Stop Swinging on Your Chair! – 29th November 2014 (23:59)

Freddie was always a bit of a shit. Mrs Meller had always thought it.

That thought was especially strong now as he continued to swinging on his chair, defiant eyes locked with hers.

“I mean it Freddie, if you don’t stop that right now, you’re going to be spending the rest of the term in detention.”

His little defiant pig eyes narrowed at her, daring her to do something. The other kids pretended not to watch on, but Mrs Meller could feel them watching. “I mean it Freddie, at my old school a pupil was swinging on his chair like you are and he swung back too far and cracked his head open and he died.” She stared at him, willing him to believe the story.

“Everyone says that, miss, all my teachers had some kid die.”

“Right, I’m not going to argue with you Freddie,” Bollocks. When did he get so smart. “I’ll see you in detention.

* * *

She was marking some homework when Freddie started leaning back on his chair. Detention was about half way done. She glanced up but he was still doing his work. He wasn’t doing it maliciously, Mrs Meller realised, it was just comfortable. She felt bad for him, it must be tough.

Mrs Meller turned her attention back to the workbooks in front of her, letting poor Freddie get on with his work.

The next thing she knew, there was a scrap, a cry and a sickening crack. It took her a moment to process it all. A moment before she could look up and see Freddie, crumpled in a heap on the floor with his head caved in and neck broken, his chair lying on its back beneath him where he’d swung too far.

At least she wouldn’t need to make up stories for future pupils now.

A Legend Among Us (Norma 3) – 28th November 2014 (21:56)

The grass had wilted and died under the beating sun and the drum of hard leather soles. The wind was cold as it came down off of the mountain, the trees, those that remain, whistled and whipped to one another was the wind trundled by. It flicked the hair of the Lance General and tugged at the old wisps of whiskers that his chief adviser proudly maintained.

They watched the barren land for a for more minutes, as they had for the last half an hour before, breaking the long standing silence, the Lance General sighed, a growl in his chest before turning to his eldest, oldest and wisest friend. “How did we make it out of this place Nial, when so many died.”

The Chief Adviser hesitated before saying, “I’d have to say excellent leadership, Sir.”

The Lance General turned away, hiding a smile. “That is kind of you to say, old friend. I remember the face f every man who died here, who died around me. Bother those that fought with me, and died without me, and those that died by mine own blade. They haunt me at night, and I imagine their faces, decayed and dead. I see their families, their sons…” The Lance General broke off, holding a tightly clenched fist to his mouth, wiping at his cheek before he continued. “I imagine living life as their son. Boys to men, never knowing their fathers, only knowing without any direction, that they died in the glory of battle at the hand of the enemy. At the hands of me. Will they ever leave me? Will I ever be able to live my life in peace?”

“The mind is no easy thing to decipher, Sir. If you did not have the blood of the meant you have slain dirtying your conscience… Well, quite frankly I’d worry for my own well being. It is normal to feel this way.”

“But i am not normal. You know as well as I do that I will long out live you, every man in that camp, every man over those mountains and into the world beyond. The world behind us is filled with bodies of men that i have killed, or of men that will die before me. I am not normal. If I were, I could handle the eternal internal suffering that I must endure. A few short years of a morality check is no skin of a mere mortal man’s back, he must only cary such a burden for a short time. I cannot keep this with me for an two, three, four millennia. I cannot stand another year where I see my friends die. You were only a boy when you cam into my service, I can’t bury you, I have buried too many of your family already. Don’t make me say good bye to you, my dear old friend.”

The Lance General fell to his knees, his steel plate armour clanging as his body crumpled into a heap on the ground. For the first Time the Lance General lay on the field of battle and was ready to die. He willed death to come for him now, but he had no such fortune. Death was blind to his body.

“Then, if you are sure. There is only one thing that you can do.”

“I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that,” the Lance General said, many hours later when he awoke to find himself in his command tent. Niall had been sleeping in a chair close to the bed but had awoken when the Lance General spoke.

“Sir, how are you. We were terribly worried.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said with a grunt as he hoisted himself off the bed. His armour had been removed and he found himself in his small clothes, his legs weak, wobbly and bare beneath him. “I was just saying, I hope you don’t really mean that to be my only option.”

“Sir, with all due respect, you know that it is true. Whilst she lives, you cannot die. It was the reason you left, so that you may live forever, without fear of her ending your dreams, you have told me this truth so many times of my many years of service, through all of our victories. From what i can reason, you will only die when you return to her…”

“…and put a knife through her beautiful heart.” The Lance General finished.

Boring Super Heroes – The Human Spirit(level) – 27th November 2014 (23:59)

“Did you know your shelf isn’t straight?”

“Yes, thank you David, but yes, I noticed.”

“Alright, I’m just saying.”

The men sit in silence sipping on their beer.

“That one over there’s wonky too.” Said David, pointing behind him. His acute sense of straightness allowed him to see the 5 degree slant.

“Get out,” replied Nathan. “I’ve had it up to here with your shit,” he said holding his hand above his head.

“That’s a bit wonky to the left,” he said as he gathered his coat and left.

Vartina (Norma 2) – 26th November 2014 (23:50)

Vartina first met norma when she was twelve. Have beaten off the sickness that carried most other children her age, her own mother had thought her indestructible. Even Vartina’s eldest sister who was sixteen at the time had perished from the illness. But when the indestructible girl was twelve, her mother thought that death had finally remembered her. she did the only thing she could do. She made a deal, a bargain, a devils wager with the old wise widow. She sold Vartinas future so that she might have one. Her mother knew that to have a daughter alive, and not with her, was better than having no living daughter, or son,a t all.

And so it came to pass that Vartina, when she was needed, would be forced into the service or Norma. She would become a vessel for the old woman, a puppet for all intense and purposes, a new body in which Norma would squeeze every drop of life from, before letting the dry and shrivelled carcass go, before taking on a new companion.

Vartina prayed that she was different, that she would be the one to break the spell, to finally stop this bitter old woman, this sour crab faced wench who poisoned the town who once shunned her, so that she may be needed, wanted, revered and repaid. But that was not so. She was simply, and plainly a slave. Forever and until death. in one way or another, everyone who’s Norma their life, and she was determined to collect their debt.

Norma – 1 – 25th November 2014 (22:58)

An old and wise widow, crippled in her body, but healthy in her mind, Norma was anything but ordinary.

Hailed for many years as a good witch, a healer, a God-like creature, she was as much a feature of the small decrepit town as the haggard old oak tree, or the crumbling well that it over-looked. She was older than anyone could remember, her nearest companion in age, Vartina, who had looked after her for nearly fifty years, was approaching eighty herself, and she had taken over from Breamia, who had passed away at the age of sixty seven after thirty years of loyal service to the wise widow.

No one could remember her husband, but stories of the shanty town hailed him as a hero of war. One legend, maintained, spread and exaggerated by the family who owned and operated The Gallant Knight (a tavern wherein the patrons were anything but gallant) claimed that the wise widow’s husband will one day return, drink his final drink in his favourite bar, before taking his woman away to die together at long last. Others claimed that Norma had sacrificed him, so that she may live forever, but never to her face.

Very little fact was known about the woman. She spoke in whispers, in a tongue only her companion was privy to understand. When one of the townsmen was sick, they would come to Norma’s little shack and watch as Norma whispered to Vartina. A few crushed herbs, a splash of a brown liquid and, again if you can believe the rumours, a few words of witch magic, and you would be right as rain. Other than being old and impossibly skilled at knowing exactly how to cure her people, she was a mystery.

Only Vartina knew. And if she had retained her free will, she would have run.

Pont Des Arts – 24th November 2014 (23:59)

We locked our love in the great French capital on the summer of 2008. You told me you would love me forever, but by the winter of 2009, you had left me.

In 2011 I learnt that you had locked your love with another. In 2012 I ordered the destruction of every love lock and their immediate ban.

In 2013 you got married.

Little did I know, in my jealous rage, I had freed you from your obligation. You were finally free to be another’s.

Toeny Jefferson – The Big Bad Fox – 23rd November 2014 (23:59)

Toeny Jefderson awoke with a sudden start at the site of the big orange fox. He did not look at all happy to find an intruder in his home, he said as much too.

“I am not at all happy to find an intruder in my home, little mouse.”

“I’m no mouse you silly old fox!”

The fox growled, and Toeny’s belly growled back. The fox stood stone silent. And then, he laughed.

A great big laugh that sent him rolling out of the cave, he tumbled down the hill and into the road.

Toeny stood up and ran to the edge of the cave. Just in time to see the big orange fox, splattered by a car.

The moral of the story kids, don’t laugh at someone less fortunate than yourselves.

Toeny Jefferson – A Toe about Town – 22nd November 2014 (23:59)

Ever since he had been given his freedom, Mr Toeny Jefferson felt like a new fillangi. He felt good for the first time in his short life and as he made his way out of the house he had shared with his master for as long as he could remember, he felt ready to take on the world.

It wasn’t long until he regretted his sudden departure. He had no clothes to warm himself, no food, which until now he had not needed but since developing consciousness, it had become vital and no place to lay his head, which again, he suddenly found he needed to be able to function.

He walked and walked but as the temperature dropped, so did his joy, his pride and his hope. He shivered from toe top to toe bottom and something in him that must have been his belly growled.

Eventually he came across a field. And as he walked past, he noticed a little hole dug into the ground. It looked a little dry and dust, but warm and cosy too and as he was only small, Toeny had plenty of room.

He clambered up the hill, crawled into the mouth of the cave and looked at his resting stop. The mouth of the hole was as warm and as dry as he had hoped, he was a little afraid by the pitch black of the sudden drop at the back of his new home but after calling down into the darkness, he decided that it was probably safe.

He slept peacefully on the ground. For hours he slept and then days, it was such a wonderful and new experience for him, he loved sleep as not even his growling belly could wake him up.

The only thing that could shake him from his slumber was a big, orange fox, nudging him with his nose, his big sharp white teeth bared. But that is a story for another day.

Infected – 21st November 2014 (23:59)

With the nail bent and twisted, it burrowed into the soft flesh of the toe like a screw into wood. It got in deep, bled, pussed and with the sweat from hard working feet, it got infected.

It bulged, a big bulbous red, throbbing entity. It look angry, embarrassed, painful, revolting and marginally decayed, all at once.

It was ignored, hidden beneath socks and shoes and dulled by pain kills and alcohol. It became a limp, a distraction, a constant pain.

One day, it could not be ignored any longer. After several long weeks of keeping it out of sight, out of mind, it eas revealed.

There, upon the nail bed, a face had grown. Amongst the angry redness, life had formed. And it spoke.

It spoke of how it wanted to be free, that it had heard so much of the world that it wanted to see it. It was alive and it wanted to live.

So, the toe was severed. The pain was both excruciating and relieving. The toe was freed, and aside from a little shakiness in my balance, I was back to normal.

The toe meanwhile, well, he lived a long life on the read. But that is a story for another time.

R.I.A. – 20th November 2014 (23:39)

I rain arrows down upon my enemies. From high on the valley edges, I let the wood fly, the feathers quiver and the flint sticks. With a woosh through the air I can almost hear the Eagles cry with the fall of the death stick, down, down, down into the flesh of the white man.

They scream like my people, they cry and fight back like my people, they die like my people. But they do not know this land as well as my people and I. I am gone before they know where to look, firing from elsewhere whilst they’re scrambling for cover, slaughtering them in their hundreds as their arrows brush off rocks I am no longer behind.

They keep coming, forever pushing on to the sunset state, forever dying on the way by my hand.

I strike without warning, I kill without regret. They curse me for the slaughter. I curse them for their theft.