On..... Readers.

Reader.
You do me the honor of taking the time to cast your gaze over my few words.
Will you like them?
Will you think them apt?
Or do you snarl, curl your lip at them, think them trite, dull, unimaginative?
I'm sorry.
Its all I can offer you, these tiny slivers of me, laid bare for your approval. I can't even defend myself. If you read a line and see it as obtuse how can I explain myself? Show you that I meant it this way, that it was never my intention to offend or confuse or upset or make you shake your head at my naivety, my lack of prose, my inadequate use of a dictionary or thesaurus or correct grammar.
Can I grab you by the collar and show you that I only want to please?
Every time I write I give myself to you.
I open up my chest and pull out my heart so that you can peer at it.
It makes no difference to me whether you look at it with interest or disgust..... I'm just happy you came back.

There is no fiction.
Its me.
Its the people I've met, the places I've been, the stories I've read.
Sometimes its an almost true account, other times its what happened on the other side of that worm hole... The time I went left instead of right, said yes instead of no.

When you read these words is your right hand resting on a mouse? Finger nearest the thumb poised above the left button?
Do you have your chin resting on your left hand? Your elbow balanced on your desk. your face slack, uninterested?
I hope on the inside you're transported.
You read a little and maybe you see one sentence, one word that sparks a neuron, reminds you of a time, a place, a person, makes you blink and wonder "What ever happened to...?"

I hope you realise I die a little for you reader.
For you I continue to send out myself, open myself to ridicule, face the fear of my lack of ego.

For you dear reader I suffer.
I suffer willingly.
 

Untitled two

She measured out her worth in bite sized chunks.

Little morsels that, although they brought instant gratification, never satisfied her, never sated that gnawing animal in her stomach, the one that writhed and growled and hissed “What are you?” Before answering itself with a rasping chuckle.

“Nothing.”

Was she from a broken home?

Did she live on one of the run down council estates, one of the dilapidated and dated streets in the sky?

Was her mother an alcoholic and her father unknown?

She sometimes wished that was the case.

Would It be easier to live with if she could endure, safe in the knowledge that there was no hope, no chance.

Her bedroom was comfortable.

The bed draped with a thick duvet, its cover marked in accents of yellow and teal the pillow cases matching, the sheets, smelt of conditioner and too long in the drier.

The faint strains of the radio drifted up the beige carped stairs, along the cream walls and slipped under her door. It was followed by the olfactory teasing of cooking. She couldn‘t yet tell what it was, but it was heavy, rich, comforting. Italian maybe, a slug of wine in the sauce. Her father would smile at her over the table, crack a joke about not telling anyone about the wine, allowing her a small glass with the grown ups.

She would smile and sip at the red as though in distasted, even though later she would no doubt be throwing back shots with Paul.

Tonight she wouldn‘t be joining them for dinner.

She pulled on tights and then followed them with jeans.

Standing up she worked a short skirt up her hips and then carefully tucked it inside her jeans. In the mirror her stomach now bulged. Slowly her hands worked out the lumps of fabric under the waistband until the skirt was invisible.

Satisfied, she slipped a hater neck on then topped it with a heavy shirt.

There was nothing she could do to hide her shoes but it didn‘t really matter.

“Sweetheart.” Her mothers mild admonishment is only play acting, she’s going through the motions of being the disproving parent, but she’s fooling neither of them. “Vi, Don’t you think they’re a little high.”

She looks down at her shoes and back up at her mothers badly hidden smile. “Not really.” She shrugs.

She hears the rustle of a newspaper and the far off voice of her father in the other room. “For Christ sake Liz, don’t go after the poor girl, her shoes are fine.” An earthy chuckle from the living room where he pretends to read the financial section but really only reads the TV listing’s.

Her shoes are not fine. They are heels, nearly 5 inches if you count the platform under the ball of her toes. Her jeans hide the worst of the shock factor though, covering all but the last inch of the heel.

Her mother thinks Vi is playing at being grown up, like the time she was eight and made up her face, bright blue eye shadow slicked on thick, red lipstick drawn on shakily till her naive pout resembled a clowns grimace.

There was a picture somewhere of this. Her serious face painted with a childish hand made her look, not cute and amusing like her parents thought.

No.

Vi had looked at that photo and thought she looked like a hooker. A 19^th century streetwalker, painted with heavy grease to hide pox scars, a make up consisting of chalk and mercury, beauty that would drive her mad if syphilis didn’t get her first.

Her parents thought she was being cute now.

She wasn’t.

“I’ll be at Sarah’s. I have my mobile.”

Vague sounds from the parents, ‘have a nice time’, ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t’, ‘see you on Sunday’.

The door shuts with a click, holding back the warmth inside.

For a moment Vi lets her hand rest on the door knob and wonders what would happen if she simply went back inside. Just opened the door and said she didn’t feel like going out. Her parents would probably only briefly acknowledge her return, would ask if she was hungry, would not pass comment when she said no.

Sometimes it would be nice is they could be unreasonable about something.

A sharp wind nipped at her fingers, at the nape of her neck where her shirt fell away, her hand gripped the door tighter and she nearly turned the handle.

The harsh sound of the heel of Paul’s hand hitting the horn made her jump.

Quickly Vi turned from the door and trotted down the path to the car that waited, dark and low slung, like a crouching dog, something with a low set head and broad shoulders, not a dog you would pat or scratch behind the ears or croon “Nice dog, good boy” to.

Inside the car it smells like fags and vodka, sex and mint.

She looks across to Paul and smiles.

He raises an eyebrow back and swings the car away from the curb, glancing at Vi occasionally as she sheds her shirt and jeans.

She used to like the way he looked at her, now she gets a small knot of fear in her stomach whenever he does.

Paul’s eyes are small, set far back in his face, they flit from the road to her thighs, even though she’s pulled the skirt down as far as it will go.

He used to talk to her.

When they first started going out he would drive them out to one of the parks in the city and they would walk for hours, hold hands, lean against trees and kiss.

He’d call her beautiful and make her laugh. He’d stroke her hair and hold her close and she thought she was in love.

Vi wondered if he parents would have a fit if they knew how old he was. Twenty seven, twelve years older. Not so much older in the long run she told herself. Not at all, there were nine years between her parents but…..

She glanced at him.

His face was set now.

“Where we going?”

“Matt’s maybe.”

Nothing more. They always hung out in flats, bed sits. The didn’t walk together anymore.



Things changed the night he didn’t take her home on time.

She remembered being in his car and the seats being laid back.

Paul on top of her kissing her. The windows steamed up so that the street light filtered through bathing them in sick light.

Unlike before he had her pinned so that she could barely move, his kisses were urgent and his hands rough, pushed up between her legs.

She squirmed, tried to sit up but he grabbed her hand and pushed it against the front of his jeans.

Vi had frozen.

Had shook.

“You want it?” His breath was hot on her ear, he moved his hips and ground against her fingers.

“Yes.” She whispered.”… But not yet.”

He had glared at her. She remembered that most of all, how his eyes had glowed orange like an animals and how she had felt waves of anger rolling off him.

In one swift move he had released her and started the car, driving off even while she struggled to put her seat up.

He had driven around in silence and for the first time Vi was truly frightened.

It was like something had broken between them but she didn’t know how to fix it. Maybe if she’d been older…. But she didn’t want to dwell on that. Better to say nothing than to show her age by whining at him like a child.

Paul said nothing as they finally drew up at her house, not even when she stepped out of the car.

Vi had sobbed into her pillow that night.

One part of her relived that he hadn’t forced her, the other terrified that this was the end, that he’d dump her, that she was too young, too immature.

He Didn’t answer his phone or return her texts for three days, then finally he called her.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was tinny, the reception bad.

“No. I’m sorry, really. Paul…. I really want to but…”

“It’s just I really like you, when I’m around you…” He pauses and for a moment and Vi thinks he’s been cut off. “…. It’s hard to control myself.”

She feels a thrill ripple though her stomach.

How much power does she have over him? That she can make him lose control around her.

“Can I see you tonight?”

“Yes. I’m sorry Paul, really, I think…”

“I’ll pick you up at eight alright?”

She’d agreed and now she didn’t feel worried anymore, all thoughts of the last time they’d been together gone, all she could focus on was how he said she made him feel, how much of a sway she held over him.

Wrapping her arms about her she hugged herself close and decided she’d be Ok, it would only bring them closer.

Matt lived on the top floor of a run down tower on an estate she’d never seen in the daylight.

Groups of small children, no more than seven or eight years old, roamed the estate, throwing bottles at wall’s, each other, passers by.

Paul had parked the car away from here so they had to walk through the courtyards.

A bottle smashed at their feet and Paul picked up the neck and threw it back.

“Fucking cunt!” One of the kids screeched back over his shoulder as they ran.

Paul took Vi by the elbow and leg her none too gently away.

He’d picked her up and kissed her softly as she got in the car.

She looked at him with new eyes, saw how he struggled to keep a lid on his desire and she felt like a goddess.

For the first time ever he took her out for something to eat. Only a burger, only a little café, but it was so nice, so normal, like they were a real couple, not just pretending.

After they had walked hand in hand to a flat.

“It’s John’s. He’s not here. Said we could crash for a few hours.”

She knew what he wanted and now she wanted to let him have it, to have her.

The bed smelled of stale sweat, takeaway food.

Paul started out slowly, tender, lay her back on the bed and undressed her with care.

But it didn’t last.

He pinned her arms to the bed and crushed her lips with his.

Vi didn’t have time to say no, to slow him down, to say anything.

She tried to tell herself that he had mistaken her cries of pain for cries of pleasure. Convinced herself that it was only a misunderstanding.

After she had lain in a daze while he mumbled into her neck, She was beautiful, so beautiful.

But she didn’t feel beautiful, only battered and raw, hulled out.

Like he’d taken something from her, physically ripped something from her body.

Paul started to snore and she bit down hard on her lip, pushed the tears back furiously, why was she upset?

Wasn’t this what she wanted? He hadn’t made her have sex with him, hadn’t forced himself on her. He was her boyfriend for gods sake.

Slipping out of the bed and taking her clothes with her to the bathroom she shut and locked the door, leaning for a moment against the cool veneer, her back sticky with dried sweat.

The mirror was over the hand basin and lifting her head she could see herself staring back.

Where’s the Goddess now?

Dark circles under her eyes, hair tangled, matted at the back with friction, livid spot like bruises on her upper arms where he had gripped her tight.

Was this what she had wanted.

Vi took a deep breath, pushing past the catch in her throat.

This was what she wanted. This was how it was. Time to stop being a child and acting like a scared rabbit.

Did she really want Paul to think of her as a kid?

He was calling from the bedroom.

She went to him and tried to stop shaking.

Matt had lit up as they walked through the door and immediately passed the joint to Vi, smiling at her as she sucked on it, making the tip glow coal red before handing it back with a stifled cough.

Paul was no longer at her side but was instead sitting on the sofa with a blond girl, sitting close enough that their thighs touched.

Matt had taken her coat and was now steering her to an armchair.

The joint was in her hand again and this time she didn’t cough, but held the smoke in her lungs until her head felt light and the world started to close in on her.

Slowly she blew the smoke out of her nose and let her head rest on the back of the chair, her eyes never leaving the blond girl.

She looked older than Vi, maybe already in her twenties. Her mouth was too big and her nose turned up more than it should if it was to be considered pretty, the roots on top of her head where dark in contrast to the bleached tresses.

Vi felt the chair moving and gripped the arms tight.

Her stomach flipped like she was on a rollercoaster. That lazy flop that made her body tingle.

Rooms spinning.

Paul’s hand on the blonds thigh.

She’d never felt like this on pot before.

Matt’s face is too close, his eyes bugging, his smile cavernous.

“You Ok baby? You Ok? Huh?”

His voice is slow, elongated, far away.

Vi swallows hard and Matt is laughing , looking back at Paul and the blond and she see’s they are laughing too.

The blond stands up and stumbles over to the chair, setting herself on the arm. She laughing and snorting, pulling the hem of her skirt up so that her lack of underwear is obvious.

Vi tries to rise out the chair but the room spins and the blonds hand in on her shoulder. She feels hair tickling her shoulder and turns her head to find the blonds lips meeting her own. Tries to pull away but doesn’t have the strength. The blonds lips feel greasy, her mouth tastes like rancid fat and old smoke. She gags but the blond has her hair gripped in her long nailed fingers.

Somewhere to the side Paul, or maybe Matt, is laughing.

There’s a hand pulling at the top of her halter neck and Vi tries to bring a hand up to stop them.

She wonders, distantly, if there was more than pot in the joint, but its too late now. The edges blur, the volume is dimmed.

She sleeps.

The sleep is not deep or complete but rather the light sleep of one who is dozing on the sofa with the TV still on.

Everything filters through as though dripped through a veil. A laugh becomes a birds cry in her dream. Its harsh, almost bark like. Its wings flap against her face and she raises her arms to shield herself. Claws dig into her, force their was through her skin. She fights the birds, cries out as they slash at her, then as she falls deeper into her sleep the birds take flight across the empty, blood stained landscape.



The flat is quiet.

Vi lifts her head off the bed and brings her hand to her mouth to wipe away the string of spittle that hung between lips and sheet.

Her head thumps hard and she blinks at the pale morning light that seeps through the curtains.

There’s heavy, rattling snoring coming from the other side of the bed.

Vi pushes herself up, fighting the wave of nausea that hits her.

The blond is lying across the foot of the bed, its her snores Vi can hear. Her limbs are spread, over tanned arms and legs thrown about so that she looked less like a woman and more like a toddler who had been so tired that she had fallen asleep before getting into bed properly.

Vi is naked.

Moving deliberately she pushes herself off the bed, slithering to the floor quietly, curling up on the threadbare carpet, gathering herself, wrapping her arms around her chest tightly. For long seconds she doesn’t know who she is, where she is, then as her fingers grip her upper arms it all comes back.

The girl on the bed snorts loudly and rolls over, exposing a livid purple bruise on her chest.

Sitting up, Vi see’s a tripod in the corner of the room, there’s no camera, but there doesn’t have to be, she knows what a tripods for.

She can’t see her clothes.

Stiffly, on shaking legs, she stands and shuffles from the room.

The flat is silent except for the blonds snores. If Matt and Paul are here they sleep silently.

Vi takes a large fleece jacket from a coat hook and pulls it on, then barefoot and shivering she lets herself out.

The light was defused through a slick of mist that covered the estate like a corpses shroud.

The slap of her bare feet against the rain soaked concrete echoed off the buildings, making it sound like she was being followed, and the mist clung to her face and beaded on the fleece like tiny translucent pearls.

A shadow moved in the gloom and for a second Vi was afraid, then she simply let her shoulders slump. What was she afraid of? Being raped? Being murdered?

She felt dead already.

The pattering of feet made her look up in time to see the dogs appear.

Large, bull headed, long legged and muscular like prize fighters, their smooth brindle coats shone with vitality, their eyes pulled her in with their intelligence and warmth.

Vi watched them pad towards her, frozen to the spot she wondered if they would attack, certainly they could easily fell her, take her apart as effortlessly as lion would a small gazelle.

The first dog reached her and nuzzled into her hand, pushing his reassuringly solid head against her fingers, happily huffing for attention.

With cautious movements Vi scratched the dog behind his ear, even smiled a little as his back leg began to twitch with pleasure.

Now the second dog was demanding attention from her other hand and she gave it, grateful to the heat coming off the huge dogs, her feet blue with cold, the fleece covering her only half way down her thighs.

“They like you.”

The girl had appeared out of the gloom and now stood in front of her smiling. She seemed younger than Vi. Shorter anyway, much more of the child about her than herself. She couldn‘t help but wonder why such a slight girl was walking two such powerful dogs.

“They don’t like just anyone you know.” The girls eyes seemed to glow with a cold intensity that made Vi’s ears ring.

Despite the cold the girl only wore shorts and a vest, topped with a long trench coat, like she’d stolen her clothes from a dressing up box. The boots she wore made her feet look big. Glancing at the toes Vi saw dark stains ingrained in the leather, splatters that faded up the top of the boots, a few spots on her pale thin legs.

She met the girls eyes, they narrowed with amusement.

“Blood.” Vi whispered.

“It’s not yours.” The girl whispered back. “And its not innocent. It does not concern you.” She reached out a hand and touched Vi’s cheek tenderly. “What did they do to you?”

Vi only shook her head and sunk to her haunches, putting an arm around each dog and leaning heavily on them. They stood like rocks, allowing her rest on them, their breath hot on her face, their solid bodies warming her.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I can’t… I can’t…”

The girl shook her head.

“You have a choice. There’s always a choice. What do you want?”

Vi started to cry.

Through all of this she had never uttered a sound, shed not one tear, but now she sobbed and buried her face into the nearest dogs shoulder.

“I want to go home. I want to go home but I can‘t.”

“Why not?“

“He’ll find me, he’ll tell my parents what I did.”

The girl was laughing and Vi looked up at her in shock, momentarily angry that she was pouring her heart out and this child was finding it funny.

“He’s already forgotten you.” She pointed behind them and Vi saw Paul walking towards them, hands stuffed in his pockets, cigarette hanging from his lips.

She shrank back as he got closer, waited for him to see her, for his eyes to widen and then narrow in anger, but it never came.

Instead he walked straight past them, his eyes barely registering her.

Vi shot a look at the girl who simply grinned and said “Forgotten.” then stood up.

“Go home girl. You’ve woken up. Go home before you sleep again.” She saw Vi staring after Paul as he walked through the mist. “In the end they find me.” The girl whispered, her grin fading, her eyes steely.

Vi Didn’t wait to find out what she meant by that. She turned from the girl and ran into the morning light.

On.......... Books and Movie.

                               

I am super excited about the movie adaptation of Lional Shrivers Book "We need to talk about Kevin."



I first heard about the book when Radio 4 abridged it as their "book at bedtime". The resigned tones of the reader had me hooked with horror and I actually went out and bought the book first hand (a biggie for me, I'm a 2nd hand junkie.)

Readers seem to be split into two camps so far as Shrivers protagonist, Eva, is concerned. There are those who dismiss her as cold, un loving, selfish and then there are those (myself included) who see a portion of themselves, magnified, in her.
There are few parents who haven't had a child in their care who, for a few hours, (or days, or weeks) has seemed like an alien creature, a being we can't make happy or content or even understand in the tiniest way.
The runaway train feeling of losing control is perfect in the book.
You know whats going to happen, but the momentum carries you faster and faster until you just have to grip tight and make it till the end, with still a few gasp inducing revelations to kick you in the last few pages.

So you can understand my anxiety, even while excited, at seeing this book in movie form.
The book works on a letters format, Eva writing down their life to her husband, Franklin, trying to work out on paper where it went wrong with raising Kevin, their life, their family.
I'm curious to see how much the story changes by not having that voice, by making the story so much more visual than narrative.

Its very rare that I find a movie of a book I love that I also love.
Maybe that says more about the books I read than the movie makers.
Recently I watched Peter Jackson's adaptation of "The Lovely Bones", A book, in my opinion, which showed a fresh perspective on the well trod "child murder" path. I loved the dreamy feeling of the book inter cut with the harsher reality of a family trying to cope with the aftermath.
Disappointingly though I felt the movie was rushed, running through the whole story in a matter of weeks rather than the years in which the novel passed.
Key moments were lost because of this and I was left with a feeling of irritation that what could have been a great movie was rendered almost impotent.


As I love movies as much as books, this anomaly always irks me.
My own feeling is that a full length novel rarely makes for a good movie.
Movie makers want your bum on a seat for a little over 90 minutes, but to shoot a whole book, would mean a good five or six hours of viewing!
The best adaptations I've seen have been based on short stories or novellas.
Think "The Shawshank redemption" or "Brokeback Mountain", both amazing heartfelt movies, both shot almost scene for scene, word for word, both less than around 40'000 words.

A style of novel suited to movie adaptation would have little dialogue and lots of description. A camera can pan across a landscape or a room in a few minutes and show you what it took the author ten pages to describe.

Anyway here are a few movies I thought worked beautifully on the big screen ..... and some that really really didn't.

The Good

One: Brokeback Mountain. Written by Annie Proulx (From the book of short stories Close Range:Wyoming stories)

Two: The Shawshank Redemtion. From The Stephen King book of novellas Different Seasons.

Three: A Clockwork Orange. Stanley Kubrick's adaptation of Anthony Burgess's ground breaking short novel.

                                   

The Bad

Blade Runner: Beloved by many as a great movie, Ridly Scotts adaptation was so loosely based on the Phillip K Dick novel that it bore little relation to it at all. Left me cold.

                                   

Two: Jurassic Park. So disappointed when I watched the movie, the book was richer and changing key characters is always shifts  the balance of the original story.

                                   

Three: Rinu (Ring). Now I LIKED the movie, mainly because the Japanese get how to make a scary film, but after reading the book I was disappointed. Key character changes and a more shallow telling of the book meant that they missed out on a more seminal and possibly scarier movie. 

                         

                                    

The Ugly

 The Stand. Stephen Kings epic novel turned into a few hours of disjointed pap. Such a shame.

                                   

So.

Agree? Disagree? Have anything to add?

Hit the comments button, don't be shy.



     
     

On.... Not Blogging

Sorry.
Yeah, sorry, haven't posted for a while, so busy!!

In fact *drum roll* there's light at  the end of the tunnel so far as "Zombies" is concerned. My lovely co-writer, Hollie, is working on the FINAL part of draft two, which means that soon SOON we can run through for the final polish and then ladies and gentlemen we will have an honest to goodness NOVEL on our hands!

So while she's been doing that I've been adding another extra couple of chapters in a dead space (try nearly 10'000 words of "ooh I'll just add a wee bit there) and now I'm busily breaking the whole manuscript into chapters and parts for easy editing.

Busy, but exciting times!  

Add to that real life getting in the way, working on my own personal projects and running about winter-ising the croft ... ugh... snow soon... And you can see why I've not been here.

So, how exciting!!

Hands up who wants to read the book!

OK, not all at once, calm down....

On..... a little smile.

  

Just because I love shizz like this, and I love the sunny optimistic view of the imminent zombie apocalypse. Spent yesterday thrashing out an edit on the Zombie book, was hard going and a late finish but when I come across a pic like this it makes me smile and remember why I love it so 

On..... Clouds

Currently I'm sidelined from running with, I'll have you know, a genuine SPORTS injury *proud glow*.
Obviously this sucks.
I'm relegated to cycling, Pilate's and walking, and I can't even walk to fast or over uneven ground at the moment, very frustrating.
But there are, as always, good points.
You see, when I run I run seriously.
I put my head down and turn the i-pod on and concentrate on moving my legs and breathing...... Ah. Breathing. Very important. As an asthmatic I have to pay a lot of attention to what my lungs are doing and make an effort to breath well otherwise I'm liable to pass out half way through from lack of oxygen.
But that's by the by.
The trouble is that when I run I don't really noticed anything, so I was pleased that I was walking the dogs today when I came across something beautiful.
There's a storm heading in and looking across to the south there was blue sky, to the north an oppressive grey cloud bank.
Nothing unusual yet.
As the cloud took form and spread across the blue it took on the most amazing shapes I'd ever seen.
My first thoughts were "Goddamnit! Why don't I have my camera with me!"
The I sensibly realised that with a) a crappy camera, and b)My nonexistent photography skills, I would never have done it justice, could never have picked out the subtle changes in density, colour and form.
So instead I just watched it.
What did it look like?
Imagine you're in a glass bottomed aeroplane flying over somewhere like Tepuis.
There's these amazing structures of rock that's been blasted over time by wind and rain until they resemble beautiful smooth abstract carvings. Now imagine each of these carvings has a long finger that stretches out behind it for miles before merging into one mass.
Now notice the colours.
Every shade of grey and blue, black and white, purple in places.
So yeah.
Would have missed that.
Pretty cool right?      
   

The Hunt

Another from the urban tales/myths stories. had a huge amount of fun with this.


Devin drew back his hand and Jordan flinched, screwing up her eyes and grimacing, waiting for the slap that would come, back handed, although not with the hand he wore his ring on, he didn’t want her scared.

The slap never came.

He smiled, enjoying the fact that she was now smart enough that he only had to threaten her. Hitting was effective but no one wanted a girl covered in bruises.

Instead he brought his hand round to the side of her face, caressing it, feeling her shiver under his touch.

“Why’d you have to make me so angry? Eh?” He sighed, moving his hand around the back of her head and pulling her not so gently towards him. “All you had to do was be nice to him. Was that took much to ask? I mean so little to you that you won’t do me this one little favour?”

She whimpers as he takes her face in both his large hands, looks away from him like a cowed dog.

“Devin. He wanted me to….”

He cut her off with a shake, once, hard, her teeth clicked together and she moaned.

“Jordan. Baby. Lets not kid ourselves eh? You’ve been around the block, its just a favour, nothing kinky, nothing dirty just, be nice to him.”

“But…. “

“You want us to finish is that it?”

“No!”

“Then do this. For me.” He kisses her, almost tenderly and feels her melt against him, half sobbing, half laughing. He knows her type. Understands that as far as she’s concerned, Devin is treating her like a princess, that this is the best she’s ever been treated. It won’t be long before she’s working for him properly, but for now he’s her boyfriend, her protector and she’s doing him a favour.

Just this once.

He takes her face in his hands gently this time and rubs a thumb under her eyes, wiping away the tears.

“On you go then. I’ll pick you up at twelve alright?”

She nods twice and tries to smile at him. Devin does his best not to grimace. Jordan used to be pretty, but now her cheeks were hollow, her eyes bulged from their sockets, her skin was bad, sprayed with acne.

He pushes her away and she turns and totters off towards the waiting car, her thin, white legs shining as the streetlights reflected the rain from the pavement onto her.

Devin lit up while he watched her hesitate at the car door.

“Get in you stupid bitch.” He muttered.

With a final glance back at him she slid into the car and it drew swiftly away as soon as she shut the door.

The girl was gone. Devin immediately pushed her from his mind, he had no interest in knowing what happened next. His only concern was that they’d push it too far. It would be inconvenient to have to sort out a corpse.

Devin had parked his car down the street and now he pulled the collar of his shirt up and strode through the rain.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out.

“Devin. Mate. You free?”

“What. Now?”

“Yeah. Can you get over to my place?”

“For fucks sake Chris. Not really. I’m on the other side of the heath, take fucking hours to get through traffic to your end.”

“Aw mate its important. Izzy brought the money over, but she said there was a problem. She wants to hand it over to you.”

“Fuck man!”

Devin swapped ears and sucked on his cigarette until a long column of ash fell from the end and hissed quietly on the damp pavement.

“Look. Leave the car man. Quicker to just go through the park yeah?”

“Maybe. Shit, this better be worth is Chris. I have to pick Jordan up in a couple of hours.”

“Yeah, yeah. No worries, catch you in about twenty right?”

Devin sighed and stuffed the phone back in his pocket and turned on his heels to head to the park.

He skirted through an estate, the towers loomed over the courtyards like grey monolithic trees. In the distance he heard kids fucking about, further still the whoop of a single siren, a warning. He wasn’t worried about cops tonight. He was clean.

Ahead of him walked a young couple.

The boy was tall, hunched over in the rain, ignoring his companion.

Devin appraised the girl.

Small, young, good hair, full lips. He marked her, they’re so easy to lure away from their teenage boyfriends at that age.

The girl turned her head and smiled at Devin, her eyes locking onto his. Her teeth looked too big for her mouth.

Something primordial stirred in him and he felt the tiny hairs on his arms and neck rise in fear. Then she looked away and he let his breath out in a single hard pant, like he’d been holding it.

Shuddering he stopped and watched them walk into one of the towers, watched the dark entrance swallow them up.

He felt ill, like he was on the beginning of a bad trip, that slightly detached feeling of not being able to balance. Aware of this disorientation, Devin started to jog through the estate, hoping the motion would clear his head, and only started walking again when he reached the entrance to the park.

Three hundred acres of heath and woodland slap bang in the middle of the city. There was little peaceful about it though, especially at night, the bushes rustled as people hid themselves, drugs, sex, whatever. Around the edges of the park the wildlife was strictly urban.

Devin pushed deeper into the park, sticking to the main path, he knew that it would take him straight through to the other side. It was taking longer than he thought though, he was going to be late for Jordan.

Angrily he pulled out the phone and started to dial.

No network coverage.

Fuck.

The lighting was less the further in to the park he went. In the distance he could see the orange glow of the other side so he headed for that, tried to ignore the closed in feeling as the trees either side of him grew denser.

Devin stumbled and glanced down.

The track was narrower, the edging had gone, letting the grass and weeds start to encroach. Confused, he stopped and turned, looking around him and trying not to panic.

The path behind him was gone.

Silence filled the air, Devin could no longer hear the hum of traffic or the distance shouts from the estates.

What the fuck.

He stood straighter, took a deep breath.

Its just the park that’s all.

He laughed a little to himself. City boy, can’t even handle this much greenery, fresh air? Bollocks.

Glancing down the path he saw the faint glow of street lights. Confidently he strode towards them.

It seemed like he was walking for ages, but in reality it was probably only a few minutes. The going was hard, the path was gone, branches scratched at his face, caught his clothes, he fell twice, once heavily, landing on his side and lying there winded for a moment, almost on the verge of panic.

All the time he kept his eye on the light ahead, pushed on, raising his arms to protect his face, swearing that when he got to Chris’s he was going to hit him in the fucking face.

Hard.

Devin crashed out of the trees and into a clearing.

He was where the lights were, but they weren’t street lights.

A few hundred yards away was what looked like a large private house, with topiary, manicured lawns and a fountain.

It was the fountain that was throwing the light.

The bottom was up lit, so that the stone fish that spurted water from their mouths were lit up from underneath, making their backs black and their bellies almost marble white.

For a moment Devin just stood perfectly still.

He was sure there wasn’t a house in this park, certainly not one this big, but then what did he know? He‘d never been in this far, had only skirted around the edges of it.

Laughter made him prick his ears up.

It was soft, girlish.

Someone else was laughing, and again, another voice joined them.

The distant sound of splashing was coming from the other side of the fountain and Devin found himself pulled towards it, curious.

Quietly he skirted around the fountain, keeping in the shadows of the trees, letting them cover him.

On the opposite side of the fountain were four girls.

Devin held his breath.

They were splashing in the water, oblivious of the rain.

Totally naked.

Their hair was long and fell in wet slabs across their bare shoulders, each one looked like the last, luminous beautiful children, their laughter ringing sweetly in the damp air.

Devin fumbled with his phone, everything else forgotten, and put it on the video setting, his hands shaking, he tried to hold the phone steady so he could record this moment.

Nearby a dog set up barking.

The girls ignored it. They splashed at each other, squealing, giggling.

“Jesus.” Devin whispered, moving closer, trying to get a better shot, all thoughts of getting to Chris’s gone.

The barking was closer now, harsh, contained. Not the frantic yapping of a small dog or the angry bellows of a large dog, it was measured, controlled, less barking and more of a signal.

Devin stuffed the phone back in his pocket and stood up straight, looking about him.

The splashing had stopped.

Turning to look at the fountain again he saw the girls were all stood watching him, their eyes large and curious, their mouths smiling. None of them moved to cover their nakedness and this inexplicably frightened him. Had they screeched and their hands flown to cover their breasts he would have laughed and then been on his way, but the cool detachment with which they regarded him made a block of ice form in his guts.

From around the left of the fountain padded a dog.

It raised its stub snout and sniffed at the air before sitting down on the gravel.

Devin started to move backwards, slowly.

Another dog, identical to the first came around from the right, it also sat, its eyes trained on him.

He girls paid no attention to the dogs, only watched Devin, their eyes so large and fathomless that he was frightened to look, but could not tear his gaze away. He was afraid of falling into the wet pools of their eyes, he’d fall in and never get out again.

Around the fountain walked another girl.

Barely older than the bathers, still in her teens, but with a presence that suggested she was older than the earth itself. Unlike the others, she was dressed, a vest top and shorts topped with a long raincoat that flapped slightly around her ankles, heavy boots graced her feet. Her hair, which was dirty blond, was cut short, just below her ears, it framed her face, making her look young and stern.

He shook as she stopped, her eyes blazed with cold fire, she did not smile.

Crouching down she caressed the ear of one of the dogs, its bull head pushing against her hand in delight, its muscular body quivering.

Devin tried to turn but his feet felt glued to the floor, all his senses screamed at him to run, but he could not.

She turned her terrible gaze on him and he felt his bladder weaken.

“You should not be here.” Her voice cut through the rain soaked night, entered his head, filled his body.

He whimpered.

She turned to the other dog who squatted and urinated in submission as she bent to favour it with a touch.

“Do you know me?”

Devin shook his head.

The girls in the fountain giggled into their hands.

“You should know me. All your kind meet me in the end.” She smiled now, but it was cruel, too knowing. “In the end you all find me.”

“I don’t know you.” Devin managed to push the words out of his mouth. There was none of the bully in his voice now though, it was meek, careful.

She laughed and turned to the girls who stretched out their hands to touch their mistress as she walked past them, their lips parted as they sighed at her fingers grazing theirs, their eyes became more well like, seeming to absorb all the light around in their rapturous state.

“I’m their protector, the girls. All of them. But you know that don’t you.”

He nodded.

Somewhere on a base, almost animal, level he knew her.

“So it begins.” She drew a bow from the folds of her coat and placed an arrow lightly to it. “You may run now.” She said quietly.

He ran.

There was no reasonable thought process, all he felt was fear, there wasn’t time to work out why he was afraid.

Devin crashed through the trees, ignoring the path, desperate to get out of the park and back onto the streets, he knew if he could just get his feet back on concrete he’d be safe.

Behind him he heard the soft but quick sounds of paws as the dogs followed their quarry, deeper into the trees, silent, they gave no tongue as they stuck to his scent.

Devin’s heart pounded and his lungs burned as he finally found the path and sprinted down it, back towards the estate.

As he began to recognise the park he let out a sob of relief, he could see the entrance and putting his head down he willed his legs faster.

An arrow flew through the air landing at his feet, making him stumble. Recovering himself he took off to the left still running.

Another arrow missed his foot by a bare fraction and he turned slightly left again.

She’s playing with me!

He was horrified at the thought. He had no doubt that if she wanted to she could run him through at will.

No.

She wanted her fun first.

Wanted the hunt.

There was nothing left to do but run, even though he was steadily moving back into the park.

Devin crashed into the trees again, found a light track through them and ran, pumping his arms like pistons, barely noticing the pain in his chest. It had been a long time since he’d had to run from anyone, he’d grown soft, weak.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something flash through the trees, he turned his head slightly and saw her keeping pace with him, her coat fanned out behind her like a banner, her upper body erect, her bow held low, at her side with both hands. She was laughing, not at him, but with pure joy.

The sight of her head thrown back, her childish shrieks of laughter, made him find reserves he never knew he had.

He pulled ahead of her, his hands up at his face, protecting him from the slashing branches.

Over the sound of his ragged breath he hears rusting and the snapping of twigs under foot either side of him. The dogs are pacing him. They make no sound. No growl or bay or even pant, they only keep at his side, silent black wraths in the woodland.

He knows its over, that he can’t keep running forever, but his feet won’t stop, can’t stop, his will was broken but his body worked on automatic, used the cocktail of adrenaline to keep him going.

There’s light ahead.

He puts in a final spurt, moves away from the dogs, sprints towards the light in the hope that he’s reached the other side of the park.

Pushing through the trees he fell to the floor, his hands found concrete and he sobbed like a baby, his breath pulled from his lungs only with the hugest of efforts.

He lay for what seemed like hours, his hands pressed into the hard floor, the smell of grass and dirt up his nose, his whole body shaking as muscles cramped and cooled.

Finally he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Devin. Get up Devin.”

She was crouched down in front of him, her face was flushed with pleasure and she smiled, but Devin only moaned in fear.

She snapped up from her heels as he staggered upright.

He was back at the fountain.

The dogs lay motionless either side of him, like statues carved from meat.

She was touching his arm, he wanted more than anything to recoil, but he couldn‘t. “Look.” She pointed to the fountain.

The four girls were still there and now there was a fifth.

She stood on the gravel, naked as the others, but skinny, pale, hunched over.

“Jordan.” He breathed, watching as she hugged herself, thin arms wrapped around her almost flat chest, her bony knees clenched together.

“With her last breath she called me. I brought her here. She’ll be safe now.”

“Called you?”

“They all do. The abused, the broken. They call to me… All of them.” She grips his shoulder and he yelps. It feels like her fingers have pushed through his skin. “Do you have any idea what that’s like? To feel them inside you for eternity? The girls, all of them, from the moment my brother rose for the first time and shone on the earth and for all time after…. I have them all, inside me. It burns.”

Devin falls to his knees as she tightens her grip.

Jordan is being coaxed over to the fountain by the girls, they lean towards her and hold out their hands and she stumbles and sidles to them. She’s ashamed, feels she doesn’t deserve to be there, but they coo and cajole and finally she takes the hand of the girl nearest and steps up into the water.

He watches her fill out, as though he’s watching a time laps video. Her breasts swell and her stomach puffs out softly, her cheeks round and her legs lose their twig like fragility.

She glows, her hair sparkles in the lights, she opens her mouth and laughs.

“Beautiful.” He whispers.

“Always. She’ll live with me now. No more pain, no more abuse. She’s come home.” She turns to Devin and pulls him up. “You ran well. But I can’t allow you to leave. You know that don’t you.”

She takes his chin in her hand and forces him to look her in the eye. He trembles at her face.

Her eyes glow red, but are cold. If the girls in the fountain have eyes like wells, her eyes are bottomless wells dug in some arctic wasteland.

“I won‘t kill you. In fact I’ll set you free, for a price.”

He can hardly bare to look in those terrible eyes, but she holds his head firmly.

“A kiss, and you may go.”

He blinks comically. “A kiss?”

“Yes. One kiss and you are free.”

The girls are giggling, screaming at each other as they splash about happily in the water.

He nods. Anything to get away from her grip, her eyes.

She leans forwards and stands on tip toe to kiss him. Her lips are like fire and ice, they burn but he crushes his into her, feels her tongue dart between his teeth, small and nimble, he feels her arms around his neck and find himself embracing her, weeping while he does.

He pulls her close and falls into the wells at last.

Stepping back She regards the small buck standing before her.

His ears, big and broad like leaves, flick back and forth nervously. His nose twitches and his eyes, huge and comical, wide, all seeing, dart about the clearing.

The dogs raise their heads. One of them gently huffs, then lays its head back on its paws.

The deer starts to one side then changes his mind and bounds off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the trees like a ghost.

She calls the dogs to her and as they arrive, fawning at her feet she smiles at the thought of the hunts yet to come.