Depth of matter

It doesn’t matter does it?

If my feet are tired and I can no longer dance

It couldn’t matter, could it?

That we no longer waltz together on the moors whilst the moon yawns down upon us

It wouldn’t matter, would it?

If my bones are pressed deep into the dirt at the foot of your bed, cold and damp in August

It shouldn’t matter, should it?

That we lost our souls that day the rain came, when we buried each other up to our necks in lust

It didn’t matter, did it?

It never did

NaNoWriMo – The Unearthing of Memory

So I thought that I might take a different challenge for this month and jump on the NaNoWriMo band wagon. I’m not sure that I will have the time spare to keep up to date with the amount of word needed but I guess even if I do half the amount then it’s good practice for freeing up some creativity.

Obviously the NaNoWriMo is not about the polished article so the writing is not edited but I thought it would be nice to pin up a start to see if anyone wanted to have a read through and let me know what you think of it as a start.



The Unearthing of Memory


The shovel chimed out a warning as it hit something hard and metallic in the dirt. Katrina stopped digging and held up the torch for a better view, moving the beam slightly until she caught a glimpse of something shiny. Crouching closer to the ground as she realised there was indeed a small silver corner poking out from the damp soil. She felt her heart pause as she reached out to touch the metal, see if she could feel the engravings hoping that her search had finally come to an end.

Katrina awoke from her vodka fuelled haze in the morning, furry tongued and fuzzy eyed. Wiry hair sprouted from her head like an ebony nest emerging from a stormy night. Her dreams clinging to her thoughts like reeds in the wind of a desecrated field once full of hope and now forgotten. Reaching over to grab the glass from the dresser she viewed the bubbles created from the heat inside the clear liquid yet continued to drink it or at least try. Throwing her neck forward and letting out a loud hacking cough she realised that the glass was not water like she had thought. She just managed to slam down the glass whilst attempting to compose herself and stop her throat burning. She really didn’t remember pouring that last vodka. Torn between the need for a drink and the effort it would take to reach the tap instead she slumped back into her bed and pulled up the covers, sleep would stave off the need for a little while longer.

It was hours later before her eyes drifted open and she found her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and knew that still would have to force herself to move. Swinging her legs off the side of the bed she almost solidified into form, dragging her body across the floor as though her arms were made of lead. By the time she had shuffled to the sink and realised there were no clean glasses left she had almost given up. Allowing the tap to run for a few seconds before she tested the temperature with her fingers and swung her head under the cold water. Lips gulping from the stream like a wild animal in the heat lapping up water from a drainpipe. When she had finished she cupped her palms together and filled them with liquid refreshment before catapulting it towards her face.


She shook her head realising that a headache had started to settle in as her body tried to compensation for the alcohol finally leaving her. Her mind racing and showing glimpses of the previous night’s highlights, or rather low lights and the memories she could recall were hazy at best.

Looking around the room for clues to jog her memory she noted the crumpled red dress on the floor next to a black and red chequered stiletto and a messy blonde wig. She smiled as the thought came back to her of the fancy dress party from last night.

It had been seven o clock by the time she had got home from the office and worked her way through the traffic on the underground. She remembered checking the time as she tumbled through the door, hot and sticky from the rushing and wanting to clean off the grim of the tubes. She loved living in London yet travelling on the underground always made her feel dirty somehow, all those people squashed up inside a metal box, it just wasn’t natural.
Kicking off her sensible court shoes and peeling off her beige suit she walked towards the shower as she undressed, flinging the clothes at the chair in the corner of the room. Once inside the bathroom she reached across to turn the shower on, jumping back from the first cold blast of water and standing back as it warmed up. She remembered noting to herself at the time that she should really get the landlord to take a look at that but he made her so uneasy that she hated to have him inside the flat whilst she was alone.

After a quick shower she felt refreshed enough to start getting ready for the party and she was so looking forward to it. Smoothing her fingertips over the invitation she almost squealed in her excitement. She had really been lucky enough to get an invite to the Baldrick mansion and the gold embossed words in her hand confirmed this. Every year she would hear gossip from others in her office block as they boasted of their night in the wondrous exclusive parties thrown by Nigel Baldrick, self made millionaire who wasn’t afraid to show it. Well this year she was all set to surprise those higher ranking bitches in the office as she turned up with an invite after an accidental meeting in the elevator.
The party was always themed and this year it has been villains so Katrina had immediately seized the opportunity to wear her favourite pair of stilettos from the new hot designer Clarissa Ingleton. She had spent a whole weeks wages on the shoes and it wasn’t often she had cause to wear them, but the party meant she could design a whole Harley Quinn outfit around them.

Looking in the mirror as she applied the finishing touches to her outfit: adjusting the blonde pigtails and pressing a red and black leather mask to her cheekbones she felt ready…ready to show that she, Katrina Scarlett was good enough to mix with the beautiful people of London.

After stepping out onto the pavement from her doorway it wasn’t long before she was able to hail a black cab and arrive in style to the party (or at least no having to catch a tube). As she arrived at the mansion she held her breath as she realised just how big and intimidating the building really was. She had always know where Baldrick’s place was yet she had never been to that side of town, had never had need to and now she was feeling slightly scared at turning up alone. Kicking herself for turning down Mark’s offer of a lift and a partner to enter with she teetered out of the cab and onto the red velvet carpet that been placed she assumed especially for the occasion. Looking up she realised that she was still a way from the front door and the carpet spilling out from the door and over the steps were making her feel even more nervous.

‘You can do this Katrina’ She whispered encouragingly to herself as she tightly clenched her clutch bag and strode forward.

A glimpse into Darkside Thursday

It lay before him

The charred remains of a hollowed out corpse. He looked down in bewilderment, eyes wide and frantic and he turned to see the empty auditorium.
I watched him in the dim light, his face awash with confusion. I almost felt sorry for him as he sunk to his knees and placed his head in his hands……almost.

If I hold my breath and strain my ears I can just about hear the low sobs. The slow gulps of realisation catching in his throat, the raspy whisper of his voice repeatedly stating ‘what have I done, what have I done’. Like a mantra he repeats this to himself, rocking back and forth as if this will somehow force him to regain his memory. Clearly this is not going to work for him, I chuckle to myself as I push up the lever.
With a click and a whirring the spotlight hits the stage highlighting the mutilated corpse and forcing him to spring to his feet.

“Who is it? Who’s there?”

His face drained of colour as he frantically looked around. Searching for an answer, searching for the spotlight’s operator…searching for me

Something for Darkside Thursday – To catch up with Andy’s latest darkside then click HERE

Darkside Thursday – Flash fiction

I think of him sometimes, late at night when the world falls silent.

The day he turned up in his new yellow soft top sporting a leather jacket, and the after effects of just for men. His grin stretched from ear to ear as he informed me of his lottery win, and sudden acknowledgement of our ‘relationship issues’.

I’m sure you thought that young Stacey would help you work those through…

You got your fame though, when they pulled your car from the riverbed, they said you should have paid a mechanic to check the new car, that the brakes had failed, they were sorry.

I was sorry too.

Sorry that I didn’t heed your brother’s warnings sooner.

Still the money will come in handy as we take the around the world trip in your memory.

And you are still in my memory, I do think of you sometimes.

The car etched in memory, like a canary, being pulled underwater bobbing for a second and taking its last frantic gasp of air.

The smell of brake fluid still lingers.

My contribution for Darkside Thursday

Covering over the Cracks

Peeling away the insanity
Layer upon layer
Of discarded skins

Each sheath of dusty memory
Laying a rotten foundation
For the next

Silently dormant
Unless a stray air bubble
Rises to the surface

Pushing the exterior
Forcing the finished facade
To suddenly


Causing chaos to rain
On the unmarked carpets
And pristine walls

A bubble burst
Oozing of distilled tears
Ringlets of damp surfacing

Red rust crumbling
from the cracks of masonry
Threatening to break

“Let’s just brush this under the rug,
Paper over the offending lacerations,
Gloss over the blemishes”

Yes, lets make things all new …. Again

Troubled facade

When you wrap me in your cold dead arms
and tell me that I am the only one.
Then my dear I know that you are lying
When you holler my name,
in the street
whilst I stand by your side,
waiting for the rain to break.
Umbrella hanging sadly
down at my waist.
I know you are not without scorn
As you tie my legs to a lamppost
brimming with desire and contempt
and bruise me
with the flat palm of your knife
like only you can.
Then I know you are weak
And in that instance,
at that moment
In the slight pause between night and day
I see you for the first time.
See who You really are.
See your ugly soul rebound off my being
and into your heart.
Desperately beating out the tone of the tune.
Drilling into your head
buried under plastic jars and paper plates.
Marvelling at sounds you have never heard
nor have wont to.
Stories of days gone by and feelings past
and the death of something true
someone true.
Yet all the while you sit silently
and play to the fire of the gun

My Cold Hearted Boyfriend

He lies beside me at night
As I write the words which sustain me
The noises he makes sometimes distracting
Causing me to look up from my work
Or my useless crap
(as he liked to call it)

Sometimes I move too sudden
And he presses his damp skin on mine
Forcing me to give him a push
To keep him at bay
A little love shove

Then I can carry on
Typing up my masterpiece
Immune to his judgemental silence
And vacant stare

Once I had writers block
Asked for help
Yet he only wanted to sleep
His raspy breath on my arm
Echoes of snuffling and snoring
Reverberating in my ears
Forcing my words to hide
My eyelid to twitch
My knuckles to crack

He doesn’t snore anymore
Though he still lingers
Like a bad smell

Inspired for Darkside Thursday

The Dead of the Night

It comes to me in the early hours

Hands outstretched, hungry for life

Yet all I can offer are dreams


Glaring at me with wicked eyes

Salivating at the thought

It may eat me yet


Devour the whole of me

Swallowed and digested

Until my fragments

Are no longer beings


Just a collection

Of flesh and splintered bones

Clumps of deterioration






Slivers of life that once were

Slowly fading to air

This is how I turn to dust