Friday Flash Fiction: Wings

17 10 2008

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I am not sponsored by Red Bull, honest. It was a bit of a struggle this week and so I may take a break next week not least because I will be out at another Neil Gaiman event, apparently in a crypt. Anyway, a long winded way of saying I hope this isn’t trite and you enjoy:

By Neil Beynon

“Why?” She asked.

“I did it for you,” said the creature. “I did it for us.”

She looked at the stumps where the creature’s wings had been, bloody and angry from the violence done to them and her hands gripped tight around the railing. She looked away across the city, the horizon was shimmering towards sunrise and neon smears marked the progress of traffic through the city. They were up high, on top of the tower, and the haze of pollution had not reached them yet, the air was cold and smelt of the sea beyond.

“You didn’t do it for me,” she said. “You did it for yourself, because you secretly you wanted to be like that, like them.” She pointed at the city below.

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Friday Flash Fiction: Ground Cover

15 08 2008

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Not much time to chew the fat right now. No idea if it’s any good. Hope you like:

Ground Cover
By Neil Beynon

I had the dream again last night.

I watched from a window as the planes came in over the city, crow like shadows on the dusk sky.

In the dream I know what they’re here to do even before the bombs drop like snails towards the ground. I’m looking frantically for enough ground cover. All I need is six feet and an oxygen supply. That’s the theory. I’m not sure how I’m doing that and seeing the coming fire at the same time but I guess in dreams your omniscient.

You’re talking to me again and I haven’t been listening.

Outside the dusk is falling and my hand is still clutching the PDA casting a neon glow on my leg. The weight of the room seems to be pressing against me with the force of a thousand stars. I can see the road from the window, its rolling asphalt promising to wipe over the lost days.

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Friday Flash Fiction: Crushed

21 03 2008

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Due to a very manic week I don’t have a proper entry – although this may change during the workshop tomorrow – and so I’m posting a little bit of back story to The Woodsman that has most likely been dropped for pace reasons. Hopefully it’s enjoyable.

If you missed out on my random drabble from earlier in the week it’s here.

Anyway here goes:

By Neil Beynon

The pain in her head seemed to crush through her as if the tree had shattered her like an egg, her skull spilling its yoke all over the forest floor. And yet she was still aware so it couldn’t have, could it?


There was light all around and then the levels dropped, her vision returning through a kaleidoscope of nausea though she still couldn’t move. She was in a large stone chamber, actually suspended – it seemed – from the ceiling looking down. For a moment she thought she was back in Golgotha, that she had died but then she saw a familiar dais, the stone podium looking out at row upon row of stone benches and the dreaded channels cut in the rock of the dais.

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Upon the mantle

18 03 2008

Today’s post was meant to be a review of Spin but I’ve got myself in a muddle schedule wise and so am rushing to a supplier event in London.

In the meantime here is a short drabble for your entertainment. And so I actually can say I wrote something today.

Upon the mantle
By Neil Beynon

There is a knife upon the mantlepiece. A flash of silver, a swirl of red. Next to it besides the gold plated clock is a photo that time forgot, forced smiles and forced colours, glass cracked.

And in the sun soaked silence of dawn a door flaps gently in the wind.