Friday Flash Fiction: Shard

29 02 2008

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Not having the best of weeks this is a little late in the day, I hope you enjoy anyway.

By Neil Beynon

The shard felt smooth like glass as he rested its not insignificant weight in his hand, he looked down at it; purple stone flashing in the grey mid afternoon sun. The wind ran its fingers through his hair, ran its icy lips down the open wound in his chest and sucked on his blood soaked hand. And he was not sorry.

The shard, warm when he withdrew it from its home within his chest, was growing cool but flashed one last time in his hand, threw one last roll of the dice as the stone flared in the open air.

“What are you doing boy?”

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Columbo Villain of The Week: Hiatus

27 02 2008

Sorry all. No villain this week.

The Woodsman and some other projects (including the pesky day job) have soaked up rather more time than planned. I should get back to normal service next week.

Kind of bummed out at the moment but this cheered me somewhat:

I was bought The Hobbit by my father when I was very young, six or seven I think and a few years later I was given The Lord of The Rings by my great uncle. These battered paperbacks remain amoungst my most prized books and like many writers Tolkien was one of my earliest influences. I think it’s great that this archive material is making its way onto the internet.

Kudos to SF Signal for bringing it to wider attention.

The perils of chugging

26 02 2008

Another train story for your enjoyment.

No, not the return of the infamous butt clencher, today’s man of the moment was of a different order completely. And it wasn’t just me but the whole carriage he freaked out.

Now *coughs* I freely admit I’m no exercise junky but I am able to run for a train without too much impact on my appearance but it seems this is not the case for everyone. We’re sitting on the train in Abbey Wood getting ready to leave when a gentleman of not small proportions barrels onto the train.

Having crashed onto the train this rotund mountain of a man executes an epic flump onto his seat, he then proceeds to breath so heavily it draw wild eyed glances from people seven rows away from him.

At first you think he’s just catching his breath, but after one stop you’d be forgiven for thinking he’s milking it and after two there’s something a little odd going on. When he started shuddering rhythmically I confess I wanted to move and had it not been packed I probably would of.*

Instead I sat there with that Billy Connolly sketch involving a jogger and a rubber band going round and round my head.

Cheers Billy.

*And before anyone asks he wasn’t having a coronary, he got o…disembarked the train looking fine.

Amsterdam: Reflections

23 02 2008

1. It is impossible to find your way round without a map and, if you do get lost, the women in the windows aren’t interested in giving you directions.

2. You need to look up in Amsterdam, if you keep looking at ground level you’re missing the architecture. Also you’re probably a perv.

3. Good news: the car drivers aren’t trying to kill you.

4. Bad news: cyclists and tram drivers are trying to kill you.

5. Even in Amsterdam the bar staff are Australian.

6. In mainland Europe all hotels must feature neon lighting in the bar. It’s the law.

7. You know how in the UK nowhere accepts Solo or Maestro, in Holland it’s the other way round.

8. Blacklights mean sleaze in any country and no one believes that look of innocent surprise so stop pretending.

9. It’s quite hard to be more inefficient than Heathrow but Schiphol likes a challenge.

10. Beer brewed by monks should be consumed with care. Alcohol and religious zeal do not mix well as anyone who’s been to a Swansea Vs. Cardiff game can attest.

Friday Flash Fiction: The Woodsman (Teaser)

22 02 2008

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Somewhat predictably it’s been impossible this week to set aside time to write any Flash Fiction however I did, by chance, notice that the opening sequence of The Woodsman was exactly 1000 words long [due to a last minute edit it is now shorter]. Clearly it was a sign.

And so here’s the opening of The Woodsman, as ever feedback is appreciated.

The Woodsman (a fragment)
By Neil Beynon

The soldiers chased the torn and bleeding girl across the hills. In spite of the wounds she ran swiftly and unerringly towards the forest. Behind her, drawing closer all the time, the men of war spat and cursed as they came.

When she first managed to free herself from the embrace of the latest of large group of soldiers that had used her the other men had whooped and cheered. They enjoyed her deception – she’d led a youngster in to believing she’d stopped resisting then, when he had let her hand slide free, she’d reached down with her jagged, bloody nails and ripped. They laughed at her spirit as he fell off her screaming. She saw her chance and took it. She ran, to the delight of the drunken men who stood watching but then, when they realised the girl had enough strength that she might get away, they followed.

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22 02 2008

Well, I’ve just gotten back from a short but intense business trip to Amsterdam, helped as ever by my own inability to use a map.

Internet access and time were at a premium hence the lack of bloggage during the last couple of days. There’ll be more on Amsterdam once I’ve sorted out some free fiction for your entertainment.

So basically this is just a short one to say normal service is should resume in the next few hours. Right. Coffee and a pen…