Please note that this page contains fiction and poetry of my own creation. It is purely fiction and should be read as such, any resemblance to actual people whether they be living or dead is purely coincidental.
This page will be updated regularly. Hope you enjoy. Comments welcome.
Trying to Connect
to a familiar sound
but when the social sounds stop
we wonder why?
With judging jabs
in bubbled bursts
Every neon flavoured word
With crow like pecking.
Searching for understanding.
Caught amongst a concern
that they knew you when they walked away
but they chose to pop the moment all the same.
You had nothing that they wanted.
They did not wish to share
minutes with you any longer.
So you wait
Until the battery fades
and you no longer remember
Swimming Pool King: Part Two (Fiction)
Karen had put a lot of thought into it. She really had. So many thoughts they were starting to crack and splinter inside her head infecting her dreams like an open wound. She shivered awake. The living room was as inhospitable as Pete was being right now. Although from the sounds of the snores coming from the bedroom perhaps Pete wasn’t as affected by their conversation as she was, either that or his dreams are being infected too.
What time was it? 4.35am and she needed a drink. Her throat was raspy from last nights argument.
She could just put the lights on, make herself a drink and climb into bed and cosy up to Pete like it had never happened. She could, she so easily could and yet…drink first.
Having salvaged a smoothie from the fridge, Karen paused and relaxed her weight against the fridge as she gulped down the green juice in the shadows with a stolen cough. Was she actually trying to make herself even colder? Was she as icy as he was making her out to be?
She stumbled back into the living room, juice bottle in hand. Typical, no wonder she was cold the heatings turned off, with a gnawed nail she flicked it back to life and slumped down onto the sofa. So what was the plan now Karen? Pete had looked so cheated when she told him, anyone would actually think she had cheated on him. How would he react then? So, she wasn’t ready to have kids yet, she had said yet, but his reaction had made her want to retract the ‘yet’ and finish it there. Maybe it should be finished there, he had puffed up so much saying how she should be grateful he would want to have kids with her at all. Like he was above her. They say people come into your life at the right time, but what if that is not true? What if the wrong people slip into your life when you are not ready through the cracks and then you spend your life in a warped state of bad timing? Maybe she should reset the clock.
Karen’s mobile hummed on the coffee table, a technical firefly in the darkness. Who was texting her at this hour? Then she remembered.
Meet you at the park in 30 mins. Let the training begin!
Perhaps, Karen thought, there is such a thing as perfect timing after all.
With their veins of splintered skin
under the shadow of a soothing moon
Trees creak with a moss made breath
with a patience so few will ever know.
Swimming Pool King : Short Fiction
Pete knew any decisions he made held office hours of their own and he could not alter his brain to think any differently, nor did he want to. Sure, there were the typical mechanical morning thoughts that slowly creaked into automatic, but nothing of any real substance. No, he and his brain both mutually understood that neither would function properly without their first morning swim. Water was fuel after all.
After yesterday, he had half expected Karen to stop him on the way out of the door. Pete had realised she had not come to bed in the middle of the night. He was desperate for the bathroom and he had fumbled past her familiar form coiled into his recliner. She had not even bothered to get the spare duvet from the closet. Pete, having not flushed the toilet, had returned quickly to his warm bed, stopping only briefly to turn down the heating dial.
And now it was morning.
The house whispered nothing and he had no time to listen even if it did. No distractions until after 7am. Pete grabbed his swimming kit and burst out of the door. Shame this wasn’t his lap time, Pete thought. That would have been impressive.
The familiar whiff of chlorine as he entered the pool area made Pete giddier then a morning coffee. Giving a brief nod to the latest pimple nosed lifeguard on duty, he surveyed his pool with delicious precision.
The same two hypothermic twins in the slow lane. Pete noted with a smirk. So dubbed because it was difficult to separate them, even mid-swim, their mouths a constant slow stream of chattering, mostly about their husbands. Still, they knew better than to encroach on his fast lane so perhaps they must have some sense after all. Thankfully, other than the twins the pool was empty.
Just how Pete liked it.
Pete lowered himself swiftly into the water, allowing just one sharp breath to escape when the water playfully punched his gut. Then the routine, the damp squeak of the goggles as his finger tips rubbed against them. They sprung into place, with a reassuring pinch to his nose. Pete shook his hands as his right foot drew instinctively flat to the wall. Ready for launch.
With a quick glance at his watch, he was off.
This was how you do it, he thought as the water broke around him. He would show them, show them all. This was swimming at its finest. He glided past the hypothermic twins in two breaths. Let them gawk at me, he thought. Their husbands couldn’t do what I do. Not a chance. Karen should appreciate what she has in me.
Water shot up his nostrils causing Pete to choke. He caught sight of the pimple nosed lifeguard who bobbed up eagerly in his seat. The lifeguard was poised mid air, way to keenly for Pete’s liking, so Pete forced himself to wave casually and swim on, mid-splutter.
But now his movements were awkward, almost jarring. The water had turned against him.
She was in his brain, and now in the water too.
She had no right, this was his arena. He was the one who paid the gym membership.
But thoughts and memories continued to spill forward like a wave in motion.
And he remembered all what she had said.
With a smile.
Pete took a hard, jagged breath. It appeared, unbeknownst to him, office hours were now open.
And an open office meant decisions had to be made.
Coffee and Cream – (Reimagined)
of a heart that is unsure
Life is not like
sugar and sweetness.
Unsure which way to turn
which direction to take.
The sea is salty
A floating taste of reality
For life is bitter
It is what you put into it that makes it sweet.
Sewing Shadows: Fiction
Every home is a misunderstood creature. You move into your home and within a few days every wall, door and room are familiar to you. You have got every room sussed. Sure, you know where the low down light fittings are that you have to duck to avoid a headache (or extra cost) and the window that will only shut if you yank it. What about the room that gets the best light but causes havoc with the television screen? you know it well.
The house begs to differ, if it chose to talk to you it would seep secrets to you that would make your familiarity fade. If it deemed you worthy, it would tell you of a room you cannot see – a room of shadows.
Many people think shadows just appear with the changing light, but they would be mistaken. Shadows do not just appear they are sewn. There is a creature who’s very purpose is to sew the shadows you see and dismiss every day. Working mainly at midnight, it sits poised at its sewing machine running the needle until a shadow becomes alive, springs up and soaks into the walls of your home. The creature rarely sleeps, but when it does spiders have been known to create the smaller shadows (using their own thread of course) but these can end up a little blurred.
Every shadow is different, some are bold, some are still and unassuming, occasionally there are those that cannot be harnessed, a creeping energy that crawls along the walls.
So, when you next see a shadow think about what I have said, but don’t stare too hard you never know if one will start crawling towards you.
They talked of the wasp
and poisoned memories burst
Is their selfishness still strong
I do not miss
their attention grabbing hums
and their sweet then sour stings.
With healing wounds I will restart
Grateful I can no longer hear
The man looked to his new son
tightlipped and silent.
Grasping glass each
too old to cradle, too young to understand.
Each ushered word uncaught
rebuffed and testing raw relation.
Uncomfortable and unsure of step
Refusing to relay
every senior effort made.