I’m in Dundee, Scotland. Looking to learn, aiming for improvement. Hit me with your criticism… nicely. Author of The Célestiaá series.
I’m in Dundee, Scotland. Looking to learn, aiming for improvement. Hit me with your criticism… nicely. Author of The Célestiaá series.
It _is_ a strange sensation - _fear_.
The physical manifestation of your own mind _screaming_ at you to _run. _The chorus of a million voices in the echoing cavern of your head, warning you of the terrors that lie ahead. The battle against your own body’s unconscious need to turn and flee the existential threat standing before you; or, as I was all too well aware, behind you, too.
As the gates of...
What use the spoils of war, when there is no enjoyment in laying waste to another’s lands? No satisfaction in levelling cities; razing homes or churches to the ground, in conflagrations of such immensity, the gods themselves may have set them.
There is no satisfaction, either, in watching the seed of a nation trampled in the dust; the young—and not so young—men trading their futures at the ends o...
The island itself was easy to find; they had meticulously detailed the parchment map regarding its location, and its outline. What the chart didn’t tell was of the hidden rock formations, stretching below the waterline, waiting to trap unsuspecting mariners - unsuspecting mariners like us.
The storm, too, had appeared from nowhere; the heavy, black clouds rolling over us… covering us… like a blan...
The pounding. The pounding. The pounding.
When will it stop?
My head is on fire, my mind grating, trying to keep focussed on… well… nothing! It’s like someone’s dragging a hacksaw across my skull, prolonging the torment, enjoying my self-inflicted implosion.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
It was supposed to be… magical. Wonderful. A boon to the world, where everything I wanted for us all...
There is a circle to life; an inevitability of death, and nature will always find her path. We can no more change this fact, than we can blow the clouds from the skies. Life is precious, so they say, and yet it is only the finality that death brings that makes it so.
I am not a rich man; I cannot afford unlimited generosity in either material nor spiritual gift. But I do what I can. I have… skill...
I will never forget my many meetings with Mr Hounslow Willemby, one of which led to what would prove to be the start of the biggest adventure of my life.
He was a strange fellow, there is no doubt. A tall man, with a hairline so receded, it seemed to start at the very top of his head, with the long white hair then tumbling in a thick mass down below his shoulders. His thick woollen suits, too—per...
“What happened to you?”
The young man seemed genuinely concerned, reaching his hand out to Hansel. The boy clasped it tightly and pulled himself out the water and into the boat. “My sister!” he cried, pointing out to the river. “She’s still out there.”
The young man smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly. “We’ll find her.” He steered the boat around, making another sweep.
“There!” declared...
“You’ll be back all the earlier the next day,” he says, squeezing my hand tightly, his dirty fingernails, and the few meagre coins that represent the ‘reward’ for my labours, cutting into my skin.
I wince, trying to pull my hand away, but he grips me still. “You hear?” he confirms, looking down his long, thin nose, like an eagle staring down its prey. “Early!” he snaps.
I nod, submissively. “Yes...
My heartbeat and my breaths are not in sync; one seems to want to explode from my chest, while the other is barely deep enough to fill my lungs. The hairs stand tall on the back of my neck and arms, and the goosebumps running up my forearms could easily be mistaken for mountain ranges.
Beads of sweat form on my forehead; just one or two to begin with, but quickly they come more regularly until th...
She sips the coffee, huddled over, almost tipping into the log fire. Not a word has passed her lips since she wrapped her fingers around the warmth of the mug. Her eyes stare into the depths of the logs, watching the dancing, flickering and crackling sparks as the wood succumbs. The horrors she is reliving are anyone’s guess.
Her shaking has barely subsided, despite the blanket I placed around he...