Two Women and Some Books
The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…
I am old, so just please give me room
And stop handing me your doom and gloom
You are just such a bore
And I’ve heard it before
Can’t you put on a less mournful tune
An extract from 3D SpecimAn the first novel by award-winning screenwriter Julia Nest.
TWO DAYS UNTIL THE COUNTDOWN
Dave woke up earlier than usual. He glanced at the clock and remembered it was Saturday. That meant the alarm wouldn’t go off. There was nowhere to rush off to, nowhere he needed to be – he could stay in bed for as long as he liked.
But he couldn’t go back to sleep. The events of last night kept creeping into his head. He had to do something about them, at least think over what he had to do next.
Dave pushed his head back into his pillow and closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep, but he couldn’t. His mind was racing… Something had happened, and it kept playing in front of his eyes.
Every Friday the Board of Directors threw parties. They were all prime examples of a typical ‘overpaid consultant’ and instigated protocols, supposedly, ‘to strengthen corporate spirit’. However, they also became a way to weed out those who didn’t “fit in” with the collective ethos. Indeed a few brave souls refused to take part now and then, citing prior commitments or work-life balance. The Board deemed all such employees as ‘bad team players’ and soon they were asked, none too politely, to find new jobs elsewhere. Dave loved his job, and he didn’t want to lose it. He was a professional at what he did, and could just walk into another job but the issue was that Dave didn’t like change. He was comfortable. He’d got used to his colleagues. At least that’s what he thought.
He recalled the events of the previous evening, one of the Director’s assistants had approached him by the pool.
The party was in full swing, it was too early to leave and not late enough to jump into the pool. As part of the corporate camaraderie, usually one over-enthusiastic junior colleague would elect to do this fully clothed. The guests were drunk enough to be having fun, not counting their drinks or thinking about who was taking who upstairs, yet. Dave, however, knew exactly how many drinks he had has. After half finishing his second cocktail, he sat down and sprawled out on one of the deck chairs. Close enough to be considered part of the festivities but far enough away to have his own space.
For the first time in a long while he was actually enjoying himself. He’d managed to ditch an already drunk colleague who was trying to get him to drink faster and sidestepped the office ‘cougar’ who had been hunting him.
Now he felt at ease. As carefree as he would at his own place but more relaxed as the alcohol finally started to flow through him. He liked his place, it was his sanctuary but it still felt lonely at times.
Even someone as solitary as he was needed company once in a while. The company of the possum, who was hiding in the bushes near the pool, sometimes was not enough.
And then Dave spotted ‘Assistant Director’ Bob, heading in his direction. Dave glanced left and right, hoping that Bob was not looking for him. But he was. Dave made an effort to smile, he started thinking of what he could say to make ‘small talk’ but decided he’d let Bob talk first, after all, he clearly had something he wanted to say.
Dave called Bob ‘Pudgy’ Bob, behind his back, as he reminded him of the Pillsbury Doughboy. Pudgy was getting closer. Bob had an ‘evil’ squint in his eyes and his mouth was set in thin-lipped sneer… Dave knew Bob envied him. He’d seen him watching him when he escaped the ‘cougar’ a woman that he knew Pudgy liked. He doubted that Bob would have refused her advances and would be upstairs with her right now if he could. But women didn’t want Bob, women didn’t like Bob. His bouncing belly, balding head and bread roll fingers were hardly a turn on. He was definitely the opposite of Dave.
A Bite of… Julia Nest
I have always been curious about two questions: “What awaits us in the future?” and “What if..?” That’s what ultimately led me to writing sci-fi
I was afraid I couldn’t handle it. After all, before starting to write my first novel I only wrote scripts for TV. But I was afraid in vain: as soon as I started writing, I couldn’t stop. The most rewarding moments were consultations with world-famous scientists who are engaged in 3D bioprinting – I resorted to their help so that my novel is reliable in terms of the scientific perspective of the novel.
I cannot live without French fries. It’s cool to pack up with friends to watch a movie – and crunchy.
Julia Nest is an award-winning screenwriter. More than thirty of her scripts been filmed so far. She always had a passion for books – sci-fi specifically – and also for writing. Hence Julia’s first novel 3D SpecimAn. You can find her on Facebook and Goodreads.
Something she had once thought of as self was fighting for breath, while those who kicked the broken body laughed.
“Whore,” the biggest said and spat into the blooded mess that might once have been a face.
“I think we’ve killed it,” another remarked.
The lights went out, and the men manning the cameras moved to ease their cramped limbs.
“Best yet,” the ‘director’ beamed, “but snuff movies do use up women…”
Those were to be his last words alive.
It really isn’t wise to kill and maim in a grove sacred to the forest gods.
It makes them hungry.
Dying to be Roman by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook is a whodunit set in a modern day Britain where the Roman Empire still rules. If you missed previous episodes you can start reading from the beginning.
As she wavered on the edge of tears there came a polite tap on the door. Boudicca stepped away from Decimus as he straightened his spine.
“Come.”
The Praetorian who came into the room looked about as shocked as it is possible for a properly hard man to be.
“Report, man.”
“Sorry dominus. Marcella Tullia Junius. We went to her apartment. There was nobody there. At least nobody alive. There was a dead servant, female, poison suspected, and two lap dogs.” The man stopped and Julia could see a muscle working in his cheek. He got himself together and carried on. “Two lap dogs. You know sir, them little balls of fluff. My mother has one, it’s a soft little thing. They was kicked to death.”
Julia could understand the soldier’s repugnance and gave him the ghost of a smile. He thanked her with his eyes before pressing on.
“We thought that whoever had taken the lady must have killed her dogs before abducting her. But it doesn’t seem as if that can be true. One of the neighbours saw her leaving. On the arm of a very well dressed man. Overheard her saying that all loose ends were now tied up.”
“Good man,” Decimus spoke kindly. “Cut along now and get yourself a big drink. Tell them I said.”
When the door had closed behind the obviously shaken man, Julia looked at Decimus.
“Cold culpa,” she said before pouring a cup of mead and draining it in one gulp. “One assumes,” she spoke carefully lest her voice shake, “that Domina Marcella had no more use for her lap dogs.”
“So it would appear,” Dai sounded just as sick as she felt. “And can anybody tell me why that seems worse than killing her servant?”
“I can,” Boudicca volunteered, “them animals was small and helpless and she will have petted and spoiled them until she turned on them. I’m doubting whether the servant was ever a pet and she must have known what sort of person her mistress was.”
Julia lifted one small shoulder and spoke softly.
“Indeed. I just don’t think we’ll ever find their mistress and that disturbs me almost more than I can say. But for now I have to go and make a long and complicated call.”
Dai offered her a conspiratorial look.
“You want me to come and hold your hand?”
“Tempting. But I won’t put you in the firing line. Himself is liable to fry my ears until he calms down.”
“Wait with me,” Decimus said with gruff entreaty, “I could do with another drink and somebody to talk to.”
Dai looked uncomfortable and Boudicca favoured him with a singularly charming smile.
“You are all right,” she said. “I’ve got work.”
She kissed Decimus and rolled out of the room. Julia followed her, trying very hard not to laugh at the men’s faces.
“Score one to you,” she said as the door shut behind them.
Boudicca laughed and clapped Julia on the shoulder with one meaty hand.
“You need not worry about Decimus. I’ll look after him.”
She headed for wherever, leaving Julia to make for the comms room and a secure line to the Praetor.
I do remember the fifth of November
When fireworks recall a plot
To blow up the whole bloomin’ lot
I do remember the fifth of November
When kids called ‘Penny for the Guy’
At the people as they walked by.
They’d make them before the fifth of November
From old clothes with newspaper crammed
Then sat in an old go-cart or pram.
But now we remember the fifth of November
As a day for fireworks planned
Displays both modest and grand.
But kids don’t make guys for the fifth of November
They no longer put up that cry
Instead ‘trick or treater’s come by…
From Iconoclast: Not To Be the next book in the Fortune’s Fools series by E.M. Swift-Hook.
“You Lastas?”
The man was grey-haired and bearded, though wearing a look that said he wasn’t much slowed down by it. He had come from the staff area behind the sleek counter, so he wasn’t just a visitor like she was. Lorelea nodded cautiously, making it a brief movement. She wasn’t too surprised he had recognised her. Her long face with its high cheekbones would always give her heritage away to other Clans.
“My grandpa was too. On my father’s side, you understand,” he said.
She did. It meant the connection between them was very loose, not like he was related on his heritage side, the maternal side.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, her tone rising into a question.
“Lienz.”
“Lorelea.”
“You here alone?”
Never let them think you’ve not got back up. She could almost hear Jaz’s voice in her head.
“Uh—no. Well right now, yes, but I have family in the ‘City.”
The eyes as grey as the hair and beard widened very slightly.
“Strange. I think I’d have heard if any Lastas hit town. Stranger still, I heard you’d parked a ship on your own.
How could he know that?
Lorelea met his gaze with a slight shrug. Suddenly she wasn’t sure what she should share and what she should keep secret. He was Clan, but not her own, and clan feuds and politics could be complex and dangerous. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
It’s not something you can do there, Lea, in the ‘City a mistake gets you dead.
“Does it matter?”
“Not really,” he said, his expression caught between amusement and something else—something Lorelea didn’t recognise. “Let me get you a drink on the house and you can tell me what you need. A place to stay? Work?”
All those things seemed to reek of permanence, of staying here indefinitely and something deep inside her revolted at the thought.
“Information,” she said. “I was trying to find someone.”
Lienz leant back and looked appraising as if her admission had changed something very fundamental in their relationship.
“Well, you’ve come to the right person for that. I know just about everyone worth knowing in the ‘City. But you need to be careful who you go asking about, Lorelea Lastas, and who you ask. This isn’t a good place to be asking questions about some people, if you get my meaning.”
She finished eating and pushed the empty away. Avoiding his gaze because his words reminded her of how vulnerable she really was in this place. “Thanks. I’ll have that drink.”
Lienz made a gesture and a young man came running from behind the counter, a tattoo clear on his forearm. A Clan tattoo. Mendive. Lorelea felt her heart pick up a little and wished she knew more about current clan politics. She had no idea if Lastas and Mendive were on good terms or not. There had been a feud, she knew, but that was when she was a child. A lot could have changed since then.
She let Lienz order the drinks and wondered if she had been as clever to come here as she had believed. The older man might have read her thoughts, or perhaps he had seen her react to the clan mark on the youngster who served them.
“In the ‘City we have enough other problems than to go fretting around over Clan history, you know. We’re all blood if we go back far enough and here, well, that counts for a bit more than any daft family arguments.”
His smile was reassuring, but she still wondered if he was just saying the words or if he really meant them.
“Even if so—I…”
“We’re cousins, Lorelea. I’ve Lastas blood in my veins.” He smiled at her and raised his drink in a silent toast. Outsider style. She felt a release of tension she hadn’t realised she held. He had claimed her as kin—family. Clan. Despite herself, she returned his smile.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Welcome. Now, what are you doing here on your own? I had heard your people had pretty much settled in the same place the last thirty odd years or more. ”
“Like I said. I need to find someone.”
The steady gaze seemed to harden slightly, but not at her—more on her account.
“Someone hurt you?”
She shook her head quickly, annoyed he could see.
“No. This is a friend. He may be in trouble.”
Again, she felt the weighing judgement of Lienz’s eyes. It was as if for every word she spoke he was reading another half-hundred behind.
“This isn’t a good place to be in trouble,” he said, after a few moments. “I think you don’t want to get this friend of yours into any more so won’t tell me his name until you trust me some. Which is a shame as trouble often moves fast in the ‘City.”
“I don’t even know for sure he is here.” Lorelea could hear the defensive protest in her own voice. Lienz was right though. Both that she didn’t fully trust him and that she probably needed to. Needed to be able to trust him, at least.
Lienz sighed and offered a wan smile.
“Some people make life hard for themselves,” he said. “Alright, You need a place to stay, and I have an apartment needs someone to live in it. No charge. I can get you work too if you want. Decent pay. Or if you’re willing to hire out your ship, you can sit back and count the credits.”
“It’s Clan property,” she lied. “If it flies, I’m aboard.”
“Fair enough,” Lienz conceded easily, “but what about the rest?”
Lorelea hesitated. She knew he was right. She would have to face up to the fact that this was going to take time, and she needed to plan for that. He had already claimed her as both Clan and kin which meant a lot as it placed on him—on them both—duties of tradition. His offer was generous, and if the search took longer than she originally thought, she would be glad of any work he could put her way. With a strange sense of reluctance, even though it made solid sense, she gave a nod.
“Alright. That’s kind.”
Lienz smiled again.
“You’re Clan. And you can owe me a favour for it.”
Are you crying?
No. It’s the sun in my eyes.
Makes them water
I’ll just dab them dry.
Are you remembering?
Leave me alone, she said
In this crowded world
All that I have is my head.
It’s only a churchyard
His bones are long gone to dust
And yet I may find him again
If I have hope and I trust
And what if I am crying
Under this tree in the rain?
You’re the voice of an algorithm
How can you feel my pain?
Welcome to the Hotseat of Truth, a device in which your protagonist is trapped. The only way to escape is to answer five searching questions completely honestly or the Hotseat will consume them to ashes!
Today’s victim is Kami, Kameron Lewis, the teenage heroine of Layla Pinkett’s (a.k.a L.N. Denison) upcoming first-contact novel set in the 1980’s – ‘Kami and the Boy Who Fell To Earth’.
Well, I was scared at first, who wouldn’t be, right? But when I saw how much he looked like us, I realised that the situation wasn’t so scary. Yeah! When I looked closer, there were some small differences, like a bigger forehead…and those eyes. Now? I think I’m in an episode of Mork and Mindy…it’s pretty cool.
My only wish is that my mum would get better. Something happened when I was younger, and she’s been drinking ever since. She has never told me what it was, though, and I wish she would.
Finding Albor? Okay, not the most dangerous. I took risks when I was younger though. I used to like climbing until I nearly fell out of a tree. Not any old tree. The tallest tree in the forest. Thank god for George. He was behind me, and kept a tight hold.
Listening to my Walkman, and the old Bowie tracks that I recorded from my mum’s stack of LPs.
Treat my bestie, George a bit better. He takes so much flack from me when my mum’s in a bad way, but he always seems to take it on the chin…good ole George, he deserves better from his bud.
He threw the spear with all of his might and skill. Game had been scarce this season, but an aurochs would keep his cave fed until the cold time came when they could dig lizards out from under the snow.
His spear took the animal in the eye and it fell in its death throes. He danced a small dance of thanks to the gods, but kept a careful distance from the dying beast.
He didn’t hear the angry male aurochs. Until it was too late. A brutally sharp natural spear ripped him from groin to sternum. He screamed. Once…
If you are looking for a good spooky read with short stories and poems to get you in the Haloween mood today you should pick up the Sparkly Badgers Spooky anthology which is free to download.
Hail the harrowed pumpkin!
Tormented, scraped and cut,
Your entrails ripped out from within,
To bake pies with your guts.
Hail the hallowed pumpkin!
Thy glorious grinning face,
Carved from the orange of your skull,
Brings grim mirth to this place.
Hail the hollowed pumpkin!
Upon the doorstep set
Your eldritch light and feral look
Will guard the household yet.
Hail the hero pumpkin!
When brightly lit your grin
Doth scare and freet uncanny beasts
And keep us safe within.
The picture is ‘The Willow Man’ by Jane Jago and if you want to see the really creepy cover he inspired and read the poem about him, snag your free copy of the Spooky anthology right away!
