall. I’ll send someone round for the rest of my things.” There was a hopeful pause before she picked up her case and clip-clopped out of the room. A moment later the front door slammed.

John scratched his stomach and added bacon to the frying pan. He began whistling as his breakfast started to come together, and the mouth-watering smell of bacon and scrambled eggs filled the kitchen. ‘Oh yes’, he thought cheerfully, ‘today is going to be a good day!’

 

The Dashed Hopes of Kelpto

AJ.Dixon15 Comments

I wrote this short Sci-fi piece about a month ago and intended it to be sent to a magazine or website. Instead I’ve decided to share it on here with you guys.

I hope you like it.

The Dashed Hopes of Kelpto

By Adam Dixon

 

The trio stood motionless in the Observation Room, gazing down at their stricken planet. Together they represented the highest authorities of the Kelptonians, which is why they were in the relative safety of orbit. But even being such a distance from the chaos below would not keep them safe for long.

“What about the other humans? From Earth?” High Sapien Teflar inquired, staring intently at the scientist. High Scholar Jenvere pushed her glasses up her nose nervously and was about to reply when a gruff voice interrupted her.

“The Earthlings? I’m sorry, sir, but that is ridiculous.” Master General Kle’fir held both hands behind his back and thrust out his barrel chest, the light from the plasma rods above reflecting on his medals.

“I wasn’t asking you, General!” Teflar snapped, his elaborate bone headdress swaying as he turned to glare at Kel’fir. “Now, High Scholar, what about the Earthlings? Could we summon them for aid?”

“Well, sir, theoretically it is possible,” she replied, her voice high pitched and bird-like.

“Theoretically? All of our allies have deserted us, damn it! I don’t have time for theories!” Teflar barked. Jenvere jumped and clutched her notes to her chest, as if they would protect her from his anger.

“W-wel you s-see, sir,” she stammered. “Earth is w-within our t-travelling capabilities, b-but it w-would still t-take far too long to m-make the journey.”

“What do you mean? Speak!” Teflar’s eyes were mad with rage.

“She means,” Kle’fir said calmly, “That sending a party to Earth would take hundreds of years even in our fastest transporters. If they agree to aid us, which is unlikely, it would then take them the same amount of time to be escorted back to Kelpto. We are talking about the passing of almost a millennia.”

“You cannot be serious…” Teflar was dumbfounded.

“I-I’m afraid he is, High Sapien, sir,” Jenvere piped up. “By the time the Earthlings reach us, the war will have been over for centuries.”

“But we can’t just let those six-eyed monstrosities claim our planet!” Teflar fumed, pacing. He was short even for a Kelptonian, so he wore high-heeled boots which clomped on the titanium floor of the spacecraft.

“The Earthlings, they could return and reclaim Kelpto, should we lose it!” he reasoned, gesturing aggressively with his arms, causing his headdress to wobble dangerously.

“Why should they fight for a distant planet which they have never heard of, sir?” Kle’fir’s voice contained the barest hint of mockery. “I doubt we would, were our situations reversed.”

“Because…” Teflar gestured again, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the words.

“Because they court war!” he said triumphantly. “They seek it continually! We’ve watched them for hundreds of years, we know what they are capable of! They are ruthless, efficient warriors and conflict is no stranger to them!”

“Perhaps, but there is also the issue of their ignorance, sir,” Kle’fir added.

“Bah! If it takes centuries to reach them, then they will no longer be ignorant!” Teflar replied hotly. “You’ve seen the satellite videos, General, they are progressing with their knowledge at an alarming rate. If they still are unaware of extra-terrestrial life by then, I see no issue with aiding in their enlightenment. We are losing this war, General, we have no time to debate ethics!”

“The gravitational difference of our planets would also cause some difficulties,” Jenvere began. “For both our people and the Earthli-“

“Problems! Problems again!” Teflar grasped his headdress and threw it at the wall with all his might. Bone shattered against cold metal and fell to the floor in a thousand pieces. He turned his blazing eyes on to the poor scientist once again.

“I don’t want to hear problems from you, High Scholar!” he roared. “I want to hear solutions!” Jenvere stood shaking, her violet eyes wide and her lower lip quivering.

“As for our denser gravity, it might play to our advantage!” Teflar ranted, his voice echoing around the room. “Our enemies aren’t expecting to see human beings over four feet tall, which will provide us with the element of surprise! Tell me that fact doesn’t appeal to you, General?”

“It does, sir, I must admit,” Kle’fir replied, stroking his grey beard. “But they are too many risks for this to be a viable option. A significant one being that if we lose the planet we could not warn the coming Earthlings, and whatever advanced weaponry they learn to use on their journey will no doubt be obsolete, making the whole venture a waste of time.”

Teflar opened his mouth, but the torrent Kel’fir expected did not come. The High Sapien simply closed his eyes tightly, breathing hard for a few moments with his fists clenched. Finally, he released a long sigh of resignation and opened his eyes. The fury inside was replaced by sadness.

“Perhaps you are both correct,” he said softly, running a hand over his shaven head. “It does seem a foolhardy venture when faced with the bare facts…I am clutching at straws, I admit.” The High Sapien of Kelpto straightened up and adopted his usual regal manner.

“Very well,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “Then we shall continue this war on our own. The Earthlings will remain ignorant, and perhaps that is for the best.” He strode up to the large window once again and rested his forehead against the cool glass. “Let’s pray the Great Beyond looks upon us favourably.”

“Yes, High Sapien, let us pray that it does.” Kel’fir replied. The trio once again gazed down upon the planet Kelpto, where fires could be seen spreading across her many continents, and prayed for a miracle.