Doing My Little Happy Dance (Publication Announcements)

So, I received an e-mail this afternoon confirming that my story "Appearances and Disappearances" would be featuring in the forthcoming October Paper Swans Press iPamphlet (due out tomorrow).  Very pleasing news!

Also - "In Creeps The Night" (with my story "Dealbreaker" in it) is officially out now - I've downloaded my copy already!

Ursilla (Angry Hourglass)

Photo by Ashwin Rao via The Angry Hourglass

Ursilla

Tam had clipped dutifully, shearing the horny substances crusted into her small palms and soles, amidst winces and squirming.  Slices of horn had formed slowly in their place; barriers harder to break down, spreading - finally - into webs between digits.  That had decided it.  Now, the water sings as he stitches stalks, liquid reach kissing his knees; needle driving through velvet thickness lit by moonlight.  Its point pierced his skin when salty distractions blurred his vision; the pin prick dulled now to numbness as he works onward, methodical, towards the finish.  Blood soaks the makeshift thread as it closes the gaps, sealing over the criss-crossed weeds hugging its breathing centre.  Dark eyes watch within as he does.  He would have the best for his girl.

Tam loses track of time in the driving of sharpened bone, one side to the other - finds himself keeping count of the tiny crosses closing over the X marked chest.  By the end the number is beyond him; no way of knowing.  Once fully sewn in and left with a fur filled sack requiring dispatch, he hefts his heavy burden further into the waters, holding her carefully still above the caresses of the cresting waves.  Tam looks further out; watching; waiting.  She had told him, though he hadn’t listened then.  No choice now – just as he had no choice then.  He is up to his middle, clothes sodden, arms outstretched, feet as yet holding firm beneath him.  She will know.  She will come at the waves’ calling.

A bobbing break in the surface announces the harem’s presence and Tam relieves himself of her weight, pushing her out into the depths.  His breath catches momentarily before he sees her borne aloft by semi sunken silk undulations; a rise and fall, out and into the beyond. 

Wading from the brine, Tam seeks higher ground, climbing cliff side stairs to glimpse her before she is gone completely; still cloaked in the salt’s sting, its traces tracked upon his cheeks, as well as clothing.  He will watch the distant specks a while longer, with the scent of the sea on his skin.  Until they swim from sight.

Comment

This one was written for The Angry Hourglass Flash-Frenzy-Round-37.  Somehow I found myself writing about selkie children and weaving hints from various folktales into my piece...  This one placed as First Runner Up for the week, which I was surprised and pleased by, given the number of incredible entries!

Due Service (Flash! Friday)

 Typhoon Maid Thursday. CC photo by Shuji Moriwaki (via Flash! Friday)


Due Service


Shi stands, black clad, before the water’s chill.  Bronze has crossed the coin-eyed’s palm to dive their depths already – servitude now due.  It is hers to perform; the nine time circle into pain’s swamp, past drowsy oblivion; beyond fire and wailing.  Hers to see that he drinks of the infernal rivers; brackish and brine filled, pre return; cup filled to the brim.  He will choke at their taste; a spilled splutter.  It will be enough, even so.  Pitch unremitting at the epicentre, repetition will suffice to see them to the surface, though the journey is longer in the making now, each time.  He will not remember the struggle; scarce still Shi’s name when waking, coughing, atop solid rock.  He will not know the cost for his return; the price paid to swim within the realms.  He will not recall the salt sodden tears shed into his glass.  He will never know she exchanged a portion of her life for his.

Comment

A second piece for this week's Flash! Friday, given I had another idea after writing the first story and couldn't resist writing the second one down.  Think there's a longer story in this one too...

The Vigil (Flash! Friday)

Typhoon Maid Thursday. CC photo by Shuji Moriwaki (via Flash! Friday)

The Vigil

Wednesday wanted to be buried at sea.  They obliged, setting him to sail, then sink, beneath the water’s lapping.

“Should’ve been me,” Thursday said, watching the surface; still post-submergence.

“Wouldn’t’ve worked,” Tuesday answered.  “It’s as it needs to be.” 

“Still – never let it be said you haven’t had your use here.”  Friday’s eyes remained turned towards the water.

“We agreed!”  Thursday’s voice was sharp.  “You couldn’t have called the storm!”

“Wouldn’t have,” Friday said, eyes hard now; stare unremitting.

“Wednesday’s choice, ultimately.  As always,” Tuesday said.  “Guess I’d want to switch things up by now; hang tradition.  Maybe.”

Friday’s eyes turned towards the one-handed man to her side, eyebrows raised.

“Sjaund, anyone?” Sunday interjected, smile determined, raising a liquor filled bowl, contents swimming from the sides.

“Too early yet, surely?” Monday said.

Sunday shrugged, sipping.  “Won’t be long.”  

“It’s time,” Saturday interjected, eyes cast out into the distance.  Faces pointed forwards now, together the family watched; expectant of his emergence.

Comment

Written for Flash! Friday Vol-2-42.  This week's challenge was to include a death within the story.  Somehow this transformed into the story of the gods behind the days of the week and a differing slant on Odin's vigil... 

Ahem! Ahem! (Publication Announcements)

So, I received an e-mail the other day confirming that my story "Fight The Fear" will feature in the October issue of The Opening Line Literary 'Zine.  Really good news.

Additionally, I'm aware that the publication date for "In Creeps The Night" has been set as 30th September 2014 for anyone who fancies getting into the Halloween spirit early this year!

The Dispensary (Angry Hourglass)

Photo courtesy Ashwin Rao via The Angry Hourglass

The Dispensary

Everyone ends up at The Dispensary eventually.  Some go beforehand to visit.  To feel better.  Temporarily.  Feeling worse afterwards.  Hollow.  Bereft.  One visit leading to another  and another.  The regular clockwork crowd crawling in.  Callum relies on them and they never let him down.  Whether they will or no, they can’t avoid their final visit here.

“Y’got it for me?” Jordan asks.

“As promised.  Pretty decent, all things considered.  Had compliments from the punters.  Kept her back special for you.  Had a feeling you’d be in today.”

“Pass her over then.”  Jordan reaches a hand to the dispenser, taking the slim vial from his grasp, pressing it to his lips.  He swallows it down, throat working once as it passes into his system.  The dispenser sees his eyes glaze immediately, hand curving on the counter, as it takes hold of him.  He breathes – in – out, expelling in a slow sigh.

“Sweet,” Jordan says.

“Rich, from what I’ve heard,” Callum responds.  “With body.”  He raises on eyebrow.

“Nice little number,” Jordan agrees.  “Not what I’m looking for though.”  “Guessing you knew already.”

“Might’ve had an inkling.  She’s special order though.  Still waiting for her to come in.”

“Any idea on timings?”

“Hard to say.  You know how it is.”

“Request’s been through some time now,” Jordan reminds Callum.

“Got folks on it, for what it’s worth.  She’ll come in.”

“Better do.”  The words are sharp.

“Everyone ends up here eventually,” Callum says.  “Just a matter of time.  Plus there’s a pretty decent palate to work your way through in the meantime.  Plenty of choice.  Daily deliveries.”

“Just not the one.”  Insistent.

“She’ll turn up.”  A pause.  “Try another in the meantime.  On the house.”  The dark glass is already in front of Jordan, liquid obscured behind the opaque surface.  His eyes light as he sniffs, savouring the scent, before gesturing at the colour of the receptacle.  

“Really?” Jordan asks.  “I’d have your sources if I wanted.   Sod them.  Told her I’d find her, one way or another.  She can’t hide forever.  Everyone ends up here eventually.  You said it yourself.  Just a matter of time, that’s all.  Then I’ll have her.”

Comment

This last week's story forThe Angry Hourglass  Flash-Frenzy-Round-36.  This one follows on from a previous Hourglass story I wrote, "Sampling Spirits".  It was plenty of fun to write!

Sorrow's Baptised (MWBB)

Erin had been baptised in pain and a flood of saltwater tears, earth still crusted beneath her fingernails from the silt laden waters.  She emerges still riding her rage; the tang of blood at her lips, ratty snake tailed hair hissing into her ears, the ghost of a slit-smile kissing the base of her throat.  Somewhere beyond this, she can hear her call.  To her, it roars.  She is clear where she must be, though crimson colours her vision; the beat of fury coursing – quickening - through her veins.  His name is the curse clamouring upon her lips.  He is where she must go.  He is the favour owed her before the remainder.  Before she truly becomes one of those formed from sorrow, favouring the wronged, seeking to restore balance through chaos’ call.

Dark limbs on shadowed wings’ flight, she spreads them wide, to travel swiftly, skirt shifting slightly with the winds.  His pain will be her pleasure – the necessary price.  She knows this to be true; the justice of blood for blood.  She is his storm cloud summoned.   

Justin.  An irony, that.  One date and she had known herself drowning deep, though she might still have made an escape - then.  She hadn’t meant to fall in love.  By the time she had realised, she was already teetering on the brink - and then up and over.  She had thought herself loved.  Told herself he had had a bad day when they had words.  Stayed.  He had made a mistake.  It wouldn’t happen again.  Trite self-assurances.

It is difficult to remember the night it happened; blurred as it is beneath her collapse into unconsciousness.  She recalls sticky, carmine stained fingers, clutched towards her throat, before the floor rose up to greet her.  The silver scar tracing her skin reminds her of the end.  She touches a fingertip to its ridges.  There is satisfaction in seeing into the secret depths of others, where once one could only guess.  Now, she can know the truth; can practice virtuous vengeance where its weight sets its summons upon her.

Erin feels pressure pulling in her bones, where previously they were light.  She is near now.  She dips lower, boots coming into contact with tarmac as she lands; the slight initial shock of impact reverberating through her soles.  The suggestion of feather shading at her shoulders fades as she stands.  A slight smile as she recognises her surroundings.  It would be here.

Crouching slightly, Erin pushes the four figure combination into the key safe, hearing the click as it opens on its hinges.  The code is unchanged.  He could scarcely have expected her return to use it, given how he had left her.  Still, she is here, restless coils slithering –soundless now - about her temples, whip wound about her waist.  Raised by her calling, claimed by blood’s bindings, irrevocably promised to her mission once it is over.  Once she is beyond him.

The stairs towards the bedroom are steep; higher than in the average house.  Erin is used to their proportions.  She has climbed them many times before.  It is the first doorway on the right.  She turns the brass handle slowly.  It creaks if one is less than careful.  A light jump and she is passed the raised floorboard just beyond the entrance, liable to catch one’s toes and stub them.  He is a slight snore beneath the duvet; a cocooned length in its white folds.

The movement about Erin’s head increases as she nears the bed.  The red is with her now, singing through her body.  She feels dizzy drunk on its spinning, as it pulls her under.  Somewhere, there is shouting, a frenzy of serpentine seething and they are eye ball to eye ball as Justin startles straight from sleep into wide eyed stare, immediate.  Locked into contact, Erin sees a form of recognition, accompanied by something else, as his gaze cracks.  She sees herself reflected upon his eyes, as they stare openly into hers.    Leaning forwards slowly, gently, she bestows her final kiss upon his lips.  He is still as she does so; unmoving, scarcely breathing; blinking rapidly now.  Somewhere, inside, she hears him scream.  And cry.  And cry.

Comment

Last week's piece for Mid-Week-Blues-Buster Week 2-20, the music prompt being P J Harvey's "Long Snake Moan".  I couldn't resist writing a 700 word story of Furies and revenge..