Out Now: Starborn Vendetta

Hi, sorry for the lack of updates on this blog. My main website and other things have been taking up a lot of time. But now, at last, there's a major update to offer for those who have stuck with it. My true debut novel, Starborn Vendetta, is out today.

Vengeance is a dish best served cold.

On the far side of the galaxy, in the distant future, is the Cluster—a collection of stars and worlds where life flourishes. Humans, refugees from their lost Ancient Earth, coexist with other peoples like the tribal Feles, the elite Kavki, and the distant Ekri.

A human woman arrives on a remote asteroid prison. Unlike the other convicts, she is fascinating, defiant, and unbowed, earning the respect and hatred of guards and prisoners alike. Her name, hidden from all, is Mercedes Solari, Duchess of the planet New Dubai. Forced from her throne and banished for life, the galaxy now thinks her dead. But Mercedes has no intention of going quietly into that good night.

When a chance encounter frees Mercedes from her prison, it sets her on a path of revenge. Changed by a decade of wear and backed by the money and influence of her new patron, she bends all her wits to a single task—the destruction of her enemies and the reclamation of her home and title.

Whatever the cost.

Filled with spine-tingling action, vicious political intrigue, and a starcruiser full of petty and beguiling characters alike, Starborn Vendetta is a triumph of galactic proportions. Buckle your harness and prepare for launch—the Cluster awaits.

Links below for those interested in trying out the first in a new science fiction universe.

Amazon UK (ebook)

Barnes & Noble

Google Books

Short story - Night at Shujuki; Part 1

 

I don’t know why I’m writing this account. Probably it will never see the light of day, or be destroyed long before it can be found. But I feel a full and true account must be put down of the events which led to so many people being...lost. And what may lie beyond the boundaries of what we can understand. What lies at on the edges of this world’s axis mundi.

My name is Sai Toshikiro, and I’m a descendent of a Zainichi Korean family who were moved to Japan in the 1910s. I lost my Korean surname several generations ago, and now I’m as close to Japanese as I can be. I keep my Korean heritage quiet, as there’s still a good bit of racism around. Born in the late 1980s, I was named ‘Sai’ because my mother didn’t want me to be called ‘Saya’, but my father wanted a name that sounded like it, and ‘Sai’ was the closest they could find.

I supposed I should begin this account with the last day of my second year at Shujuki High School in 2002. The day everything seemed to go wrong for the town. If you don’t know where Shujuki is, I’m not surprised. It’s basically in the sticks, a smallish rural town in Yamanashi Prefecture. It’s got a train that goes out to its small station every once in a while, a few smaller stores, and its co-ed high school. Otherwise it’s truly the back end of beyond.

I remember sitting in the middle of the class, with the teacher giving us a dry advanced grammar lesson. The others in this account were also there, giving varying attention to the lesson. There was Rumiko Ishin, a girl who was trying to do a school-friendly gyaru look. Then there was Takahiro Suou, a sporty young man who kept his top button open all the time. There was Souhei Hishima, the class ‘otaku’, who was looking about as plump as I was back then. And then there was Yukari Taito, the over-achiever in class who always got the best grades.

Our teacher, Gouto-sensei, was closing out and giving his sterner look to Takahiro, who as always pretended to ignore it. I heard some giggles. He was always the popular one with Rumiko and some of the other girls. I didn’t really care for him as a guy, but then as I realised going through university I didn’t really care for guys. But I did consider him a good friend, along with Souhei, Rumiko, and even Yukari. The school bell rang for break, and we ended up meeting in the corridor.

Rumiko glomped onto Takahiro’s arm. “Yay! Last day before the holidays! So, any plans?”

Takahiro smiled. “Family’s off to Ryukyu, visiting relatives.”

“Aww...”

“Had any plans of your own?”

“Well, no. I was hoping to make plans with you, but I see you’d want to visit family. Say Souhei, what’s up with you?”

“N...nothing much. But...I’m going to the Wonder Festival in Chiba in August. Bandai’s showing off some of their new Gundam models. Then I’m meeting up with some...friends at...Comiket.”

One of the features of Souhei’s speech was it becoming sporadic when he became excited.

Yukari sighed. “I’ve got tutoring all next week, then I’m planning a trip abroad. I was thinking of going into teaching.”

I looked at her, frowning. “Got your career planned out so soon?”

“Haven’t you? We’ve only got another year, then we’re into college. I do wish you’d all take this a bit more seriously.”

“Let’s not break up the happy feels!” Rumiko somehow put an arm round both my, Takahiro and Yukari’s shoulders. “Let’s just be together and happy! And if not, Yukari can go shoo herself.”

She broke briefly into English with ‘shoo’. It was a pun, and not a very kind one. ‘Shu’ is the highest mark possible in Japanese schools, and Yukari almost always got ‘Shu’ markings. Yukari pulled one of her faces.

“I do wish you wouldn’t shout all the time. But okay. Maybe go onto the roof, like we did last year? What about you, Akira...?” Yukari suddenly frowned, looked about us. “That’s strange. Where’s Akira?”

Souhei looked too. “Y..yeah... That’s odd. Thought he’d...be here. Was he in...class?”

“Yes... Yes, he was.” Yukari glanced back inside. “I’s swear he was in that corner. Yes, I remember, he answered that question Gouto-sensei put to him. Though he looked like death warmed up.”

I think I should now talk about the sixth member of our small group of friends. Akira Tofumi was maybe my age at the time, around 17, with close-cropped hair and a serious expression. He and Yukari always engaged in odd battles of poetry. But here he was...not there. Gouto-sensei emerged and looked at the five of us.

“Something wrong?”

“We were wondering where Akira was.”

“Tofumi-kun?” Gouto-sensei looked round as if he might just appear in the hallway. “I don’t know. He just left. Oh, by the way.” He looked hard at us. “I heard you about the roof. Sorry, but that’s off limits now. No entry except for teachers and staff.”

He didn’t elaborate, but I could guess what might’ve happened. There had been an incident in a neighbouring town of a student trying to kill himself by jumping from the roof of their school building. Obviously didn’t want any repetitions here. We headed for a part of the school yard where the bushes and trees formed a kind of enclosure. We settled there with our bento boxes, with Takahiro cutting an odd figure sitting on the low bow of a tree. Yukari smiled up.

“You’ll injure yourself one of these days.”

“Don’t think so. Any of you free today next week? I thought we might go to that small arcade place.”

Yukari sighed. “I’d just be tagging along. I’ve only played an arcade game once, and it utterly thrashed me. Never again. I’ve got better things to do with my yen.”

“Well I feel like doing something. Not sure why, but...”

Souhei looked up. “Y...you feel that too?”

“Yeah.”

Rumiki laughed. “We’ll find something all of us can do. Akira too... He’s taking his sweet old time.”

“Maybe he’s in the lunch hall.” I looked back at the solid, rectangular school building. “Wonder if he’s got a girlfriend?”

Yukari looked at me. “What makes you think that?”

“Call it a feeling. I noticed him leaving a message for someone round here. And when I came out a little later it had gone.”

“Sure it wasn’t just a bit of junk?”

“He’s not the type to litter. Not like you, Rumiko.”

“Hey, I resent that! But...yeah... Guess he has been a little more secretive. Gotta wonder if he’ll introduce her to us.”

“If he does, I’m sure she won’t mind us.” Takahiro wiped his mouth as a bit of his curry tried to escape. “We’re not like those poor punks who smoke on the quiet or let themselves go.”

“You’d...like to.” Souhei looked at Takahiro was something like awe. “You...might look quite...good...with a leather jacket... Maybe a piercing...”

“Eww.” Rumiko playfully nudged Takahiro’s leg. “Don’t listen to him, Taka-chan. You’d look great in a suit. Hey, look over there.”

We all looked round. Without any warning, Gouto-sensei had appeared in the school yard looking around. I half-expected him to shoo us back to class or something, but he didn’t seem to notice us. He was looking worried. No-one else was moving, so I got up and came over.

“What is it, Gouto-sensei? Are you looking for us?”

“No. I was looking for Hisawa-sensei. Seen her?”

Gouto-sensei had a sister also working at the school as the PE teacher, Shiki Hisawa. She was only a half-sister technically, hence the different surname. I frowned, shook my head.

“No, not today.” An idea struck me out of nowhere. “Maybe she’s on the roof?”

“I...doubt that. Could you help me look? There’s something urgent I’ve got to tell her.”

He looked so worn and worried that I readily agreed. Then I went to fetch the others so they could help too. Rumiko sighed.

“There goes the rest of our break.”

“Gouto-sensei does look pretty worried.” Takahiro jumped down from his perch, tucking the empty bento box into a pocket. “Let’s start at the pool. She may be setting something up there.”

I went with Souhei, Yukari decided to go round the other way, while the others decided to help Gouto-sensei look inside the building. We didn’t find any sign of Hisawa-sensei, or...

“You think...Akira’s...with Hisawa-sensei?”

I looked at Souhei as we rounded back to where we’d started, with Yukari in tow looking preoccupied. “I don’t know. It’s not like him to completely vanish like this. I guess we could call his phone... If he has one? I never asked.”

“He doesn’t.” Yukari spoke promptly. “He used to, but it got broken. He’s saving up for a new one. Oh look, the others.”

Takahiro and Rumiko came running towards us, looking flushed. Had they run all round the school building? Rumiko burst into speech.

“We can’t find Akira-kun or Hisawa-sensei anywhere. We’ve looked in all the classrooms, and—”

“You looked in all the classrooms.” Takahiro corrected her sharply, though he still sounded out of breath. “I checked the breakroom, and the council room. Gouto-sensei said he’d check the roof door on the off chance, but...”

Then it came. A sudden, terrible scream. Two voices mingled into a single loud shriek of horror. We all looked up at where it had come from, the rooftop ledge nearest to us. We saw two forms balanced in mid-air there, a boy with close-cropped hair and a woman in the usual kit of a PE teacher. Another shape appeared, grasped at them, a male teacher.

Rumiko let out an involuntary shout. “Akira-kun!”

I recognised Akira, and Hisawa-sensei, and Gouto-sensei. Gouto-sensei’s hand just missed its grasp for the twin forms as they over balanced and... The fall lasted only a couple of seconds. It felt like a couple of years. The five of us rushed in, then instinctively drew back as the two intertwined forms hit the ground. There was the dull cracking sound of bones, the throbbing through my feet of the impact, and a moment of stillness. The two, Hisawa-sensei and Akira-kin, rested in a broken and tangled heap at the foot of the school building wall.

Rumiko rushed in, but Yukari pulled her back. “No! If we move them without thinking, we might make things worse. Get the school nurse, hurry!”

Rumiko ran off, looking on the point of tears. Souhei struggled after her, maybe for support or maybe to get away from the horrible crumpled shapes. Yukari went in close and gently reached for Hisawa-sensei’s wrist. She felt for a pulse, then tried to find Akira’s hand in the mess. I couldn’t keep looking, and my eyes strayed up towards the roof. And I saw it.

I didn’t know exactly what ‘it’ was at the time. What I saw was something like a woman in a long ceremonial robe, like a miko at a festival. But the robe was entirely black, and while I couldn’t see any features, I had a sensation of something in that face looking directly at me. At us. I let out a strangled gasp and rubbed my eyes. The apparition was gone, and I heard Takahiro speaking.

“Sai-shan, what’s wrong?”

“I... Nothing. Just seeing things.”

I heard the nurse’s voice. “Oh my God... Yukari, get back.”

She did as instructed. “I managed to find a pulse for Hisawa-sensei, but Akira...”

“Just go inside the school. An ambulance is on the way.”

We obeyed, and we found Rumiko blubbering next to a shaking Souhei. Takahiro put a comforting arm round her and she buried her face in his chest.

“Akira-kun...! Akira-kun...!”

“Hey, it’s not over yet.” Yukari’s voice sounded almost normal, which seemed to make it worse. “I felt a pulse. They may be all right.”

“But how did it happen?!” Rumiko’s voice was almost indistinguishable through her sobbing. “I don’t understand, what happened?”

Yukari continued to try and sound normal. “It must’ve been an accident.”

“Yeah, we get that!” Takahiro sounded angry. “But what the hell were they doing on the roof anyway!?”

“There’s...no...need to shout.” Souhei looked on the verge of tears. “Shouting...won’t get us...anywhere... If they...make it out... No, they will make...it out.”

“Sai, you okay?”

I started. Yukari had tapped my shoulder.

“I... yes. Yes, I’m fine, it’s just... Did any of you...see someone else up there?”

“You mean Gouto-sensei?”

“No, not just him. I mean... Okay, I’m gonna sound crazy, but did any of you see a woman dressed as a miko up there?”

Rumiko was so surprised that she seemed to hiccup herself out of sobbing. “A miko? What would someone like that be doing up there?”

“I... I guess I must’ve been seeing things. Trick of the light and all.”

The rest of the day was all off. School was ended early and all the students went home aside from us five, who gave statements to the police while Akira and Hisawa-sensei were taken to hospital. The following day, we all met up. Yukari was excused from her studies for the day. In fact, everyone was excused from something, including me. We gathered at a common meeting spot, an old shrine on the edge of town. Rumiko was still weeping, and Souhei seemed to have been crying before I arrived. Yukari came hard on my heels with a grim face.

I looked directly at her. “Well?”

“Gouto-sensei called me this morning.... Akira and Hisawa-sensei didn’t make it.”

Rumiko looked up, her eyes weeping afresh. “You...serious?”

“They died in the night. They didn’t recover consciousness.” Abruptly, Yukari closed her eyes and wept. “Why did that have to happen to Akira? He had everything in front of him... Everything...”

We five were there, and we felt the hole that had appeared among us. And in that moment, we were united in consolatory weeping away from prying eyes. In a way, that’s why I considered them my best friends. We could weep together.

After that, most of the students including my class were transferred to a school in the neighbouring town. It had better facilities, and railings on the roof. We managed to stay together for that final year, but there was one thing I never spoke of. That figure on the roof. I had seen it, I was sure, but I couldn’t explain it.

Next, a reunion...

New Podcast Episodes Available!

 Exclamations, right? Right?! Right!? Well, anyway...

It's been a busy, busy time for me in life as well as with my work, slowing but surely heading towards the completion of a new series. But I haven't been neglecting my podcast, much as it's been tempting to. So here and now, before you all, is links and summary for each episode. It's been going since May, and with the bi-weekly release plus the introductory episode, it's now five episodes long. Yeesh, so much talking into a mike and trying not to fluff too much. Here below are the episodes to date.

Episode 0: Introduction - This is...what it says on the tin.

https://open.spotify.com/episode/02OTobVeWBnQQkW8O0TMmm

Episode 1: Code Age and Short Story - The first proper episode, and...it was a lot to get used to. I basically recorded the two back to back.

https://open.spotify.com/episode/6kWHun8XmDqvsvfP5leD4o

Episode 2: Vague Ramblings - I was ill that week, so yeah not the most representative episode perhaps. But you get to hear some of what's weighing down my bookshelves.

https://open.spotify.com/episode/1BkA0Pwba0JC3p4Rwxo83J

Episode 3: Philosophy, and a short story - Back on form with talking and a shout-out. Also the short story in question was...interesting to read.

https://open.spotify.com/episode/14pymT3UupF1x4i3xrRbki

Episode 4: Protagonist vs. Hero - I really enjoyed this one, and it's pretty much a solid "Author Talks" moment, since I'm talking. About stuff that's interesting as an author.

https://open.spotify.com/episode/2kif3uyaa2V8I1SDo7Q40A

I wish everyone -- ladies, gentlemen and everyone in-between -- a good week ahead. Here's to new adventures together. See ya!

First Draft Woes

 For this week's blog post, I'm going to talk about something that I've only just confronted full force, something that I didn't expect to happen but knew might happen at some point. The woes of the first draft.

Here's a quick breakdown of how I tend to write. First, I create the foundational idea, the main story points, the characters, if necessary the terminology, and a rough chronology. Then I write it down in e-manuscript form, drafting some scenes or sections beforehand but otherwise letting everything flow freely and naturally. Usually I have to rewrite something within that, but it doesn't need a massive ground-up rewrite. After that comes the proofing and editing stage, where I pick up continuity errors, grammar errors, spelling errors, terminology errors, gender errors, the usual.

My current project with my publisher did need a top-down rewrite for style and to improve some atrocious story decisions made during an angrier time in my life. Even then, the characters, major story beats, and even a good section of the dialogue didn't change, so I was able to get the rewrite done in a month flat. But this time, for this side project that's been slowly cooking away since January 2020, I need to do more than that. It needs some basic elements that formed the core of the project...changing.

There's good reasons for this. The concept behind this project was a fantasy world with an unexpected thematic and tonal shift at its halfway point, and a style of storytelling that both delineated times and locations for a solid continuity, and deconstructed some of the established tropes of the chosen one archetype and surrounding story beats. The problem is that, looking back, some good ideas I had during the early planning stage were thrown under the bus, the tonal shift became far too extreme for people not to see the second half as gratuitous and illogical, and my wish for a meta narrative rode rough-shod over the rules of enjoyable and logical storytelling. Also there were too many throwaway concepts, and above all there were...too...many...characters.

Now, to put it as simply as possible, I wrote this book for two reasons; not to get bored with the two series I'm working on for my publisher, and to vent my frustration at the criminal mangling of characters and thematic progression present in Final Fantasy XV. You know, that oh-so-realistic game that saw a wimpy "lead heroine" with two hours screen time spread across a confusing mess of multimedia shanked without warning or context, companion characters that ranged from boring to outright abusive towards the lead, a lead that wasn't allowed to grow in any meaningful way, and a storyline that rammed you over the head with needing to obey duty at all costs regardless of what sane thought dictates. Yes, I don't mind admitting feeling cheated by its story, and it's left me wary of anything from that series going forward for fear they'd follow that trend of cookie-cutter "do your duty or else" leads, toxic relationships among their companions, and female characters either as thin as paper or relegated to background/fatal roles in favour of an all-male cast, all-male villains, and all-male supporting characters helping the very male hero on his journey. (Apologies for the rant, needed to get it out somewhere.)

Yeah, a lot of frustration there, and while that's still fuelling some of the project, I let that irritation get the better of me and override my natural instincts when writing a story. So I've decided to cut the cast down by half, and rewrite the narrative to better fit with the themes I wanted to examine, and most importantly trim the meta stuff down to something a little less...convoluted. Which entails an over 50% rewrite of the first half, and near-total redo of the second half. Irritating? Absolutely, it's a pain. Worth doing? Yes, since this book has potential. Also, there's series potential if I play it right.

So, wish me luck, y'all!

The Truly Alien

 How can you portray an alien people? Whether it be a fantasy society, or a sentient kind from another world in some universe or other? It's something that's been around since people were making up stories of otherness. From the tales of fae and deities, to modern twists on other peoples and cultures in science fiction narratives, it's difficult to find any kind of approach that can really be called 'alien'.

The most basic problem is that many can't easily see outside their preconceptions of what is a sentient being. Our only examples are Earth-based fauna, specifically a certain hybrid bipedal primate which has reached every continent on Earth, is now one of the most populous mammals on the planet, and has an unusually complex society which splinters across abstract boundaries and esoteric concepts. I mean humans, of course. Some are more obvious than others, like octopuses which have proven problem-solving abilities, or dogs and cats which can understand elements of speech and even hold conversations to a degree. But others like just fish, or insects, or rodents, when used it's almost like a conscious subversion of the norm. It's easier with fantasies, as there's a greater level of fantastical license to draw on, but science fiction's always quite tricky. See any episode of Star Trek or Star Wars to see how difficult it is to break away from the humanoid norm.

The second problem, which is often both encountered and worked around in fantasy, is how much of real-world developments to incorporate into the fiction. Of course, nothing's entirely new in fiction, just a rearrangement of what's already happened. But if you want to create something about a large pantheon, do you mix and match or mimic a specific religion from the ancient past? When you create something about a spirit or fairy, do you risk accusations of cultural appropriation, or change enough that it's more of a homage than direct use? This issue particularly arises with both living religions such as Christianity or Hinduism, and still-living folklore traditions such as those of the Native American nations. The same problem applies to social structure, living conditions, and any kind of interpersonal culture. And that's before you get to reproduction!

There is a third, more insidious problem that's been pointed out in stories such as Avatar and Bright, which had respective alien and fantasy peoples based very explicitly on ethnic minorities. Minorities, what's more, that have deeply engrained but also deeply harmful social stereotypes that these stories encouraged rather than downplayed. While many stories show the normal encountering the unusual, leading to a natural feeling of otherness, many stories have an outward sense of integration, or at least coexistence. So when stories use real-world parallels, they can encourage the kind of behaviour that is supposed to be wrong in reality, simply through reinforcement of a toxic image. Racism is senseless, meaningless, and based on a groundless prejudice. By creating specific others based on these groups, we don't break down barriers, we reinforce them.

Now, I'm not above these problems. I've had to face them, succumbed to them, and had to rethink a story to get round them. But at least I recognise them, where many other authors might not even realise it. For all those who read Tolkien's Middle Earth only for its surface narrative without seeing the deeper cultural mingling and openness he demonstrates, who were bamboozled by Ursula le Guin's approach to science fiction. I ask this. Next time you read a book, look at the story and think; "I wonder where I could find a parallel to this?" And if you can't find it, that's the mark of a true author.

Short story - Aeternus

 Mortality doesn’t always claim its due. In a very few cases, it has found itself completely redundant. In the wake of the final fall of the Qliphoth from around the Sephirot, a single speck of their essences fell to Earth. This coalesced into a stone, which became the signet of a ring. When a person wears this ring, it triggers Conditional Infinite Cell Renewal.

Usually most of these are granted a tight limit on the number of times this gene can propagate itself before its collapse and failure, returning their mortality and nullifying the ring’s power for several years. But one in a thousand exhibit signs of continuous renewal. They become the ring’s keepers for extended periods of time, potentially centuries or millennia.

I have been assigned to this subject, hereafter designated in my dialogue as Subject Alpha. The first date of recognition is 50 BC, then known under the name of “Vercinget”. Subject was executed following his transportation to the capital of his conquerors following a great battle. Subject Alpha revived during transport from the city to a pyre, and escaped. Over the next fifty years, Subject Alpha is noted as having “died” 1687 times by a variety of methods; 347 accidental, 1286 caused in battle against various opponents, 23 due to environmental factors, 31 self-inflicted.

In subsequent centuries, Subject Alpha has become a less obvious figure. His deaths have totalled 34 over the following 2168 years; 20 accidental or environmental, 1 self-inflicted, 1 classified as “murder”, 5 caused by other factors.

Current subject file; CICR Subject Alpha, dateline 18-09-2120, location State of Oklahoma, United States, American Continent. Conditions; Post-Pestilence. 123-345-212363PZ, record open. Personal report from subject follows.

***

I’ve been called many names in my time. Ahasvar. Buttadeus. Isaac. He Who Wanders Eternal. My real name’s Hugo. At the moment.

Death is unpleasant, unnatural death more so. How do I know? It’s because I’ve experienced more deaths that I’m comfortable remembering. From my ‘first’ as an old man succumbing to heart failure on a bed inside an infirmary chapel in the 1100s, to later ones as a young man caught in drive-by shootings or natural accidents in the late 2010s. But how am I able to survive all these deaths?

Apparently, I’m Death’s Watchman, someone who goes wandering the world and keeps a metaphoric finger on the pulse of humanity. The last one fulfilled their term and was allowed death, so I got picked at random from Death’s handbook of suitable souls. Mine is a millennium-long contract with Death to keep tabs on what goes on, whether there are gonna be wars or famines or plagues or purges or suchlike. I feel large numbers of dead, and when that happens Death appears and collects their souls, sending them for judgement in the Beyond. It’s a grim job – no pun intended – but it comes with a lot of travel.

At the time I’ve decided to remember, I was lying in a patch of scrub rubbing my chest, where some smartass cowboy with a gun had tried to shoot me. Pointless. All he did was kill himself, blowing a hole through his lungs. Basically any unnatural death I suffer is reflected back at its perpetrator. Quite unpleasant when I got caught by some pal of Gille de Rais and he.... well, he died in my place. It’s like there’s a huge mirror around me that reflects death, and reflects it back with deadly accuracy when it’s anything caused by another human being. Death says it’s divine justice, but I call it crap.

This period’s pretty much on a level with most of my other adventures. It’s while I was in the Mid West in 1849. The world had gone made for gold, as could be evidenced by the maniacal prospector who thought I was intruding on his “patch” and shot at me before I could explain. Guess he was lucky. He didn’t need to hang for my murder, only be found with a bullet from his own gun in his chest. He’d probably be put down either as a suicide or unsolved murder. Satan knew there were more than enough of them about the place. I didn’t envy the guy his quick way out.

Most people won’t tell you this, since they’re not in a position to. Dying hurts. It’s bloody painful being choked from behind. Or being stabbed, shot, falling off cliffs, drowning in the sea, burning to death, being buried, even once being stoned. But I didn’t die. No matter how many times, I never died. So when she appeared before me and asked me that question, I wasn’t in a mood to be polite.

“Tell me, do you still wish to live?”

The question was idiotic. Of course I wanted to live. Who didn’t wanna live? But I also wanted to die. Here I was, aching like hell because some son of a bitch shot me over something silly, going through the same weird process I’d gone through how many hundred times before... I didn’t feel like being polite.

“What the hell d’you think?” I spat the words at her, “You don’t think I enjoy this, do you? I’m not like those creeps who need it to get high.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “I hardly see the need for such rudeness. You are wearing something. Something that has attached itself to you quite strongly. I am here to ask whether you are still willing to be its custodian.”

“F--- off!”

You get the idea of what I said, I guess. She didn’t answer. Instead she simply vanished. Damned angels, always coming back to clarify things for their bloody records. Oh well, guess this rant's over. I didn’t like writing it, but since they asked whether I should file a formal complaint, I have done. That's it! Finished! Finito! Wish I could...

Flash Fiction - For easy reading

 These are two pieces of flash fiction I'd originally written for submission. Since it's well past the point where it'd be considered, I've decided to put them down here. They're both in the single theme of 'gun'. Enjoy!

***

The Disrupted Denouement

“And so I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that the murderer is–”

The report of a rifle outside the window, instantly followed by the smashing of glass, cut off the detective’s monologue. He was thrown back, a hole in his chest, to fall against the hearth with a sickening crash. Everyone gathered in the room – the two policemen, Lord and Lady Stool, Miss Amelia Straight, the Honourable Sebastian Cole, two maids, the butler, and a rather vague vicar – looked on in astonishment as the clever detective lay bleeding out onto the hearthrug. Then the Honourable Sebastian let out a falsetto scream, and the house was in uproar.

Over the next several weeks, all the grounds were searched. No trace was found of where the sniper had fired from. The detective’s last words were a string of gargled gibberish no-one could decipher. The notebook in which he had recorded all his findings was in indecipherable code. Each member of the household was arrested and released in turn, bar one. The papers were full of the mystery, almost to the exclusion of the murder the detective had investigated.

They never found the sniper. Or the murderer. They did execute someone for the crime, but does that really count?

***

The Bullet

I was fired from a .50 Calibre weapon at someone. I don’t know who, and frankly I didn’t care. It wasn’t my job to care, only be accurate. The snap of sound as I rushed from the barrel filled my world, and the dusty environment surrounding me masked my flight. I travelled approximately three metres, and in that time saw some very interesting things.

I saw two soldiers from one side advancing slowly on an enemy position. In another area I saw two enemy soldiers shouting some nonsense about their cause. I didn’t care about that. I was a bullet, what did it matter to me why I was fired? Well, I tell a lie there. I was fired by one side against another, to hit the target chosen by the soldier who fired me. That is an inviolate truth.

As I entered the body of my target, I briefly saw their uniform. I must admit to being puzzled. Either I’d been fired by an enemy, or the soldier firing me had hit one of his own. Well well. That wouldn’t go down well back home. If I could have smiled, I would. But then, how can I? I’m a bullet. At least I hit my target.