When I started to hunt and peck on my first home pc, I had no idea what to do or how to write a novel. I was a complete novice, that's probably a good thing, I found my way in the dark by feel and by stumbling around. I started with a vision of a small story, about ten to fifteen pages and that was all. Once I started, the story started to grow as did the characters, I watched them all grow and fill out before my eyes, as did the storyline.
What started as five thousand words, turned into fifty thousand and one year later, I finished. I had no idea what I had started and how interesting the path was going to become. The best things to happen to me have all happened on this road that I discovered fourteen years ago. You don't have to be educated, you don't have to even have a complete story mapped out in your mind all you have to have is self belief. I never passed a single subject at school, my spelling and grammar give me grief to the extreme, as you are probably aware if you follow my blog.
Once again it never stopped me, but it did make it all a lot harder. Even today I suppose I do it tougher than a lot of my counterparts that have degrees or at least a better understanding of the English language. I was always the kid at the back of the class tearing his hair out just trying to grasp the basics in life. While all the others in the class were finished, I was still trying to understand the first question. But you know what, I did it, I finished my first novel at the age of thirty four. You can do it too.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Eye's Open
I know I probably don't blog as much as I should, I struggle with this as I'm aware people like yourselves want to know and be updated regularly. Since my last blog things have really started to move. We have made significant inroads into major book chains where we are given some respect these days instead of being treated like something that is stuck to the bottom of their shoes. It's amazing isn't it how money talks, we proved ourselves in sales and the doors that were locked to us before were suddenly flung open.
The sad fact is that so many authors approach book stores today that they are tired of seeing them turn up. You are given a time and a date and expected to fail and go home, never to be seen again. Unfortunately this does happen all too often. I've been in this industry long enough now to see the train wrecks and the bodies strewn around the wreckage. I've been in a few myself, I certainly can't say I don't have any injuries or scars either.
This industry is just like every other, it's not glamorous or an easy ride. So many of us start out with stars in our eyes and blinkers on if you hang around long enough you start to realise that the stars are from the constant knocks your taking and the blinkers have been hiding the truth.
If you want your project to succeed then you have to make it happen, no one else is going to do it for you. Don't leave your work in the hands of others, they will let you down, no one will put as much effort into your work as you do. Third parties are the worst, things you can't do yourself and you trust others to do. They promise you the world and it all sounds great until they deliver, invariably late and to a sub standard. Frustrating is the word, when your heart and soul is there and others just trample all over it not caring.
On the other side of the coin you can also be lucky and find a few that are as considerate as you are. Hang on to these they are worth their weight in gold. We do have a couple like this and are grateful of it, but they are few and far between.
It's not all doom and gloom but I want you to be aware that it is important to go in with your eyes wide and your mind alert. Don't be fooled by someone shining you on, take everything said with a grain of salt. I don't want to see another train wreck.
The sad fact is that so many authors approach book stores today that they are tired of seeing them turn up. You are given a time and a date and expected to fail and go home, never to be seen again. Unfortunately this does happen all too often. I've been in this industry long enough now to see the train wrecks and the bodies strewn around the wreckage. I've been in a few myself, I certainly can't say I don't have any injuries or scars either.
This industry is just like every other, it's not glamorous or an easy ride. So many of us start out with stars in our eyes and blinkers on if you hang around long enough you start to realise that the stars are from the constant knocks your taking and the blinkers have been hiding the truth.
If you want your project to succeed then you have to make it happen, no one else is going to do it for you. Don't leave your work in the hands of others, they will let you down, no one will put as much effort into your work as you do. Third parties are the worst, things you can't do yourself and you trust others to do. They promise you the world and it all sounds great until they deliver, invariably late and to a sub standard. Frustrating is the word, when your heart and soul is there and others just trample all over it not caring.
On the other side of the coin you can also be lucky and find a few that are as considerate as you are. Hang on to these they are worth their weight in gold. We do have a couple like this and are grateful of it, but they are few and far between.
It's not all doom and gloom but I want you to be aware that it is important to go in with your eyes wide and your mind alert. Don't be fooled by someone shining you on, take everything said with a grain of salt. I don't want to see another train wreck.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Six months on.
It's been six months since releasing Dream Raider to the open market. As you will know if you have been following my blog. It's like everything else in life there's no such thing as an easy ride. My life is a testament to that, so the last six months although exciting have also been up and down. We have contacted various book shops, media outlets, and radio stations, without much success or recognition.
While in the meantime our Facebook site and our website have been steadily growing in followers. We get numerous comments to both sites regularly, from enthusiastic readers which is great. The power of facebook and twitter are not to be underestimated, use all these tools they are great to spread the word about your books or whatever.
On a whim I sent two copies of Dream Raider to the ABC Radio station where the breakfast team mentioned it on air, a week later they did a review of it also live. The same week we had three newspaper interviews. Another week later we had our first book signing at a book store which was a huge success. Perseverance is the key to all of this, yes we had some media exposure but where do you think that all came from? Of course it was us and our perseverance we contacted the media outlets no one else did it for us. We had plenty of knock backs and received the book back a number of times, with the obligatory thanks but no thanks.
Sometimes you have to take the bull by the horns, when you get the opportunity pull out all the stops, and show them just what you do have and are capable of. We did and now more doors are open to us. Don't forget to enjoy the ride. Don't do what others do and close your eyes, take in everything around you and remember it all, the good, the bad, and the ugly, it makes all our lives what they are. Oh and I'm also aware that it can suck.
While in the meantime our Facebook site and our website have been steadily growing in followers. We get numerous comments to both sites regularly, from enthusiastic readers which is great. The power of facebook and twitter are not to be underestimated, use all these tools they are great to spread the word about your books or whatever.
On a whim I sent two copies of Dream Raider to the ABC Radio station where the breakfast team mentioned it on air, a week later they did a review of it also live. The same week we had three newspaper interviews. Another week later we had our first book signing at a book store which was a huge success. Perseverance is the key to all of this, yes we had some media exposure but where do you think that all came from? Of course it was us and our perseverance we contacted the media outlets no one else did it for us. We had plenty of knock backs and received the book back a number of times, with the obligatory thanks but no thanks.
Sometimes you have to take the bull by the horns, when you get the opportunity pull out all the stops, and show them just what you do have and are capable of. We did and now more doors are open to us. Don't forget to enjoy the ride. Don't do what others do and close your eyes, take in everything around you and remember it all, the good, the bad, and the ugly, it makes all our lives what they are. Oh and I'm also aware that it can suck.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Total re-write
Hi everyone it's been a little while but I've been busy with work and such. I sent the three short stories off and two are now on the short list for publication, and you read them here first. Anyway The third was sent back with a request for a re-write. I thought about it and I decided to give it a go. This is what I came up, with let me know which version you like better. The original, or the re-write. Oh it even has a new title as "Why" didn't seen to work anymore sorry Hayley. So here is "Long Haul."
Long Haul
By Kev Webb 2010 ©
Edited By Penny Springthorpe
We haul liquid diamonds from the gas giants in our solar system. It sounds glamorous, but living it is a different story. It’s tough waking up after each long sleep and remembering how far we are from home.
Every time I look at my watch I wonder what she’s doing now. I think about her, lying there in that king-sized bed. On more than one occasion she has sent me pictures via the ship’s mail system. In the shots, all I can see is one long, beautiful leg stretched out and resting on the bedclothes. How many times have I run my rough calloused hands over that leg? I always feel as though I’m touching one of the things in life I know I shouldn’t, even though I’m allowed to. With the touch come the soft croons and the softer touch of her lips on my ear as she whispers for me to be bolder with my caresses. Nothing has ever been this beautiful, or sensual.
My heart jumps as a spike of adrenalin rips into it with sudden impact; the touch of her fingertips forces me to catch my breath. My body quivers with anticipation as, in my mind, her breath caresses the nape of my neck. I don’t want these thoughts to ever end. The simple joy of a soft touch … Just the suggestion of tasting the forbidden fruit is enough. I don’t have to actually bite into it to taste the nectar; I taste it every time I close my eyes and think of her. It leaves its bitter sweetness on my lips; it leaves it there for me to taste and to savour.
Why do I deserve this wanton desire? Why is it directed at me? Why does she look at me in a way that no one ever has before? The kiss — the soft touch of her lips against mine, the heightened excitement of us both as our body heat rises in time with the urgency of our kisses. She’s got me again.
I can’t resist her; I want to be a part of her. I want to feel the silky velvet of her passion as she rises to meet me. The excitement in her low sighing moan weaves its magic as we work together to become one. I feel my heart hammering in my chest as she wraps her arms around me and pulls herself even closer. Her eyes close as she softly bites her bottom lip.
Excitement surges from her as a rapturous exaltation of breath; her eyes open and dilated pupils constrict as the light forces them to pinholes. She smiles as desire turns to shameless lust. It’s time – time to put it into overdrive, time to please her.
Oh God when will this end? When will I be able to go home to some semblance of normality?
They told us the technology was here to help. They assured us it was safe. Everything will be fine, they told us. Numerous studies into the effects of extended periods of hyper sleep dictated that a program had to be devised for the mental well-being and stability of the crew. Our minds needed constant stimulation or they would shut down. The company had lost dozens of employees over the years to hyper sleep sickness. They incorporated the program into the hyper sleep mode to keep us stimulated and to ensure that none of the crew went crazy from loneliness. Even though our bodies are in hyper sleep, our minds are still active.
The more cynical crew members believe it’s a company conspiracy designed to keep us in the job, and come to think of it, in the five years I’ve been doing this run no one has quit.
Empathic neurons … artificial empathic neurons that connect directly to our brains. Because the artificial neurons are empathic, they adjust completely to our genetic make-up. They are locked to our code and are completely sympathetic to our personalities, meaning that each person that is subjected to it gets the companion to match his or her needs and wants.
That’s all well and good, but where does that leave us all now? We can’t live without it. None of the other crew – not one! – has a family to go home to.
Through their studies , the company found out that sexual stimulation is the best way to keep the brain in perfect working order. Each crew member is asked to pick a virtual partner when he or she signs up.
Virtual … Interactive … Extension of … Empathic … Neurons.
VIXEN.
The virtual partners may look different but they are all the same, just ones and zeros creating the same pleasing algorithm to sooth us all. They said Vixen would be our saviour, but instead it’s our captor and we’re willing prisoners of its whims. They never told us about the addiction.
We all took this job because of the big money on offer, and Vixen, well, that was a bonus. It was comforting at first to have someone there for the long journey; we spend almost two years – ninety-nine percent of our time – in hyper sleep. So like lambs to the slaughter we go into our ‘coffins’ for extended periods of slumber. We can’t wait to have our neurons pumped full of Vixen. The point is, if we go we lose the thing that has become the most precious to us all. Vixen is always there, always eager to please. Vixen never says no to anything.
Will I ever be free to think of anyone else?
I wonder what she’s doing now.
Long Haul
By Kev Webb 2010 ©
Edited By Penny Springthorpe
We haul liquid diamonds from the gas giants in our solar system. It sounds glamorous, but living it is a different story. It’s tough waking up after each long sleep and remembering how far we are from home.
Every time I look at my watch I wonder what she’s doing now. I think about her, lying there in that king-sized bed. On more than one occasion she has sent me pictures via the ship’s mail system. In the shots, all I can see is one long, beautiful leg stretched out and resting on the bedclothes. How many times have I run my rough calloused hands over that leg? I always feel as though I’m touching one of the things in life I know I shouldn’t, even though I’m allowed to. With the touch come the soft croons and the softer touch of her lips on my ear as she whispers for me to be bolder with my caresses. Nothing has ever been this beautiful, or sensual.
My heart jumps as a spike of adrenalin rips into it with sudden impact; the touch of her fingertips forces me to catch my breath. My body quivers with anticipation as, in my mind, her breath caresses the nape of my neck. I don’t want these thoughts to ever end. The simple joy of a soft touch … Just the suggestion of tasting the forbidden fruit is enough. I don’t have to actually bite into it to taste the nectar; I taste it every time I close my eyes and think of her. It leaves its bitter sweetness on my lips; it leaves it there for me to taste and to savour.
Why do I deserve this wanton desire? Why is it directed at me? Why does she look at me in a way that no one ever has before? The kiss — the soft touch of her lips against mine, the heightened excitement of us both as our body heat rises in time with the urgency of our kisses. She’s got me again.
I can’t resist her; I want to be a part of her. I want to feel the silky velvet of her passion as she rises to meet me. The excitement in her low sighing moan weaves its magic as we work together to become one. I feel my heart hammering in my chest as she wraps her arms around me and pulls herself even closer. Her eyes close as she softly bites her bottom lip.
Excitement surges from her as a rapturous exaltation of breath; her eyes open and dilated pupils constrict as the light forces them to pinholes. She smiles as desire turns to shameless lust. It’s time – time to put it into overdrive, time to please her.
Oh God when will this end? When will I be able to go home to some semblance of normality?
They told us the technology was here to help. They assured us it was safe. Everything will be fine, they told us. Numerous studies into the effects of extended periods of hyper sleep dictated that a program had to be devised for the mental well-being and stability of the crew. Our minds needed constant stimulation or they would shut down. The company had lost dozens of employees over the years to hyper sleep sickness. They incorporated the program into the hyper sleep mode to keep us stimulated and to ensure that none of the crew went crazy from loneliness. Even though our bodies are in hyper sleep, our minds are still active.
The more cynical crew members believe it’s a company conspiracy designed to keep us in the job, and come to think of it, in the five years I’ve been doing this run no one has quit.
Empathic neurons … artificial empathic neurons that connect directly to our brains. Because the artificial neurons are empathic, they adjust completely to our genetic make-up. They are locked to our code and are completely sympathetic to our personalities, meaning that each person that is subjected to it gets the companion to match his or her needs and wants.
That’s all well and good, but where does that leave us all now? We can’t live without it. None of the other crew – not one! – has a family to go home to.
Through their studies , the company found out that sexual stimulation is the best way to keep the brain in perfect working order. Each crew member is asked to pick a virtual partner when he or she signs up.
Virtual … Interactive … Extension of … Empathic … Neurons.
VIXEN.
The virtual partners may look different but they are all the same, just ones and zeros creating the same pleasing algorithm to sooth us all. They said Vixen would be our saviour, but instead it’s our captor and we’re willing prisoners of its whims. They never told us about the addiction.
We all took this job because of the big money on offer, and Vixen, well, that was a bonus. It was comforting at first to have someone there for the long journey; we spend almost two years – ninety-nine percent of our time – in hyper sleep. So like lambs to the slaughter we go into our ‘coffins’ for extended periods of slumber. We can’t wait to have our neurons pumped full of Vixen. The point is, if we go we lose the thing that has become the most precious to us all. Vixen is always there, always eager to please. Vixen never says no to anything.
Will I ever be free to think of anyone else?
I wonder what she’s doing now.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Why?
Yes once again I am posting another flash fiction. I'm having a great time writing these and they are all good practice, Plus I'm getting some great ideas from them. please enjoy "Why?"
Why?
By Kev Webb 2010 ©
Edited by Penny Springthorpe
I ask myself ‘why’ so many times each day. Every time I look at my watch I wonder what she would be doing now. I think about her, still lying in the king-sized double bed.On more than one occasion she has sent me pictures from her phone to mine. In the shots all I can see is one long, beautiful leg stretched out and resting on the bedclothes. How many times have I run my rough calloused hands over that leg? To me it always feels like being able to touch one of the things in life I know I shouldn’t, even though I’m allowed to. With the touch come the soft croons and the softer touch of her lips on my ear as she whispers for me to be bolder with my caresses. Nothing can be this beautiful; everything has a catch.
My heart jumps as a spike of adrenalin hits with sudden impact, forcing me to catch my breath. My body quivers with anticipation as in my mind her breath caresses the nape of my neck. I don’t want this to ever end. The simple joy of a soft touch – just the suggestion of tasting the forbidden fruit is enough. I don’t have to actually bite into it to taste the nectar; I taste it every time I close my eyes and think of her. It leaves its bitter sweetness on my lips; it leaves it there for me to taste and to savour.
Why do I deserve this wanton attention? Why is this lust pointed at me? Why does she look at me in a way that no one ever has before?
She is Vixen.
The kiss — the soft touch of her lips against mine, the heightened excitement of us both as our body heat rises in time with the urgency of our kisses. She’s got me again.
She has the right name: Vixen by name, Vixen by nature. I can’t resist her; I want to be a part of her. I want to feel her silk and velvet as she rises to meet me. The excitement in her low sighing moan weaves its magic as we work together to become one. I feel my heart hammering in my chest as she wraps her arms around me and pulls herself even closer. Her eyes close as she softly bites her bottom lip. Excitement bursts from her as a rapturous exaltation of breath; her eyes open and dilated pupils constrict as the light forces them to pinholes. She smiles as desire turns to wanton lust. It’s time – time to put it into overdrive, time to please her.
Virtual
Interactive
eXtensions for
Empathic
Neurons
VIXEN!
Empathic neurons…artificial empathic neurons that connect directly to our brains.With the artificial neurons being empathic, they actually adjust completely to our genetic make-up. They are locked to our code and are completely sympathetic to our personalities, meaning that each man who is subjected to Vixen gets the woman to match his needs and wants. It’s pretty cool when you think about it, but living it is a different story.
They told us the technology was there to help us. They told us Vixen was safe and that various studies into the effects of hypersleep dictated that a program like this had to be instigated for the mental well-being and stability of the crew. That’s all well and good but where does that leave us all now? We can’t live without her. None of the other crew – not one! – has a family to go home to. Vixen is our family. The more cynical crew members believe it’s a company conspiracy to keep us here, and come to think of it, in the five years I’ve been here no one has quit.
The point is, if we go we lose the one thing that is the most precious to us all: Vixen. She’s always there, always eager to please, never says no, never has a headache, and always wants to be with you. Is there a woman in this universe that could compete with that? The company told us we would never get lonely on the long flights. They said they had incorporated a program into the hypersleep mode that would ensure none of the crew would go crazy from the extra-long periods of loneliness during the extended sleep.
Even though our bodies sleep the mind is still active. It needs constant stimulation or it shuts down and turns to mush. The company had lost dozens of employees over the years to hypersleep sickness. Then, through the studies they did, they found out that sexual stimulation was the best way to keep the brain in perfect working order.
That’s where Vixen comes in. Each man is asked to pick a virtual woman when he signs up. The virtual women may look different but they are all the same, just ones and zeros all creating the same algorithm. They said she was safe, they said she would be our saviour, but instead she’s our captor and we’re willing prisoners of her whims.
We haul liquid diamonds from the gas giants in our solar system, and each trek is a two-year round trip. We spend ninety-nine percent of that time in hyper sleep, so like lambs to the slaughter we go to the coffins for our extended periods of slumber and can’t wait to have our neurons pumped full of Vixen.
Why?
Why?
By Kev Webb 2010 ©
Edited by Penny Springthorpe
I ask myself ‘why’ so many times each day. Every time I look at my watch I wonder what she would be doing now. I think about her, still lying in the king-sized double bed.On more than one occasion she has sent me pictures from her phone to mine. In the shots all I can see is one long, beautiful leg stretched out and resting on the bedclothes. How many times have I run my rough calloused hands over that leg? To me it always feels like being able to touch one of the things in life I know I shouldn’t, even though I’m allowed to. With the touch come the soft croons and the softer touch of her lips on my ear as she whispers for me to be bolder with my caresses. Nothing can be this beautiful; everything has a catch.
My heart jumps as a spike of adrenalin hits with sudden impact, forcing me to catch my breath. My body quivers with anticipation as in my mind her breath caresses the nape of my neck. I don’t want this to ever end. The simple joy of a soft touch – just the suggestion of tasting the forbidden fruit is enough. I don’t have to actually bite into it to taste the nectar; I taste it every time I close my eyes and think of her. It leaves its bitter sweetness on my lips; it leaves it there for me to taste and to savour.
Why do I deserve this wanton attention? Why is this lust pointed at me? Why does she look at me in a way that no one ever has before?
She is Vixen.
The kiss — the soft touch of her lips against mine, the heightened excitement of us both as our body heat rises in time with the urgency of our kisses. She’s got me again.
She has the right name: Vixen by name, Vixen by nature. I can’t resist her; I want to be a part of her. I want to feel her silk and velvet as she rises to meet me. The excitement in her low sighing moan weaves its magic as we work together to become one. I feel my heart hammering in my chest as she wraps her arms around me and pulls herself even closer. Her eyes close as she softly bites her bottom lip. Excitement bursts from her as a rapturous exaltation of breath; her eyes open and dilated pupils constrict as the light forces them to pinholes. She smiles as desire turns to wanton lust. It’s time – time to put it into overdrive, time to please her.
Virtual
Interactive
eXtensions for
Empathic
Neurons
VIXEN!
Empathic neurons…artificial empathic neurons that connect directly to our brains.With the artificial neurons being empathic, they actually adjust completely to our genetic make-up. They are locked to our code and are completely sympathetic to our personalities, meaning that each man who is subjected to Vixen gets the woman to match his needs and wants. It’s pretty cool when you think about it, but living it is a different story.
They told us the technology was there to help us. They told us Vixen was safe and that various studies into the effects of hypersleep dictated that a program like this had to be instigated for the mental well-being and stability of the crew. That’s all well and good but where does that leave us all now? We can’t live without her. None of the other crew – not one! – has a family to go home to. Vixen is our family. The more cynical crew members believe it’s a company conspiracy to keep us here, and come to think of it, in the five years I’ve been here no one has quit.
The point is, if we go we lose the one thing that is the most precious to us all: Vixen. She’s always there, always eager to please, never says no, never has a headache, and always wants to be with you. Is there a woman in this universe that could compete with that? The company told us we would never get lonely on the long flights. They said they had incorporated a program into the hypersleep mode that would ensure none of the crew would go crazy from the extra-long periods of loneliness during the extended sleep.
Even though our bodies sleep the mind is still active. It needs constant stimulation or it shuts down and turns to mush. The company had lost dozens of employees over the years to hypersleep sickness. Then, through the studies they did, they found out that sexual stimulation was the best way to keep the brain in perfect working order.
That’s where Vixen comes in. Each man is asked to pick a virtual woman when he signs up. The virtual women may look different but they are all the same, just ones and zeros all creating the same algorithm. They said she was safe, they said she would be our saviour, but instead she’s our captor and we’re willing prisoners of her whims.
We haul liquid diamonds from the gas giants in our solar system, and each trek is a two-year round trip. We spend ninety-nine percent of that time in hyper sleep, so like lambs to the slaughter we go to the coffins for our extended periods of slumber and can’t wait to have our neurons pumped full of Vixen.
Why?
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Walking The Dog
I have another flash fiction to post this week I hope you like it. This time it's horror. Once again it has been edited by the wonderful Penny Springthorpe.
Walking the Dog
By Kev Webb 2009 ©
Edited By Penny Springthorpe.
The dreamer, the unwoken fool
In dreams no pain will kiss the brow
The love of ages fills the head
The days that linger there in prey of emptiness
Of burned out dreams
The minutes calling through the years
The universal dreamer rises up above his earthly burden
Journey to the dead of night
High on a hill in Eldorado.
‘Eldorado Overture’
Electric Light Orchestra
The beads of sweat gather as the eyes flicker and dart beneath the closed lids of you, the sleeper. A dream pervades your darkness, a dream no one else sees, a dream that is life changing and terrifying. A dream that you may never wake from: you are walking the dog.
Your eyes open as if pulled by strings; your heart hammers in your chest while your eyes scream for the safety of light. Why can’t you move? It’s as if someone is sitting on your chest, holding you down; your arms and legs feel paralysed. Only your eyes move in their sockets. They flick around the room looking for any sign of danger. This is the perfect time for attack, the perfect time for the murderer waiting in the corner to step forward and slice your throat, the throat of the so-called innocent.
Feel the warmth of the blood as it escapes and sprays around the room, as the murderer oh so gently slices your skin with the stiletto blade, exposing your open throat to the world. The blade is lifted towards your failing eyes, dripping with your precious life’s blood. The only sound you hear now is the gurgle of your own breath as you draw it in through the gushing blood of the gash at your throat. Your hammering heart pumps your body dry in seconds, rendering your mind and body useless as oxygen is depleted, blood ebbs and your brain dies. Death is mercifully quick.
Or is the murderer somewhere else? Did you check under the bed before you lay down? Is there a blade poised beneath you waiting to pierce your spine, severing your spinal cord? Has this happened already? Is this why you can’t move? What’s that sound? It sounds like a shuffle of feet. Get up! Get up! Don’t just lie there. Move, scream, do something, anything, or you’re going to die.
Have you ever stopped to wonder what these dreams are all about? Why you feel so wrung out afterwards? Did you think they were just dreams with no meaning? Wrong! You are slowly being dragged down the dark road of torment by the hounds of hell. Each dream brings you another step closer to the burning gates. How many times have you woken up with fear ringing in your ears, clutching at your chest? Each dream shortens your life; each dream draws you further in, kicking and screaming, ever closer. Each quickened heartbeat is another one you won’t get back again: another one taken from you. You are born with only so many heartbeats. The more the hounds use up, the less you have to live with and the faster you are dragged to your inevitable conclusion. You don’t even realise your breaths are being stolen. Once you start walking the dog the hounds are always at your side: unseen, undead, unclean, relentless in their pursuit. They have a malevolent master that demands they perform their duties without the need for interference or overseeing.
You could be forgiven for thinking it’s just one of those things. Write it off and go back to sleep. But back in the restful arms of slumber the hounds are waiting. They need you to re-enter the dark world of sleep because that’s when they can drag and pull your soul towards their goal with ease.
Be thankful that the hounds are mostly unseen. They are horribly disfigured and battle scarred. These foul, dark creatures of the underworld are ferocious and dangerous. Rotting flesh hangs from old wounds and bones are visible through tears in their flesh. Maggots drop from the wounds and writhe on the floor, lost now they no longer crawl in their own enzymatic solutions.
The hounds sense the end is near; you have been walking the dog for a long time and didn’t even know it. Now you know, but it’s far too late. You’re at the burning gates. The ground shakes and heaves as the gates are pulled open by the malignant spirits that guard them. You are dragged to your wicked fate and the massive gates swing back and close with a shudder that courses through you, mimicking your own violent shudder. The hounds release you and you struggle to your feet. You look at your surroundings: everything is on fire or smouldering, and the foetid stench of rotting corpses and sulphur fills the choking atmosphere.
The murderer is in front of you, the murderer from your waking dream. He rushes you with the slashing blade and you have no defence. He knocks your hands away and carves at your face; the blade travels cleanly through the skin of your cheek and catches your ear, then is swiftly brought down in one stroke to your jaw. The attack is relentless, you are in hell; nothing you have ever known has prepared you for this. Nothing ever could.
Eternal damnation is just that: you do not die because you are already dead, and you go on suffering the way you are now. Wounds hang open and expose raw nerves. You cannot see through all the blood, and the pain is unbearable.
Where is he? You ask yourself as you try to rise, but then you collapse and pass out with fear still clutching at your breast.
You wake to the sound of a familiar voice.
‘Hey come on, wake up. You sleep like the dead.’
‘Huh? What?’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be walking the dog?’
Walking the Dog
By Kev Webb 2009 ©
Edited By Penny Springthorpe.
The dreamer, the unwoken fool
In dreams no pain will kiss the brow
The love of ages fills the head
The days that linger there in prey of emptiness
Of burned out dreams
The minutes calling through the years
The universal dreamer rises up above his earthly burden
Journey to the dead of night
High on a hill in Eldorado.
‘Eldorado Overture’
Electric Light Orchestra
The beads of sweat gather as the eyes flicker and dart beneath the closed lids of you, the sleeper. A dream pervades your darkness, a dream no one else sees, a dream that is life changing and terrifying. A dream that you may never wake from: you are walking the dog.
Your eyes open as if pulled by strings; your heart hammers in your chest while your eyes scream for the safety of light. Why can’t you move? It’s as if someone is sitting on your chest, holding you down; your arms and legs feel paralysed. Only your eyes move in their sockets. They flick around the room looking for any sign of danger. This is the perfect time for attack, the perfect time for the murderer waiting in the corner to step forward and slice your throat, the throat of the so-called innocent.
Feel the warmth of the blood as it escapes and sprays around the room, as the murderer oh so gently slices your skin with the stiletto blade, exposing your open throat to the world. The blade is lifted towards your failing eyes, dripping with your precious life’s blood. The only sound you hear now is the gurgle of your own breath as you draw it in through the gushing blood of the gash at your throat. Your hammering heart pumps your body dry in seconds, rendering your mind and body useless as oxygen is depleted, blood ebbs and your brain dies. Death is mercifully quick.
Or is the murderer somewhere else? Did you check under the bed before you lay down? Is there a blade poised beneath you waiting to pierce your spine, severing your spinal cord? Has this happened already? Is this why you can’t move? What’s that sound? It sounds like a shuffle of feet. Get up! Get up! Don’t just lie there. Move, scream, do something, anything, or you’re going to die.
Have you ever stopped to wonder what these dreams are all about? Why you feel so wrung out afterwards? Did you think they were just dreams with no meaning? Wrong! You are slowly being dragged down the dark road of torment by the hounds of hell. Each dream brings you another step closer to the burning gates. How many times have you woken up with fear ringing in your ears, clutching at your chest? Each dream shortens your life; each dream draws you further in, kicking and screaming, ever closer. Each quickened heartbeat is another one you won’t get back again: another one taken from you. You are born with only so many heartbeats. The more the hounds use up, the less you have to live with and the faster you are dragged to your inevitable conclusion. You don’t even realise your breaths are being stolen. Once you start walking the dog the hounds are always at your side: unseen, undead, unclean, relentless in their pursuit. They have a malevolent master that demands they perform their duties without the need for interference or overseeing.
You could be forgiven for thinking it’s just one of those things. Write it off and go back to sleep. But back in the restful arms of slumber the hounds are waiting. They need you to re-enter the dark world of sleep because that’s when they can drag and pull your soul towards their goal with ease.
Be thankful that the hounds are mostly unseen. They are horribly disfigured and battle scarred. These foul, dark creatures of the underworld are ferocious and dangerous. Rotting flesh hangs from old wounds and bones are visible through tears in their flesh. Maggots drop from the wounds and writhe on the floor, lost now they no longer crawl in their own enzymatic solutions.
The hounds sense the end is near; you have been walking the dog for a long time and didn’t even know it. Now you know, but it’s far too late. You’re at the burning gates. The ground shakes and heaves as the gates are pulled open by the malignant spirits that guard them. You are dragged to your wicked fate and the massive gates swing back and close with a shudder that courses through you, mimicking your own violent shudder. The hounds release you and you struggle to your feet. You look at your surroundings: everything is on fire or smouldering, and the foetid stench of rotting corpses and sulphur fills the choking atmosphere.
The murderer is in front of you, the murderer from your waking dream. He rushes you with the slashing blade and you have no defence. He knocks your hands away and carves at your face; the blade travels cleanly through the skin of your cheek and catches your ear, then is swiftly brought down in one stroke to your jaw. The attack is relentless, you are in hell; nothing you have ever known has prepared you for this. Nothing ever could.
Eternal damnation is just that: you do not die because you are already dead, and you go on suffering the way you are now. Wounds hang open and expose raw nerves. You cannot see through all the blood, and the pain is unbearable.
Where is he? You ask yourself as you try to rise, but then you collapse and pass out with fear still clutching at your breast.
You wake to the sound of a familiar voice.
‘Hey come on, wake up. You sleep like the dead.’
‘Huh? What?’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be walking the dog?’
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Think About Me
This week I thought I'd publish my first foray into the snippet world of Flash fiction.
A big thanks Goes to Mr Alan Baxter for showing me the way.
Think About Me
Kev Webb 2009 ©
Edited By Penny Springthorpe
Wandima mouths the words ‘Think about me’ as she fades away. A bullet screams through the air where her mouth had been, tearing it apart with supersonic speed. If she had still been there, then her face would not be.
I got her out in time, Hirashe thinks, as the battle continues around him. He wonders where she goes to when she disappears like that and realises that he’s never actually thought about it before. It’s always been one of those things he’s just accepted and never given a second thought to until now. He knows she can’t exist without him. What if he were to die right now? He starts to panic as reality settles in. Not only would he never see her again but neither would anyone else.
All around him are the dead and dying. Protectors who are fiercely loyal surround him. They have to be loyal. One bullet – one stray bullet – and it’s over. If he dies they all die.
Hirashe is one of many thought provokers in this reality, and he is trying to protect it from other thought provokers. In many ways they are just like him, but unlike him they are full of greed and lust. As long as he’s alive they cannot take his reality. He can replace the dead and dying, but it’s not as simple as just thinking about a name or a face; they actually have to have a life before they can live. Before they can breathe in this existence there must be a reason for them to exist. This takes time. Hirashe can’t rush. If he does they will be flawed, or worse: they will fail to manifest. With each death his realm shrinks, while the reality of the other thought provokers grows, and eventually it could completely engulf this reality as though it had never existed. For this reason it is imperative that Hirashe keeps this reality populated. Now it’s time for some quick thinking. He has been losing ground and his realm is now half its normal size.
Hirashe ponders some more. What does it take to truly kill a thought? Is it just one bullet, or is it just another thought? How many thoughts have been lost and ended up in the hands of my enemies? What truly happens to them when I don’t think about them anymore? Are there only so many thoughts to go around?
He has always taken his status as a thought provoker for granted, but now with the enemy at the gates he has to think deeper than he ever has before. His mind swirls and labours under the weight of his enormous thoughts. This is the hardest his brain has ever had to work, and as it works it starts to expand until he is reaching into areas previously untapped and unexplored. He wonders why has it taken the near collapse of this reality for him to discover that there was a lot more in his brain than he ever realised.
For some reason he is able to process creation information much quicker than he ever has before. All around him new people are appearing and taking solid shape, and as soon as they emerge they are instantly into the fray because they are forming with weapons in hand. The soldiers now appearing are more focused, forceful and fierce than any he has produced in the past. They literally hit the ground running. They charge the front line without a single thought for their own protection, caring only for the safety of their designer and maker: Hirashe the thought provoker. It’s not just their attitude that’s different; their weapons also seem to have taken a quantum leap in their development. Even the landscape is changing; becoming more advantageous for the defending army; raising and moving, creating an undulating landscape that makes it much harder for the opposing force.
Everyone has become used to small changes happening around them, but these changes are significant and extraordinary in their manifestations.
Hirashe notices that his army is not taking as many casualties as it was and realises it’s because they’re fading out when they’re not actually pulling the trigger of their weapons. The bullets are passing right through them until the moment they fire their own weapons; only at that point do they become tangible entities. And as soon as they release the trigger they fade back out again, making it almost impossible for the enemy to target them. They are only vulnerable in that instant when they pull the trigger.The tables have been turned. The ground that had been lost is now being reclaimed and a wave of euphoria ripples through the troops on the front line. Everything is now to their advantage.
One bullet, one stray bullet, hits the mark. It sears the flesh and smashes the bone. It shatters the forehead and parts the brain down the middle, severing all the connections that are responsible for life, before it exits the rear of the skull in a bright red explosion. Life can no longer be possible. Before Hirashe’s body hits the ground, this reality blinks out of existence. Gone is the landscape, gone are the people, gone forever is that world, and it will never be seen or thought of again.
There is no noise. Everything is silent. A light pierces the darkness as Hirashe opens his eyes and looks around the room. Then he feels it: the soft gentle caress of fingers running through his hair.
‘Where am I?’ he asks hesitantly
‘You’re with me,’ is the soothing response.
‘Wandima? Is that really you?’
‘Yes, it really is me.’
‘How did I get here?’
‘I thought about you.’
A big thanks Goes to Mr Alan Baxter for showing me the way.
Think About Me
Kev Webb 2009 ©
Edited By Penny Springthorpe
Wandima mouths the words ‘Think about me’ as she fades away. A bullet screams through the air where her mouth had been, tearing it apart with supersonic speed. If she had still been there, then her face would not be.
I got her out in time, Hirashe thinks, as the battle continues around him. He wonders where she goes to when she disappears like that and realises that he’s never actually thought about it before. It’s always been one of those things he’s just accepted and never given a second thought to until now. He knows she can’t exist without him. What if he were to die right now? He starts to panic as reality settles in. Not only would he never see her again but neither would anyone else.
All around him are the dead and dying. Protectors who are fiercely loyal surround him. They have to be loyal. One bullet – one stray bullet – and it’s over. If he dies they all die.
Hirashe is one of many thought provokers in this reality, and he is trying to protect it from other thought provokers. In many ways they are just like him, but unlike him they are full of greed and lust. As long as he’s alive they cannot take his reality. He can replace the dead and dying, but it’s not as simple as just thinking about a name or a face; they actually have to have a life before they can live. Before they can breathe in this existence there must be a reason for them to exist. This takes time. Hirashe can’t rush. If he does they will be flawed, or worse: they will fail to manifest. With each death his realm shrinks, while the reality of the other thought provokers grows, and eventually it could completely engulf this reality as though it had never existed. For this reason it is imperative that Hirashe keeps this reality populated. Now it’s time for some quick thinking. He has been losing ground and his realm is now half its normal size.
Hirashe ponders some more. What does it take to truly kill a thought? Is it just one bullet, or is it just another thought? How many thoughts have been lost and ended up in the hands of my enemies? What truly happens to them when I don’t think about them anymore? Are there only so many thoughts to go around?
He has always taken his status as a thought provoker for granted, but now with the enemy at the gates he has to think deeper than he ever has before. His mind swirls and labours under the weight of his enormous thoughts. This is the hardest his brain has ever had to work, and as it works it starts to expand until he is reaching into areas previously untapped and unexplored. He wonders why has it taken the near collapse of this reality for him to discover that there was a lot more in his brain than he ever realised.
For some reason he is able to process creation information much quicker than he ever has before. All around him new people are appearing and taking solid shape, and as soon as they emerge they are instantly into the fray because they are forming with weapons in hand. The soldiers now appearing are more focused, forceful and fierce than any he has produced in the past. They literally hit the ground running. They charge the front line without a single thought for their own protection, caring only for the safety of their designer and maker: Hirashe the thought provoker. It’s not just their attitude that’s different; their weapons also seem to have taken a quantum leap in their development. Even the landscape is changing; becoming more advantageous for the defending army; raising and moving, creating an undulating landscape that makes it much harder for the opposing force.
Everyone has become used to small changes happening around them, but these changes are significant and extraordinary in their manifestations.
Hirashe notices that his army is not taking as many casualties as it was and realises it’s because they’re fading out when they’re not actually pulling the trigger of their weapons. The bullets are passing right through them until the moment they fire their own weapons; only at that point do they become tangible entities. And as soon as they release the trigger they fade back out again, making it almost impossible for the enemy to target them. They are only vulnerable in that instant when they pull the trigger.The tables have been turned. The ground that had been lost is now being reclaimed and a wave of euphoria ripples through the troops on the front line. Everything is now to their advantage.
One bullet, one stray bullet, hits the mark. It sears the flesh and smashes the bone. It shatters the forehead and parts the brain down the middle, severing all the connections that are responsible for life, before it exits the rear of the skull in a bright red explosion. Life can no longer be possible. Before Hirashe’s body hits the ground, this reality blinks out of existence. Gone is the landscape, gone are the people, gone forever is that world, and it will never be seen or thought of again.
There is no noise. Everything is silent. A light pierces the darkness as Hirashe opens his eyes and looks around the room. Then he feels it: the soft gentle caress of fingers running through his hair.
‘Where am I?’ he asks hesitantly
‘You’re with me,’ is the soothing response.
‘Wandima? Is that really you?’
‘Yes, it really is me.’
‘How did I get here?’
‘I thought about you.’
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