Hello All,
Apologies that this was not posted on Friday, sadly I don't have the excuse of being ill this time... Anyway here is the fifth part of my novella 'After the Revolution.'
If you missed any of the previous parts, or just need a wee reminder of what's going on, please check out parts 1 - 4 in my previous posts. Thank you once again for taking the time to read my work.
After the Revolution - Part Five
Ten
(After the Revolution)
It was raining when three of the cloaked guards marched Alex outside to the transport. It was there, in that dismal courtyard, through the steel mesh of the perimeter fence that he caught his second glimpse of the future, only this time in the dismal light of the morning. It looked as though the bombing had stopped, and great rushing torrents of rain washed across the cracked and twisted skyline, dousing the fires in its path.
‘Get in.’ The biggest guard motioned towards the open doors of an armoured vehicle that sat in the courtyard in front of Alex. ‘Go on, move.’
Alex climbed in, with his hands fastened securely behind his back, taking one more look at the battered remains of the city he once called home.
‘Sit down and stay down. This won’t take long.’
The guard held his gun up to another man who was also sitting in the armoured vehicle, opposite Alex. ‘I don’t want any trouble from you, neither, Stoltz.’
The man smiled demonically at the guard. ‘Of course not. I’ll be good as gold… promise.’
The guard sneered and slammed the doors shut.
Alex looked up at the man across from him as the vehicle began to roar to life beneath him and smiled uncomfortably.
The man smiled back and looked over at Alex through wild, crazy eyes. ‘What’s your name?’
Alex cleared his throat and spoke timidly. ‘A… Alex.’
‘I’m Stoltz. That’s always the first thing we ask, isn’t it? What’s your name? Like it even makes a fucking difference. You could be George of Jim and it would all be the same to me.’
Something in the man terrified Alex. He looked unstable, and never stopped smiling. ‘I suppose names don’t matter much, especially now. They taking you to the lock up as well?’
Alex tried his best not to make eye contact with the man.
Nodding, he replied. ‘I guess so.’
‘What did you do?’
Alex didn’t reply.
‘Yeah,’ said Stoltz, ‘I didn’t do nothing either.’
Through a tiny window on the side of the vehicle, Alex saw the ruined city tear past. The streets were grey and vacant. The world outside seemed completely colourless, with not a single patch of green to be seen. Greys and blacks everywhere; smoke and ash. Alex thought he saw an arm creeping out from underneath a pile of debris on the roadside, but the vehicle was moving so fast, he lost sight of it.
‘Quite a sight, isn’t it?’ sneered Stoltz, unashamedly staring Alex in the eyes. ‘You live amongst it this long you begin to forget what it used to be like.’
Stoltz closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, trying to visualise it. ‘Grass. Lots of grass and trees. I can’t remember the last time I saw the colour green. What’s the point in having colour vision if all there is to see is a million shades of grey? A million shades of grey… and red, of course, blood red.’ The man leaned forward and spoke directly to Alex. ‘You’ll remember what it was like. You’re just old enough I’ll wager. Do you remember? Do you remember what it was like to look out of your window, and the only smoke you’d see would be billowing out of chimneys? Do you remember when the only falling bombs you would see were on the television…?’
Alex looked at the ground and nodded.
‘It seems like a world away now,’ continued Stoltz. ‘You a defector?’
‘So the guards tell me.’
‘They call us the crazy ones.’ Stoltz raised his voice to shouting. ‘Bullshit! We’re not the fucking crazy ones. We’re not the ones starting wars with everyone any anyone. We’re not the ones destroying our country. No… Wilson’s already taken care of that.’ Stoltz nodded towards the driver’s cab. ‘But I had them fooled. I’ve been out for months… and they couldn’t track me. I found a way to escape them…’
Alex looked up at the man, who pulled his right hand from behind his back, his handcuffs pulling the left in turn, and held it in front of him.
‘I found a way to stay off radar.’ There was a long scar down his right wrist, which he looked at, almost with pride. ‘I de-chipped myself. If you were smart you’d do the same thing.’
‘I don’t have a chip.’
‘You don’t? How in hell did you manage that?
Alex was silent.
‘Well, they know now – you’ll have one soon enough.’
‘That’s why they’re taking me to see Wilson,’ mumbled Alex.
‘Wilson?’ said Stoltz, his eyes widening even further. ‘They’re taking you to see Wilson? What the hell did you do to deserve that honour?’
Alex shrugged.
‘I’d be a little more worried if I were you, mate.’ He lowered his voice to a little over a whisper. ‘You’ll be lucky to come out of there alive.’
‘Wh… what do you mean?’ asked Alex, feeling a sudden wave of terror rush through him.
‘Come on mate, have you been living in a cave all your life? You know what he’s like.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘You know what he’s capable of…’
‘What?’ replied Alex, sheepishly.
‘You’ve heard the stories. You know what he did. They say he killed his own parents – that’s where he gets his whole mantra from. Power, Strength, Freedom. No guidance… he had lousy parents. They say his own father tried to kill him when he was just a baby.’ He sighed and looked out of the window. ‘Shit, I’d probably be just as twisted as him if I knew that. There’s one hell of an Oedipus complex if ever I saw one… except instead of sleeping with his mother, he killed her too.’ Stoltz smiled demonically. ‘And he’s the man in charge. He’s the one who was supposed to return Britain to the people! Instead, he tries to rebuild the bloody empire, and gets us all blown up in the process.’
Stoltz stood up, trying his best to stay stable under the swaying of the vehicle underneath, and began shouting. ‘And all in the name of our glorious leader… Hail Wilson! Power! Strength! Freedom!’ He stumbled over to Alex and spoke only two inches from his face, showering Alex with saliva. ‘But they won’t keep me long, you can count on that. I’ll be out of here before you can say power, strength, freedom. Save yourself, mate,’ he said, hissing into Alex’s ear. ‘Don’t let them chip you. Don’t let Wilson get to you. Stay strong, brother.’
Suddenly he began leaping around wildly in the back of the vehicle, thrashing off every wall and repeating again and again at the top of his lungs:
‘Power! Strength! Freedom! - Power! Strength! Freedom! Power! Strength! Freedom! - Power! Strength! Freedom!’
He rattled his head against the wall that backed onto the driver’s cab and screamed ‘can you hear me? Can you hear me you vile pigs? Power! Strength! Freedom!’
Alex pulled himself into a corner, trying to keep a safe distance between himself and the prisoner that was violently lashing himself off the walls. Suddenly he felt the engine cough to a stop and the vehicle become stationary.
Stoltz stood in front of the doors and screamed again. ‘Come and get me! Power! Strength! Freedom!’ He turned to Alex, and spoke in a slightly softer voice. ‘Don’t let them get you…’
Within seconds, the steel doors to the armoured vehicle came flying open and two guards jumped in and began to restrain Stoltz. The largest kicked him in the knees and sent him tumbling to the ground. Sitting on him to keep him down, the guard pulled a syringe from his vest and plunged it into his arm, spitting into his ear as he spoke.
‘I thought I said no trouble, Stoltz. Night night.’
Alex looked down at Stoltz as the other guard held a gun in his face, making sure he didn’t attempt an escape. Even as he drifted into unconsciousness, Stoltz still smiled demonically, muttering under his breath.
‘Power… Strength… Freedom…’
Eleven
(Present Day)
It had only been a kiss. A stupid kiss. He had put the idea in her head, of course. That’s what she told herself, anyway. As Annie unlocked her front door, she held her collar up to her nose and sniffed it in case it smelled of aftershave. It seemed okay. Best go wash up anyway. The door clicked behind her and she strode quickly up the hall towards the bathroom. He’s here. Somewhere. He’s always here.
She listened out for her husband, but hearing nothing, she darted into the bathroom and began to fill the sink. He was different now. Ever since she had told him that she was pregnant, he had changed. He was less vacant; the news seemed to have kick started something inside him, bringing him a little more into the land of the living. He was at least, now, showing some emotion.
Too bad they’re not good emotions. He had been irritable since she had given him the news.
And I kissed someone.
It was just ‘some’ guy at ‘some’ bar, and she knew it didn’t mean anything. He drove me to it; He thinks I’m having an affair… why don’t I damn well have one?
She knew she couldn’t do that. That one lousy kiss had left her feeling wretched enough. She splashed water onto her face and looked into the mirror. She barely recognised the woman staring back. Wrinkles had begun to form in the corners of her eyes and she looked tired. Exhausted.
‘Annie…’ The voice was only a whisper that floated in from behind her. She jumped, and as she moved to her left, she saw him there, in the mirror standing in the doorway.
‘Annie…’
‘Alex.’
She turned around to face him, leaning against the sink with water dripping from her cheeks and long black streaks that ran down her cheeks where her mascara had leaked.
‘I need to talk to you, Annie.’
Annie was silent, and she reached out for a towel to dry her face. She could see he was trying his best to be normal.
Alex repeated himself. ‘I need to talk to you…’
Annie turned back around towards the mirror, flaunting faux confidence. ‘It’s been two weeks.’ She straightened her hair and watched her husband’s reflection. ‘Now you want to talk? You disappear in a flash one night, return seconds later with a beard… then you ignore me for two weeks and now you want to talk?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well… go on then. What happened to you that night?’
Alex sighed, holding his hand up to his forehead. ‘I can’t,’ he whispered.
‘What?’
‘I can’t,’ he replied, raising his voice. ‘I can’t tell you. I… I can’t tell you. Believe me-’
‘Well then what the hell is it you wanted to talk to me about, Alex?’ said Annie, turning around. ‘Do you think we can just chat and return to normal… like nothing’s happened? You need to tell me what’s going on…’ she gestured to his head ‘…up there.’
‘I need to talk to you about… the baby.’
Annie was silent as a tear began to form in the corner of her eye.
‘The baby,’ she snapped. ‘The baby that you don’t want.’
‘Annie,’ he said, his brow creasing, ‘I’m… I’m not well. I can’t have a baby. We can’t have a baby. We can’t bring a child into…’ he held his arm out ‘…this.’
‘This?’ said Annie. ‘This? You created this! You created this with that bloody machine of yours.’ She began to cry.
‘You have to get rid of it, Annie.’ He spoke with confidence. There was no uncertainty in his voice.
Annie began to cry louder, her face reddening. ‘Get rid of it? It’s not some piece of rubbish you can just throw away. It’s a baby… a tiny life. Our child, Alex. How can you be so cold?’
Alex looked at the ground. ‘Get an abortion, Annie. You have to. I can’t have a child. Not now.’
‘I can’t!’ she screamed. ‘I won’t. This is our baby, not yours! I won’t… I won’t…’
Annie supported herself on the sink and watched as Alex began to turn around.
‘If you don’t get rid of that baby, then I can’t stay here anymore.’ He marched out of the room and down the hall.
Annie fell to the ground underneath the sink and sat on the tiles stroking her stomach protectively.
‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll always keep you safe.’
Monday, 28 February 2011
Saturday, 12 February 2011
After the Revolution - Part 4
Hello all, apologies for the lateness in posting part four, but I've been hit by a nasty bout of flu. Anyway - better late than never. If you need to catch up on the story, please see my previous posts. As always, thanks for reading!
After The Revolution - Part Four
Six
(Present Day)
The second week after Alex’s incident, Annie started going out. She couldn’t bear being in that house anymore. All that silence and tension was driving her insane. She would spend most evenings going from pub to pub, dousing her worries in a thick blanket of alcohol, dancing and laughing – even though her heart was breaking.
But no matter how drunk she got, or how late she stayed out, she always had to return to that house. That house. Where he was waiting; haunted by his private demons, saying not a word.
It was a Wednesday when she came to give him the news.
‘Alex.’ She called out to him from the threshold of his workshop with a confidence which had been vacant from her voice for some time. ‘Alex.’
He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. He just sat, as usual, staring into space.
‘Alex… you can’t ignore me for ever.’ She waited for a reply, but got none. ‘It’s been two weeks. You need to talk to me. You need to tell me what has happened to you!’ She fought back the tears. ‘Why won’t you let me help you? You need to see a doctor about your back.’
Alex gave no reaction. He sat, motionless, staring out of the semi-circular window at the top of his lab.
‘I can’t live like this anymore…’ Annie’s sentence trailed off into tears and she wiped her eye with the palm of her hand. ‘You need to talk to me… you need to let me in… because… because…’ she took a deep breath. ‘Because I’m pregnant.’
A sudden burst of motion flew threw Alex’s body, like he had been electrocuted for the briefest of seconds. Slowly he began to turn his head and looked Annie straight in the eye. Alex had avoided making eye contact all week, but now he was staring right at his wife through bloodshot, terrified eyes.
‘No…’ He shook his head. ‘No.’
Annie battled with her tears. ‘I did the test this morning.’
Suddenly, Alex stood up and became the most animated Annie had seen him for two weeks. His expression turned from fear to rage. ‘Whose is it?’
Annie burst into floods of tears. Not content with ignoring her all week, Alex had also decided to accuse her of having an affair.
‘How can you ask that?’
Alex turned around, holding his fist to his forehead. ‘I’ve seen you,’ he said. ‘Going out every night. Off drinking… don’t think I haven’t seen you.’
‘Would you rather have me sit here in silence whilst you stare at the wall?’
Alex didn’t reply.
‘We’re having a baby, Alex.’
He began walking in circles and muttering under his breath. ‘No… no… no.’
‘We’re having a baby, so you you’re just going to have to get used to it. We’re gonna take you out, find you some help, and-’
‘I don’t need help!’ Alex shrieked at the top of his lungs, his words echoing around his workshop. ‘I don’t need a doctor. I’m in trouble… right. We’re all in trouble, but it’s nothing a fucking doctor can fix. I don’t want any help and I don’t want a fucking baby!’
Alex picked up a glass beaker from his workbench and launched it across the room, shattering against the far wall.
Walking towards the door, he barged past his wife.
‘I’m going out.’
Seven
(After the Revolution)
‘Morning sweetheart; time for processing.’
As the guards opened the door, sunlight poured in and Alex saw his cell, and Ralph clearly for the first time. He hadn’t slept, of course. He’d sat awake all night staring into the darkness.
Ralph had fallen asleep hours ago. He’s probably used to sleeping in here by now.
As the guards marched in and grabbed Alex, the boy began to stir. Upon seeing the two men in black, he shot, almost instinctively, back up against the wall, and as the men pulled his new cell mate out, Ralph smiled kindly and waved to his new friend.
The men led Alex down a long, bright corridor towards a room with bars on the window at the end.
‘Sit down.’ One of the men gestured with his gun towards a wooden chair. Alex sat, looking down the barrels of two guns.
‘Okay,’ said the other man, ‘you know how this works.’ He picked up a device from the table next to Alex. It looked like a barcode scanner. ‘Show me your chip.’
Alex looked around the room, not sure what to do; not quite sure what they expected of him.
‘Is he drunk?’ said one guard to the other. ‘C’mon, we don’t have all day!’
Alex sat, confused, unable to admit that he didn’t have the faintest clue what they were talking about.
‘Your chip. Show me your hand, prisoner.’
My hand? Alex held his hand out in front of his face, and the man held the scanner up to it.
‘Where the bloody hell is it…’ he was muttering to himself. After several seconds, the man stopped.
‘Jesus Christ, he’s a defector. He’s not chipped.’
‘Well well,’ said the other guard. ‘A traitor. And here was us thinking you were just some bum.’
Placing the scanner back on the table, the guard pulled a walkie-talkie from his hip. ‘I’m calling HQ. I’m guessing Wilson will want to talk to this one.’
Alex felt the cold steel of handcuffs around his wrists. ‘I’ll take him back to his cell.’
‘You think it’s safe? Putting him in there with that kid? He could be dangerous.’
‘You got a better idea? The place is already bursting at the seams.’
Alex was lead back down the hall towards his cell.
‘Well mate…’ said the hulking guard, ‘…looks like you’re going to visit Wilson…’
‘Wilson? They’re taking you to see Wilson himself?’ said Ralph, when Alex had been returned to the cell, ‘whoa, what the hell did you do, mister?’
‘I don’t have a… chip?’
‘Did you remove it?’
‘I’ve never had one.’
‘Never? But you must be like… forty? How the hell did you slip through the net?’
Alex shrugged, and not even convincing himself, he replied: ‘I dunno. Just lucky I guess.’
‘I never had a chip up until two years ago. My parents kept us in hiding, away from the POLA-’
‘POLA?’ interrupted Alex. ‘What’s that?’
Ralph laughed. ‘Those men in cloaks, the men who brought you in…? That’s the POLA. Wilson’s Police force. Licensed to do… pretty much anything.’
Alex muttered to himself. ‘All’s fair in love and war…’
‘Eh?’
‘Nothing.’
‘My parents kept me as far away from his men as possible,’ continued Ralph, ‘I only finally got chipped when they died.’
‘What is the chip?’ asked Alex.
‘The chip is how they find you. The chip tells them every thing they need to know… who you are, what you’ve done. They can track you and find you like that.’ The boy clicked his fingers. ‘Everybody has a chip, and if you don’t… you’re a defector.’
‘Which is why Wilson wants to see me… they think I’m a defector.’
‘Are you?’
Alex Sighed. ‘I don’t know…’
After The Revolution - Part Four
Six
(Present Day)
The second week after Alex’s incident, Annie started going out. She couldn’t bear being in that house anymore. All that silence and tension was driving her insane. She would spend most evenings going from pub to pub, dousing her worries in a thick blanket of alcohol, dancing and laughing – even though her heart was breaking.
But no matter how drunk she got, or how late she stayed out, she always had to return to that house. That house. Where he was waiting; haunted by his private demons, saying not a word.
It was a Wednesday when she came to give him the news.
‘Alex.’ She called out to him from the threshold of his workshop with a confidence which had been vacant from her voice for some time. ‘Alex.’
He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. He just sat, as usual, staring into space.
‘Alex… you can’t ignore me for ever.’ She waited for a reply, but got none. ‘It’s been two weeks. You need to talk to me. You need to tell me what has happened to you!’ She fought back the tears. ‘Why won’t you let me help you? You need to see a doctor about your back.’
Alex gave no reaction. He sat, motionless, staring out of the semi-circular window at the top of his lab.
‘I can’t live like this anymore…’ Annie’s sentence trailed off into tears and she wiped her eye with the palm of her hand. ‘You need to talk to me… you need to let me in… because… because…’ she took a deep breath. ‘Because I’m pregnant.’
A sudden burst of motion flew threw Alex’s body, like he had been electrocuted for the briefest of seconds. Slowly he began to turn his head and looked Annie straight in the eye. Alex had avoided making eye contact all week, but now he was staring right at his wife through bloodshot, terrified eyes.
‘No…’ He shook his head. ‘No.’
Annie battled with her tears. ‘I did the test this morning.’
Suddenly, Alex stood up and became the most animated Annie had seen him for two weeks. His expression turned from fear to rage. ‘Whose is it?’
Annie burst into floods of tears. Not content with ignoring her all week, Alex had also decided to accuse her of having an affair.
‘How can you ask that?’
Alex turned around, holding his fist to his forehead. ‘I’ve seen you,’ he said. ‘Going out every night. Off drinking… don’t think I haven’t seen you.’
‘Would you rather have me sit here in silence whilst you stare at the wall?’
Alex didn’t reply.
‘We’re having a baby, Alex.’
He began walking in circles and muttering under his breath. ‘No… no… no.’
‘We’re having a baby, so you you’re just going to have to get used to it. We’re gonna take you out, find you some help, and-’
‘I don’t need help!’ Alex shrieked at the top of his lungs, his words echoing around his workshop. ‘I don’t need a doctor. I’m in trouble… right. We’re all in trouble, but it’s nothing a fucking doctor can fix. I don’t want any help and I don’t want a fucking baby!’
Alex picked up a glass beaker from his workbench and launched it across the room, shattering against the far wall.
Walking towards the door, he barged past his wife.
‘I’m going out.’
Seven
(After the Revolution)
‘Morning sweetheart; time for processing.’
As the guards opened the door, sunlight poured in and Alex saw his cell, and Ralph clearly for the first time. He hadn’t slept, of course. He’d sat awake all night staring into the darkness.
Ralph had fallen asleep hours ago. He’s probably used to sleeping in here by now.
As the guards marched in and grabbed Alex, the boy began to stir. Upon seeing the two men in black, he shot, almost instinctively, back up against the wall, and as the men pulled his new cell mate out, Ralph smiled kindly and waved to his new friend.
The men led Alex down a long, bright corridor towards a room with bars on the window at the end.
‘Sit down.’ One of the men gestured with his gun towards a wooden chair. Alex sat, looking down the barrels of two guns.
‘Okay,’ said the other man, ‘you know how this works.’ He picked up a device from the table next to Alex. It looked like a barcode scanner. ‘Show me your chip.’
Alex looked around the room, not sure what to do; not quite sure what they expected of him.
‘Is he drunk?’ said one guard to the other. ‘C’mon, we don’t have all day!’
Alex sat, confused, unable to admit that he didn’t have the faintest clue what they were talking about.
‘Your chip. Show me your hand, prisoner.’
My hand? Alex held his hand out in front of his face, and the man held the scanner up to it.
‘Where the bloody hell is it…’ he was muttering to himself. After several seconds, the man stopped.
‘Jesus Christ, he’s a defector. He’s not chipped.’
‘Well well,’ said the other guard. ‘A traitor. And here was us thinking you were just some bum.’
Placing the scanner back on the table, the guard pulled a walkie-talkie from his hip. ‘I’m calling HQ. I’m guessing Wilson will want to talk to this one.’
Alex felt the cold steel of handcuffs around his wrists. ‘I’ll take him back to his cell.’
‘You think it’s safe? Putting him in there with that kid? He could be dangerous.’
‘You got a better idea? The place is already bursting at the seams.’
Alex was lead back down the hall towards his cell.
‘Well mate…’ said the hulking guard, ‘…looks like you’re going to visit Wilson…’
‘Wilson? They’re taking you to see Wilson himself?’ said Ralph, when Alex had been returned to the cell, ‘whoa, what the hell did you do, mister?’
‘I don’t have a… chip?’
‘Did you remove it?’
‘I’ve never had one.’
‘Never? But you must be like… forty? How the hell did you slip through the net?’
Alex shrugged, and not even convincing himself, he replied: ‘I dunno. Just lucky I guess.’
‘I never had a chip up until two years ago. My parents kept us in hiding, away from the POLA-’
‘POLA?’ interrupted Alex. ‘What’s that?’
Ralph laughed. ‘Those men in cloaks, the men who brought you in…? That’s the POLA. Wilson’s Police force. Licensed to do… pretty much anything.’
Alex muttered to himself. ‘All’s fair in love and war…’
‘Eh?’
‘Nothing.’
‘My parents kept me as far away from his men as possible,’ continued Ralph, ‘I only finally got chipped when they died.’
‘What is the chip?’ asked Alex.
‘The chip is how they find you. The chip tells them every thing they need to know… who you are, what you’ve done. They can track you and find you like that.’ The boy clicked his fingers. ‘Everybody has a chip, and if you don’t… you’re a defector.’
‘Which is why Wilson wants to see me… they think I’m a defector.’
‘Are you?’
Alex Sighed. ‘I don’t know…’
Friday, 4 February 2011
After the Revolution - Part 3
Morning All - It's that time of the week again, Time for part three of 'After the Revolution.' If you need to refresh yourself with the story, please check out my previous posts. Enjoy!
After The Revolution - Part Three
Four
(Present Day)
Annie had made the breakfast table as usual. She still always set two places and made enough toast for both of them, even though she was fairly certain he wouldn’t be attending. The last time she had seen him was last night, a drawn grey spectre shuffling through the hallway at one in the morning, offering her the slightest of nods.
She sat and crunched uneasily at her buttered toast, her mind still lingering, as it always did now, on her husband. She played out every scenario that could have happened that evening. What did he see? In many ways, not knowing was the worst situation. As far as Annie was concerned, Alex could very well have faced all the demons that she had conjured up in her terrified daydreams.
She began to feel queasy. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she set her toast back on the plate as she tried to hold it back. She couldn’t cry again. She didn’t have the energy. Every night since Alex’s incident, she had quietly wept herself to sleep. He had been sleeping elsewhere; she wasn’t sure where, his workshop probably.
As she wiped her eyes and looked up, she saw him. He was standing in the doorway, hunched and looking out at her through heavy, pained eyes.
Annie forced a smile and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
‘Morning.’
Alex said nothing. He offered her a gentle nod.
‘How… How are you feeling this morning…?’
No reply.
‘Want some breakfast?’ She stood up and pulled a chair out from underneath the table. ‘I set you a place.’
She didn’t expect him to sit down.
‘Do you want some toast, Alex?’ she said, holding the silver toast rack in front of her. ‘It’s fresh… well, I mean its a few minutes old… I suppose I could make some more if you-’ she was rambling. She knew it, too. She couldn’t bear sitting there in silence. If only things were the way they were.
Alex used to eat cereal. He would always put way too much milk in it and keep refilling it, a little less each time, until all the milk was used. She missed watching him read his newspaper and babble excitedly about his work. She missed seeing him smile.
‘I’ll just butter you a slice.’
As she dug the knife into the butter and began scraping it across the triangle of toast, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was looking out of the window. He stared out at the blue sky, deep in thought.
As she passed him the slice of toast, Annie toyed with asking if he felt like going outside. Probably best not to push it. Just having him in the same room as her was a comfort.
‘H… how have you been sleeping?’
He looked up at her through the raven black pinpricks that once were his eyes, saying nothing.
He began to crunch at the toast.
‘Is there coffee?’
Annie’s heart leapt. He spoke. How she had longed for some idle chit chat. Smiling widely, she got up and wiped her hand on a dishcloth. ‘I’ll just make a pot.’
She filled the kettle and turned it on. As she turned around to reach for Alex’s favourite mug, she noticed something. The top two buttons on Alex’s shirt had come undone, and it hung loosely around his shoulders, exposing the tips of long scars on the back of Alex’s back. All the skin around his back and neck was covered in wounds.
Alex’s favourite mug shattered against the laminate floor as Annie held her hand to her mouth.
‘What’s that on your back? You’re covered in scratches!’ She took a step closer. ‘Alex… are you ok…?’
Her husband immediately dropped his toast and pulled his collar up around his neck.
‘Alex… what’s happened to you? Where did all those wounds come from?’ She began to weep inconsolably. ‘You have to see a doctor!’
He immediately stood up, pulling his collar around his neck and turned for the door.
She fell to her knees and watched as he turned around before leaving the room.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
Five
(After the Revolution)
‘Put him in with the boy.’
The dogs barked as two of the cloaked men threw Alex in to a tiny, dark room and pushed the five inch thick steel door behind them.
‘We’ll be back for you,’ growled one of the men through the air vent.
As Alex picked himself up from the floor, he struggled to see anything around him; the room was nearly completely black. His head throbbed from when he had impacted with the floor. Sitting up, he felt a tear welling in his eye. Through the blanket of darkness, he began to hear something. Breathing.
‘Hello?’
He called out into the unknown again. ‘Hello?’
‘Are you a defector?’ It was a child’s voice. A tiny, timid squeak from somewhere behind him. Alex jumped and turned around. It’s just a child.
‘No.’ He squinted, trying to see through the darkness. He could just make out the dark silhouette of a young boy sitting at the back of the room. ‘I’m a visitor.’
‘You’re visiting someone here in prison?’
He guessed the boy was about eleven or twelve.
‘Are you here to visit me? Is that why they put you in here?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’ Alex rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Is that where I am? Prison?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘No,’ replied Alex. ‘I’m afraid I’m a little… disorientated.’
‘Why did they bring you in?’
‘I don’t know. They said something about… a curfew?’
‘You broke the curfew?’
Alex sighed and rubbed his chin. ‘Looks like it.’
There was a long pause before the boy finally spoke again.
‘I’m Ralph.’
As Alex’s eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, he saw the child more clearly. A streak of jet black hair fell across his grubby face.
‘I broke the curfew too.’
Alex crept to the side of the cell and sat with his back up against the wall. ‘Why the hell is there a curfew? What’s going on out there, on the streets?’
‘You have to be kidding me,’ said the boy, edging closer to Alex. ‘Where have you been?’
Alex sighed. ‘A long way from here. How come you’re in here?’ he said turning around to Ralph. ‘You can’t be more than twelve years old.’
‘Thirteen.’ The boy paused and sniffed though the darkness. ‘Today’s my birthday.’
Alex smiled, thinking about the date that he punched in to the time machine. ‘Yeah? It’s mine too.’ Alex sat in the darkness thinking. What a way to spend your thirteenth birthday. Locked in a pitch black prison cell. ‘Even at thirteen. They can’t put you in prison… surely that’s illegal.’
‘Since the revolution they can do what they want.’
‘Revolution…?’
‘They don’t care if you’re old or young, black or white – if they suspect that you are defecting, they’ll throw you right in here. I’ve been in here lots of times.’
‘What revolution?’ asked Alex, perplexed.
‘Did you fall out of the sky? The Revolution. The British Revolution.’
‘Like I said… I’m just a visitor.’
‘Hell of a place to want to visit. Every single British person’s trying to get out, and you’re here visiting? Since Wilson took power nobody comes to Britain except to bomb it.’
The boy was unlike any other thirteen year old boy Alex had ever met. He didn’t seem timid or shy in the slightest.
‘Why do they want to bomb us?’ asked Alex.
‘Dunno… cos of Wilson I guess.’
‘Wilson?’
‘You really don’t have a clue do you?’ The boy shuffled across the room and sat opposite Alex, cross legged on the wooden bench. ‘Wilson killed my Mum and Dad.’
Silence.
‘I… I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay. It was two years ago. I’m fine on my own. Dad always said I was a fighter.’
‘Where do you live… who looks after you?’
‘I look after me,’ said the child, confidently. ‘That’s the way I like it, too. I live where I can – here, mostly. Every few months they pick me up after curfew, charge me with the same crimes as always, and then let me go once the prison gets too crowded again… they know I’m not a threat… that’s why they keep letting me out.’ The boy pulled awkwardly at his shoelace as he looked up at Alex. ‘My parents were defectors, that’s how come they’re always after me. They think I’ll grow up to be one…’
Alex cleared his throat. ‘What do you mean by defectors?’
The boy sighed and looked up through the darkness towards the ceiling of the tiny cell, brushing his hair out of his eyes with his hand. ‘My parents were part of the second revolution. They were going to end Wilson’s rule… and return Britain to the people.’
There was a silence as the two sat in the darkness.
‘They were killed in the Hyde Park massacre.’
Alex could tell that the boy was pretending not to cry.
‘I’m sorry. You must miss them.’
‘Yeah.’
After another long pause, the boy spoke again. ‘Do you have children?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
Alex almost laughed. ‘I don’t suppose I’d be a very good father.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe someday.’ Maybe someday. Suddenly Alex’s thoughts turned to Annie. Would he ever see her again? As he closed his eyes in the darkness, he saw her face in front of him. Her porcelain skin and ruby lips made him feel suddenly very homesick. I miss you Annie.
A long time passed as the two sat in darkness opposite each other, not saying a word, before Ralph’s voice eventually came squeaking out of the black.
‘Hey, mister?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Happy birthday.’
Alex smiled. ‘Happy birthday to you, too.’
After The Revolution - Part Three
Four
(Present Day)
Annie had made the breakfast table as usual. She still always set two places and made enough toast for both of them, even though she was fairly certain he wouldn’t be attending. The last time she had seen him was last night, a drawn grey spectre shuffling through the hallway at one in the morning, offering her the slightest of nods.
She sat and crunched uneasily at her buttered toast, her mind still lingering, as it always did now, on her husband. She played out every scenario that could have happened that evening. What did he see? In many ways, not knowing was the worst situation. As far as Annie was concerned, Alex could very well have faced all the demons that she had conjured up in her terrified daydreams.
She began to feel queasy. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she set her toast back on the plate as she tried to hold it back. She couldn’t cry again. She didn’t have the energy. Every night since Alex’s incident, she had quietly wept herself to sleep. He had been sleeping elsewhere; she wasn’t sure where, his workshop probably.
As she wiped her eyes and looked up, she saw him. He was standing in the doorway, hunched and looking out at her through heavy, pained eyes.
Annie forced a smile and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
‘Morning.’
Alex said nothing. He offered her a gentle nod.
‘How… How are you feeling this morning…?’
No reply.
‘Want some breakfast?’ She stood up and pulled a chair out from underneath the table. ‘I set you a place.’
She didn’t expect him to sit down.
‘Do you want some toast, Alex?’ she said, holding the silver toast rack in front of her. ‘It’s fresh… well, I mean its a few minutes old… I suppose I could make some more if you-’ she was rambling. She knew it, too. She couldn’t bear sitting there in silence. If only things were the way they were.
Alex used to eat cereal. He would always put way too much milk in it and keep refilling it, a little less each time, until all the milk was used. She missed watching him read his newspaper and babble excitedly about his work. She missed seeing him smile.
‘I’ll just butter you a slice.’
As she dug the knife into the butter and began scraping it across the triangle of toast, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was looking out of the window. He stared out at the blue sky, deep in thought.
As she passed him the slice of toast, Annie toyed with asking if he felt like going outside. Probably best not to push it. Just having him in the same room as her was a comfort.
‘H… how have you been sleeping?’
He looked up at her through the raven black pinpricks that once were his eyes, saying nothing.
He began to crunch at the toast.
‘Is there coffee?’
Annie’s heart leapt. He spoke. How she had longed for some idle chit chat. Smiling widely, she got up and wiped her hand on a dishcloth. ‘I’ll just make a pot.’
She filled the kettle and turned it on. As she turned around to reach for Alex’s favourite mug, she noticed something. The top two buttons on Alex’s shirt had come undone, and it hung loosely around his shoulders, exposing the tips of long scars on the back of Alex’s back. All the skin around his back and neck was covered in wounds.
Alex’s favourite mug shattered against the laminate floor as Annie held her hand to her mouth.
‘What’s that on your back? You’re covered in scratches!’ She took a step closer. ‘Alex… are you ok…?’
Her husband immediately dropped his toast and pulled his collar up around his neck.
‘Alex… what’s happened to you? Where did all those wounds come from?’ She began to weep inconsolably. ‘You have to see a doctor!’
He immediately stood up, pulling his collar around his neck and turned for the door.
She fell to her knees and watched as he turned around before leaving the room.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
Five
(After the Revolution)
‘Put him in with the boy.’
The dogs barked as two of the cloaked men threw Alex in to a tiny, dark room and pushed the five inch thick steel door behind them.
‘We’ll be back for you,’ growled one of the men through the air vent.
As Alex picked himself up from the floor, he struggled to see anything around him; the room was nearly completely black. His head throbbed from when he had impacted with the floor. Sitting up, he felt a tear welling in his eye. Through the blanket of darkness, he began to hear something. Breathing.
‘Hello?’
He called out into the unknown again. ‘Hello?’
‘Are you a defector?’ It was a child’s voice. A tiny, timid squeak from somewhere behind him. Alex jumped and turned around. It’s just a child.
‘No.’ He squinted, trying to see through the darkness. He could just make out the dark silhouette of a young boy sitting at the back of the room. ‘I’m a visitor.’
‘You’re visiting someone here in prison?’
He guessed the boy was about eleven or twelve.
‘Are you here to visit me? Is that why they put you in here?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’ Alex rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Is that where I am? Prison?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘No,’ replied Alex. ‘I’m afraid I’m a little… disorientated.’
‘Why did they bring you in?’
‘I don’t know. They said something about… a curfew?’
‘You broke the curfew?’
Alex sighed and rubbed his chin. ‘Looks like it.’
There was a long pause before the boy finally spoke again.
‘I’m Ralph.’
As Alex’s eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, he saw the child more clearly. A streak of jet black hair fell across his grubby face.
‘I broke the curfew too.’
Alex crept to the side of the cell and sat with his back up against the wall. ‘Why the hell is there a curfew? What’s going on out there, on the streets?’
‘You have to be kidding me,’ said the boy, edging closer to Alex. ‘Where have you been?’
Alex sighed. ‘A long way from here. How come you’re in here?’ he said turning around to Ralph. ‘You can’t be more than twelve years old.’
‘Thirteen.’ The boy paused and sniffed though the darkness. ‘Today’s my birthday.’
Alex smiled, thinking about the date that he punched in to the time machine. ‘Yeah? It’s mine too.’ Alex sat in the darkness thinking. What a way to spend your thirteenth birthday. Locked in a pitch black prison cell. ‘Even at thirteen. They can’t put you in prison… surely that’s illegal.’
‘Since the revolution they can do what they want.’
‘Revolution…?’
‘They don’t care if you’re old or young, black or white – if they suspect that you are defecting, they’ll throw you right in here. I’ve been in here lots of times.’
‘What revolution?’ asked Alex, perplexed.
‘Did you fall out of the sky? The Revolution. The British Revolution.’
‘Like I said… I’m just a visitor.’
‘Hell of a place to want to visit. Every single British person’s trying to get out, and you’re here visiting? Since Wilson took power nobody comes to Britain except to bomb it.’
The boy was unlike any other thirteen year old boy Alex had ever met. He didn’t seem timid or shy in the slightest.
‘Why do they want to bomb us?’ asked Alex.
‘Dunno… cos of Wilson I guess.’
‘Wilson?’
‘You really don’t have a clue do you?’ The boy shuffled across the room and sat opposite Alex, cross legged on the wooden bench. ‘Wilson killed my Mum and Dad.’
Silence.
‘I… I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay. It was two years ago. I’m fine on my own. Dad always said I was a fighter.’
‘Where do you live… who looks after you?’
‘I look after me,’ said the child, confidently. ‘That’s the way I like it, too. I live where I can – here, mostly. Every few months they pick me up after curfew, charge me with the same crimes as always, and then let me go once the prison gets too crowded again… they know I’m not a threat… that’s why they keep letting me out.’ The boy pulled awkwardly at his shoelace as he looked up at Alex. ‘My parents were defectors, that’s how come they’re always after me. They think I’ll grow up to be one…’
Alex cleared his throat. ‘What do you mean by defectors?’
The boy sighed and looked up through the darkness towards the ceiling of the tiny cell, brushing his hair out of his eyes with his hand. ‘My parents were part of the second revolution. They were going to end Wilson’s rule… and return Britain to the people.’
There was a silence as the two sat in the darkness.
‘They were killed in the Hyde Park massacre.’
Alex could tell that the boy was pretending not to cry.
‘I’m sorry. You must miss them.’
‘Yeah.’
After another long pause, the boy spoke again. ‘Do you have children?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
Alex almost laughed. ‘I don’t suppose I’d be a very good father.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe someday.’ Maybe someday. Suddenly Alex’s thoughts turned to Annie. Would he ever see her again? As he closed his eyes in the darkness, he saw her face in front of him. Her porcelain skin and ruby lips made him feel suddenly very homesick. I miss you Annie.
A long time passed as the two sat in darkness opposite each other, not saying a word, before Ralph’s voice eventually came squeaking out of the black.
‘Hey, mister?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Happy birthday.’
Alex smiled. ‘Happy birthday to you, too.’
Sunday, 30 January 2011
The Children of Disobedience - The Problem of Hell
Hello all : )
Imagine a world where the biblical concept of Hell is real. When you die, you are damned to a burning pit, cast into a lake of fire for all eternity.
St John told us that 'God is love', that he is compassionate and caring for his creation, but if this is true, how does the concept of Hell fit in to this? Surely if I have led a good life - been kind, charitable and humble I would deserve some reward in heaven? Do I deserve to be punished in the most horrible way possible for all eternity for not taking Sundays off and not accepting a man who lived thousands of years before my birth as my personal Saviour? Even still, if I have committed crimes in my life, surely the punishment is vastly out of proportion? Even if I sinned every minute of every day for my whole life, my life is finite, and so I can only commit a finite number of sins - so how can infinite punishment possibly be the actions of a just God?
So begins The problem of Hell.
This idea was the starting point for my novella 'The Children of Disobedience'. It follows our main character, Thomas, though his death, his journey through the bowels of Hell, and eventually his judgement at the hands of a higher power. This story will form part of a larger collection of stories which deal with the on-going debate about existence of God, which should hopefully be complete by this summer.
Part one of 'The Children of Disobedience' is below - please feel free to comment etc. and keep your eyes on the blog as I will be posting the subsequent parts in the following weeks.
Thanks for reading!
The Children of Disobedience - Part One
‘Let no man deceive you with vain words: for because of these things cometh the wrath of God upon the children of disobedience.’
- Ephesians 5:6
I
When he awoke it was dark – complete, all encompassing blackness. The sky (if it was even still there) was black and the sun had withdrawn. He didn’t feel right. He felt incomplete. As he patted himself down, he was certain that his body was there, but he felt somehow disconnected. The darkness enveloped him, suffocating him as he rose to his feet, waving his arms in front of himself, trying to work out the size of his enclosure. With the use of his eyes robbed from him, his other senses began to work overtime. Somewhere far in the distance he heard a low wail, like a wolf howling on a distant hilltop.
Suddenly, through the darkness there was a glint of light that was barely visible in front of him. As he edged closer, he strained to hear a barely audible whisper that was creeping through the black. Then he saw it again – a fleeting flash of sliver teeth through the vast charcoal emptiness.
‘Who is that?’ he asked, a rush of fear building in the pit of his stomach. ‘Who is that, out in the black? What is this place?’
There was no reply. Just the gentle hissing of incoherent whispering rippling through the air.
‘Show yourself, stranger,’ he pressed. ‘I know you’re there. I can feel you by my side. What is this dark prison? Why can’t I see?’
‘You will see once you are ready to open your eyes.’ The voice that replied was deep and shook him to his innards.
‘Who are you, faceless spectre? Why have you brought me here to this place? What do you intend for me?’
‘You brought yourself here.’ The booming voice spoke again. ‘Every decision you made, every road you travelled – they all brought you here.’
‘What is this pitch black eternity?’
‘It is just that – eternity.’
‘Have I died? Have I crossed over to the other place?’ As soon as those words crossed his lips, colours began to swim into view, and he blinked as a thousand shades of red and grey came bursting in to view. ‘I am beginning to see things… colours.’
‘Then you are ready.’
Slowly the colours began to turn into shapes, and as his eyes began to focus, he saw the world around him as he had never seen it before. Long ridges of blood red rock towered up on either side of him, winding down the sides of a long path that led downwards in to a deep dark unknown world. As he turned around, he saw his companion for the first time – a tall, shadowy cloaked figure who stood by his side, his silver teeth only just visible under his hood.
‘What manner of man are you,’ he asked, ‘that dwells in such an unforgiving place?’
‘I am no man.’
‘Then what are you? If you are not man, are you beast? What hides beneath those robes?’
‘I am neither man nor beast, alive nor dead. I am a member of the jury that will judge mankind.’
‘And me?’ he replied timidly. ‘Am I to be judged?’
‘All shall face judgement at the hands of their creator.’ The stranger’s voice shook him again.
As he looked despairingly towards his feet, he noticed something. On the right hand side of his stomach, there was a seeping crimson bloodstain, and he pulled his hand in, running his fingertips across the wound, and inspecting his stained fingers. Even though he could see and smell his own blood, and he could see the wound that cut deep in to his stomach, he felt no pain. He felt nothing. ‘I remember now,’ he said. ‘I was killed. I was shot in the stomach trying to defend my home. I have died – I have died and come to Satan’s lair.’
The cloaked stranger was silent, and he extended a long ash grey finger from the depths of his flowing cloak and pointed it in front of him, towards the man.
‘Shed your clothes,’ he growled in his deep, terrifying voice.
‘My clothes? But why?’
‘They serve no purpose in this place. Are you so ashamed of the man you are when you are stripped of your robes that you will not shed them? That was the sign of the very first disobedience.’
‘No man likes to be stripped of his clothes – exposed for all to see.’
‘Have you anything to hide?’ growled the stranger.
‘We all have our private shames.’
‘And they will be exposed. There will be no more secrets now. All that was hidden will be uncovered – every secret sin will be exposed. No man will hide from the truth in this place.’
And so he began to strip himself of his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the rocks next to where he stood.
‘Now you are unmasked,’ growled the stranger. ‘And all shall see the man that you really are.’
He stood naked and exposed before the stranger, still hiding his shame as best he could with his trembling hands. ‘What now? What is your intention, stranger?’
The cloaked stranger turned and slowly began to walk down the path in to the unknown. ‘Follow me.’
Slowly he began to follow his new companion, timidly trying to see past the long crimson ridges into the place to which they were heading. ‘What lies down that road?’ he piped quietly.
Suddenly the stranger stopped and turned around where he stood.
‘A dark place.’
* * * *
Some way down the path, he began to hear a noise coming from the dark distance. Long, low wails were drifting over the blood red crevasses and echoing through the thick, grey air. ‘Tell me stranger,’ he said, ‘what is that terrifying sound?’
‘That is the sound of darkness.’
‘Are we going into the darkness?’
‘Perhaps. But not now.’
And so they walked on in silence, listening to the hideous wailing that rose up from the distance. They followed the path down through the winding vein that was cut into the rock until they reached an opening, where the path widened and wound downwards towards a blood red river.
‘Is this the place I think it is?’ he asked timidly.
‘Where do you think we are?’ replied the stranger, looking straight ahead and continuing to move steadily.
‘Is this eternal damnation? Is this the place that was foretold in the holy books?’
The stranger stopped suddenly and glanced up for only a moment towards the endless grey clouds that hung overhead. ‘When Venus and his angels fell,’ he said, ‘this pit opened up to receive them.’
‘Have I fallen as they did?’
The stranger began to walk slowly again. ‘The pit isn’t closed. It remains open to beckon any man who does not watch his footsteps.’
‘So the holy texts were true.’
‘What reason have you to doubt the word of god?’
~
Soon they reached the bank of the red river, and as it gushed and swirled at his feet, he noticed something. Someway down the river, moored at its bank, sat a huge ship bobbing up and down with the river’s flow; its lifeless grey sails disappearing into the fog.
‘What is that ship in the distance?’ he asked.
‘That is the vessel that will guide you toward your final destination. Here is where you will wait for an audience with Venus.’
As he walked, two or three feet behind his companion towards the ship, he pointed towards the river. ‘The water,’ he asked, ‘why is it that colour?’
‘Because it isn’t water,’ growled his companion. ‘It is the blood and waste of the lost souls.’
Thirty feet or so from the ship, he noticed something on the riverbank. It was a man; he was gurgling in the black mud, grasping with all of his strength at the rocks by the river’s side, trying to pull himself up. The man was trying to speak – but he uttered only single, broken, incoherent words.
He jumped towards the riverbank and extended his hand towards the man. ‘Take my hand!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll help you out.’ He reached and reached but he could not make contact with the man.
The cloaked stranger watched from his side. ‘You cannot help him.’
‘I nearly have his hand!’
‘No one can save him. Not now; not for the rest of eternity. Only he could have done that. Leave the slothful glutton to his works.’
Still he tried to save the man, but each time he reached out his arm, he seemed to get further away. Finally, he realised that the stranger was right… he could not save him, so he gave up and left the man as he was instructed.
The stranger stopped as they began to walk up the gangplank towards the ship, and looked down at the man on the river bank. ‘He has found his fate,’ he said. ‘And it is a fate worthy of his sins. He decided upon a life of gluttony, now he must lie by the river bank for eternity and feast on rats and toads and snakes. He has found his fate just as you will find yours.’
Soon they reached the top of the gangplank and he looked out to see thousands of faces standing on the deck. They were crammed up as tightly as they could be packed. Thousands of fear stricken faces stared back at him and his companion, and the sound of weeping and wailing hit his ears like the crash of a cymbal.
‘Who are these wretched souls?’ he asked, his eyes and mouth hanging wide.
‘They are lost,’ growled the stranger, straining to be heard over horrifying wails. ‘They are seeking direction – and this is where they will find it.’
‘Tell me stranger… why are they so afraid?’
‘Why are you not?’
The cloaked stranger turned towards him and growled under his breath. ‘This is where we will part ways. You will wait aboard this ship until you are called – then we shall decide your final destination.’
‘But what shall I do until then? How long will it be until I am called? Tomorrow? Next week? In ten years time? You cannot leave me stranger!’
But his hooded companion had already begun to walk back down towards shore.
‘You will be called,’ he growled behind him.
Imagine a world where the biblical concept of Hell is real. When you die, you are damned to a burning pit, cast into a lake of fire for all eternity.
St John told us that 'God is love', that he is compassionate and caring for his creation, but if this is true, how does the concept of Hell fit in to this? Surely if I have led a good life - been kind, charitable and humble I would deserve some reward in heaven? Do I deserve to be punished in the most horrible way possible for all eternity for not taking Sundays off and not accepting a man who lived thousands of years before my birth as my personal Saviour? Even still, if I have committed crimes in my life, surely the punishment is vastly out of proportion? Even if I sinned every minute of every day for my whole life, my life is finite, and so I can only commit a finite number of sins - so how can infinite punishment possibly be the actions of a just God?
So begins The problem of Hell.
This idea was the starting point for my novella 'The Children of Disobedience'. It follows our main character, Thomas, though his death, his journey through the bowels of Hell, and eventually his judgement at the hands of a higher power. This story will form part of a larger collection of stories which deal with the on-going debate about existence of God, which should hopefully be complete by this summer.
Part one of 'The Children of Disobedience' is below - please feel free to comment etc. and keep your eyes on the blog as I will be posting the subsequent parts in the following weeks.
Thanks for reading!
The Children of Disobedience - Part One
‘Let no man deceive you with vain words: for because of these things cometh the wrath of God upon the children of disobedience.’
- Ephesians 5:6
I
When he awoke it was dark – complete, all encompassing blackness. The sky (if it was even still there) was black and the sun had withdrawn. He didn’t feel right. He felt incomplete. As he patted himself down, he was certain that his body was there, but he felt somehow disconnected. The darkness enveloped him, suffocating him as he rose to his feet, waving his arms in front of himself, trying to work out the size of his enclosure. With the use of his eyes robbed from him, his other senses began to work overtime. Somewhere far in the distance he heard a low wail, like a wolf howling on a distant hilltop.
Suddenly, through the darkness there was a glint of light that was barely visible in front of him. As he edged closer, he strained to hear a barely audible whisper that was creeping through the black. Then he saw it again – a fleeting flash of sliver teeth through the vast charcoal emptiness.
‘Who is that?’ he asked, a rush of fear building in the pit of his stomach. ‘Who is that, out in the black? What is this place?’
There was no reply. Just the gentle hissing of incoherent whispering rippling through the air.
‘Show yourself, stranger,’ he pressed. ‘I know you’re there. I can feel you by my side. What is this dark prison? Why can’t I see?’
‘You will see once you are ready to open your eyes.’ The voice that replied was deep and shook him to his innards.
‘Who are you, faceless spectre? Why have you brought me here to this place? What do you intend for me?’
‘You brought yourself here.’ The booming voice spoke again. ‘Every decision you made, every road you travelled – they all brought you here.’
‘What is this pitch black eternity?’
‘It is just that – eternity.’
‘Have I died? Have I crossed over to the other place?’ As soon as those words crossed his lips, colours began to swim into view, and he blinked as a thousand shades of red and grey came bursting in to view. ‘I am beginning to see things… colours.’
‘Then you are ready.’
Slowly the colours began to turn into shapes, and as his eyes began to focus, he saw the world around him as he had never seen it before. Long ridges of blood red rock towered up on either side of him, winding down the sides of a long path that led downwards in to a deep dark unknown world. As he turned around, he saw his companion for the first time – a tall, shadowy cloaked figure who stood by his side, his silver teeth only just visible under his hood.
‘What manner of man are you,’ he asked, ‘that dwells in such an unforgiving place?’
‘I am no man.’
‘Then what are you? If you are not man, are you beast? What hides beneath those robes?’
‘I am neither man nor beast, alive nor dead. I am a member of the jury that will judge mankind.’
‘And me?’ he replied timidly. ‘Am I to be judged?’
‘All shall face judgement at the hands of their creator.’ The stranger’s voice shook him again.
As he looked despairingly towards his feet, he noticed something. On the right hand side of his stomach, there was a seeping crimson bloodstain, and he pulled his hand in, running his fingertips across the wound, and inspecting his stained fingers. Even though he could see and smell his own blood, and he could see the wound that cut deep in to his stomach, he felt no pain. He felt nothing. ‘I remember now,’ he said. ‘I was killed. I was shot in the stomach trying to defend my home. I have died – I have died and come to Satan’s lair.’
The cloaked stranger was silent, and he extended a long ash grey finger from the depths of his flowing cloak and pointed it in front of him, towards the man.
‘Shed your clothes,’ he growled in his deep, terrifying voice.
‘My clothes? But why?’
‘They serve no purpose in this place. Are you so ashamed of the man you are when you are stripped of your robes that you will not shed them? That was the sign of the very first disobedience.’
‘No man likes to be stripped of his clothes – exposed for all to see.’
‘Have you anything to hide?’ growled the stranger.
‘We all have our private shames.’
‘And they will be exposed. There will be no more secrets now. All that was hidden will be uncovered – every secret sin will be exposed. No man will hide from the truth in this place.’
And so he began to strip himself of his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the rocks next to where he stood.
‘Now you are unmasked,’ growled the stranger. ‘And all shall see the man that you really are.’
He stood naked and exposed before the stranger, still hiding his shame as best he could with his trembling hands. ‘What now? What is your intention, stranger?’
The cloaked stranger turned and slowly began to walk down the path in to the unknown. ‘Follow me.’
Slowly he began to follow his new companion, timidly trying to see past the long crimson ridges into the place to which they were heading. ‘What lies down that road?’ he piped quietly.
Suddenly the stranger stopped and turned around where he stood.
‘A dark place.’
* * * *
Some way down the path, he began to hear a noise coming from the dark distance. Long, low wails were drifting over the blood red crevasses and echoing through the thick, grey air. ‘Tell me stranger,’ he said, ‘what is that terrifying sound?’
‘That is the sound of darkness.’
‘Are we going into the darkness?’
‘Perhaps. But not now.’
And so they walked on in silence, listening to the hideous wailing that rose up from the distance. They followed the path down through the winding vein that was cut into the rock until they reached an opening, where the path widened and wound downwards towards a blood red river.
‘Is this the place I think it is?’ he asked timidly.
‘Where do you think we are?’ replied the stranger, looking straight ahead and continuing to move steadily.
‘Is this eternal damnation? Is this the place that was foretold in the holy books?’
The stranger stopped suddenly and glanced up for only a moment towards the endless grey clouds that hung overhead. ‘When Venus and his angels fell,’ he said, ‘this pit opened up to receive them.’
‘Have I fallen as they did?’
The stranger began to walk slowly again. ‘The pit isn’t closed. It remains open to beckon any man who does not watch his footsteps.’
‘So the holy texts were true.’
‘What reason have you to doubt the word of god?’
~
Soon they reached the bank of the red river, and as it gushed and swirled at his feet, he noticed something. Someway down the river, moored at its bank, sat a huge ship bobbing up and down with the river’s flow; its lifeless grey sails disappearing into the fog.
‘What is that ship in the distance?’ he asked.
‘That is the vessel that will guide you toward your final destination. Here is where you will wait for an audience with Venus.’
As he walked, two or three feet behind his companion towards the ship, he pointed towards the river. ‘The water,’ he asked, ‘why is it that colour?’
‘Because it isn’t water,’ growled his companion. ‘It is the blood and waste of the lost souls.’
Thirty feet or so from the ship, he noticed something on the riverbank. It was a man; he was gurgling in the black mud, grasping with all of his strength at the rocks by the river’s side, trying to pull himself up. The man was trying to speak – but he uttered only single, broken, incoherent words.
He jumped towards the riverbank and extended his hand towards the man. ‘Take my hand!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll help you out.’ He reached and reached but he could not make contact with the man.
The cloaked stranger watched from his side. ‘You cannot help him.’
‘I nearly have his hand!’
‘No one can save him. Not now; not for the rest of eternity. Only he could have done that. Leave the slothful glutton to his works.’
Still he tried to save the man, but each time he reached out his arm, he seemed to get further away. Finally, he realised that the stranger was right… he could not save him, so he gave up and left the man as he was instructed.
The stranger stopped as they began to walk up the gangplank towards the ship, and looked down at the man on the river bank. ‘He has found his fate,’ he said. ‘And it is a fate worthy of his sins. He decided upon a life of gluttony, now he must lie by the river bank for eternity and feast on rats and toads and snakes. He has found his fate just as you will find yours.’
Soon they reached the top of the gangplank and he looked out to see thousands of faces standing on the deck. They were crammed up as tightly as they could be packed. Thousands of fear stricken faces stared back at him and his companion, and the sound of weeping and wailing hit his ears like the crash of a cymbal.
‘Who are these wretched souls?’ he asked, his eyes and mouth hanging wide.
‘They are lost,’ growled the stranger, straining to be heard over horrifying wails. ‘They are seeking direction – and this is where they will find it.’
‘Tell me stranger… why are they so afraid?’
‘Why are you not?’
The cloaked stranger turned towards him and growled under his breath. ‘This is where we will part ways. You will wait aboard this ship until you are called – then we shall decide your final destination.’
‘But what shall I do until then? How long will it be until I am called? Tomorrow? Next week? In ten years time? You cannot leave me stranger!’
But his hooded companion had already begun to walk back down towards shore.
‘You will be called,’ he growled behind him.
Thursday, 27 January 2011
After the Revolution - Part 2
Well, it's Friday again, thank goodness! And with it comes the second instalment of my new novella, 'After the revolution'. A huge, huge thank you to all of you who took the time to read part one. If you need to catch up on the story, then check out my last post. Anyway, here's part two, which contains chapters two and three - Enjoy!
Two
Alex didn’t talk much in the weeks following that evening. He spent most of his time sitting alone in his workshop, staring into space with a terrified look on his face. He would offer the most basic of pleasantries to his wife, good morning, good night and even the odd thank you, but that was all. When Annie would quiz him about what had happened that night, he would recoil and leave the room sheepishly. She tried to make small talk in an attempt to return to normality.
‘I see the beard’s become a permanent fixture, then.’
No reply.
‘I kind of like it,’ she said. ‘It’s kind of rugged. Wild.’
He turned his head only a quarter of an inch and make eye contact with her. He didn’t smile. He didn’t frown.
She recognised the look in his eyes. Beneath the obvious sadness and fear, she saw desperation. In that flash of light only a few nights ago, her husband had become a stranger.
‘You know you’re gonna have to talk to me sometime, Alex.’
He frowned, turning fully away from her.
‘I’m your wife. You’ve barely spoken three words all week.’ She ran her fingers through her red hair. ‘What the hell happened to you? I realise that you’re scared… but… but I can help you. But I can’t help you if you won’t let me help you, Alex.’
She sighed and turned away, before reconsidering. ‘Maybe you should go and see a doctor.’
‘I don’t need a doctor.’ He roared those five words with the most enthusiasm he had shown all week. ‘I just need… I just need…’ Tears began to well in his eyes.
‘What do you need, Alex?’
He paused before replying.
‘I just need… to be left alone.’
She wondered if he knew that she was crying in the kitchen. She wondered if he cared. What has happened to my husband? Where is the man I fell in love with?
Something happened to him. Could it be true? Could it really have worked? Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared out of the kitchen window into the darkness. She pulled out a cigarette from a packet on the worktop and slid it between her lips. She had quit nearly three years ago, but in a teary bundle of nerves she had bought a packet that morning.
Where is my husband?
He had been staring at the same rivet for nearly an hour, now. He had inspected every shade of silver within it and mapped every detail of it. All he could do now was think. He knew he had to do something. He had to think of something.
He sat there hour after hour, day after day replaying what he had seen in his head. All the terrifying memories.
And it must have happened in the blink of an eye for her.
Three
One Week Earlier
He opened the hatch at the bottom and climbed in, smiling to himself. Where will we be in fifty years? He pulled the hatch door closed until it clicked. Through the window he saw Annie turning round. She’s watching…
He set the controls. He was about to become the worlds first time traveller. This is the most historic mission ever embarked upon by mankind…
He tapped in the destination. February Twenty Seventh, two thousand and sixty. His ninety fifth birthday.
He was blinded by a flash of light and he snapped his eyes tightly shut.
It works.
Suddenly darkness. Darkness and silence. As he opened his eyes, he saw very little. Just a dark brick wall in front of him. He took a deep breath and sat up. Dust fell around the entrance to the machine as the hatch door slid open. The air outside was thick and oppressive, and he coughed as his feet met the ground. Closing the hatch door, he turned and looked around.
It works!
His machine sat at the end of a long room with row upon row of desks that stretched back. It’s a classroom. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years. He picked up a workbook from the desk next to him, which he assumed was the teacher’s desk, and looked at it.
‘Britain after the revolution.’
He placed it back and looked around.
Long cracks stretched up the wall, creeping along and parting at the broken window at the far end of the room. Like a giant wound, the window sat open, caved in, exposing the world beyond. As Alex looked out, his jaw fell wide open, and he scrambled to the other side of the room for a closer look. Out of the window, he saw his home. London. But it was very different to the city he had left five minutes ago.
Amber flashes intermittently lit up the skyline on the horizon, illuminating the twisted, burnt out shell of the city that used to be his home. In the flash after flash of explosions to the south, he saw that everything was in ruins. I have to get a closer look. I have to find out what happened.
He looked across at his machine, and then back outside. Ten minutes. Ten minutes, then it’s back to Annie.
He looked out again and began to climb up a pile of rubble and out of the classroom.
This is where Bernard spent the evenings, outside the old school, watching the bombs go off in distance. He would come out here most nights when the sun had sunk. There’ll be nothing left to bomb soon. The sky lit up in amber flashes on the horizon, followed by a roar, dulled only by the distance it had to travel to reach Bernard’s ears. He knew better than to be out and about on the streets after curfew, so he nestled himself into the ruins and prepared for the long, cold night ahead. Sometimes he would even find food up here – a mars bar or a packet of crisps, but tonight he was content to just rest and watch the orange blaze on the horizon.
Some way across the rubble, over by the classroom window, he heard something and instinctively ducked for cover. It’ll be them. It’ll be his men again. Bernard knew that the spot he had chosen wasn’t technically breaking curfew, but kept his head low just in case. Suddenly a figure raised its head out of the rubble. It wasn’t one of his men. He could tell that straight away. The figure didn’t move with enough purpose to be one of the POLA.
It was a man. One solitary man, looking around like a tourist at the sights. Bernard raised his head to get a better look and the man caught his eye.
‘Excuse me…’
Great. He’s spotted me. This is my camp.
‘Excuse me,’ said the man running across the debris towards him. ‘What’s going on across there?’
‘What does it look like?’ Idiot.
‘Where am I?’
Jesus Christ. ‘London… well, what’s left of it.’
‘London… but…’
Leave me alone. ‘I’m just trying to watch the fireworks in peace, mate.’
‘Fireworks? They’re bombing London!’
Where the hell has this guy been? ‘Welcome to the twenty first century, mate,’ said Bernard. ‘Everyone’s bombing everyone.’
The man looked out at the explosions in the sky in the distance. ‘Why?’
Bernard smiled and looked straight ahead. ‘Power. Strength. Freedom.’
‘Excuse me?’
Bernard actually laughed out loud. ‘Have you got amnesia, mate? Did one of those rocks fall on you and knock you out?’
‘N… no.’
‘Then how on earth could you have possibly missed the demise of the human race?’
‘What?’
Leave me alone. ‘This is my camp. Go find your own place to sleep.’
The man nodded uncomfortably and began to walk down towards the road. Bernard knew exactly what lay down that road. If he’s stupid enough to go down there, he deserves what’s coming to him.
Alex walked down to the road. His road; Lawson Street. He navigated his way across the loose rubble to the muted roar of the bombs in the distance. Everything was different. They had build a long since abandoned school where his workshop used to be, and the park across the road from his house, where Alex used to walk his dog, was now occupied by the crumbling, burnt out remains of an old warehouse. None of the houses on his street had survived; most of it looked like it had been rebuilt as industrial units before being bombed to the ground.
This was his home. In ruins.
From the brow of the hill that led down towards the city centre, Alex began to hear a rumbling sound, followed by the blinding flash of headlights appearing over the crest. A vehicle was hurtling towards him at high speed, ripping over any debris in its way.
Alex held his hand over his brow to shield his eyes from the blinding light and stepped back off the road. The vehicle, a black armoured four wheel drive, skidded to a halt two feel in front of him, and four men dressed in black with black capes leapt out brandishing weapons. One of the men pushed his gun into Alex’s ribcage.
‘Get in,’ he growled.
‘B… but…’
The dug the gun deep into Alex and gestured towards the vehicle. ‘I’m arresting you for violation of curfew. You know the rules, mate. Get in the car.’
With the cold steel of the barrel of a gun in his back as his motivation, Alex got into the vehicle with his hands raised, and just as quickly as it had come, the car tore off down the road again.
From his perch by the old school, Bernard watched as the POLA raced away with their latest victim.
Idiot.
Two
Alex didn’t talk much in the weeks following that evening. He spent most of his time sitting alone in his workshop, staring into space with a terrified look on his face. He would offer the most basic of pleasantries to his wife, good morning, good night and even the odd thank you, but that was all. When Annie would quiz him about what had happened that night, he would recoil and leave the room sheepishly. She tried to make small talk in an attempt to return to normality.
‘I see the beard’s become a permanent fixture, then.’
No reply.
‘I kind of like it,’ she said. ‘It’s kind of rugged. Wild.’
He turned his head only a quarter of an inch and make eye contact with her. He didn’t smile. He didn’t frown.
She recognised the look in his eyes. Beneath the obvious sadness and fear, she saw desperation. In that flash of light only a few nights ago, her husband had become a stranger.
‘You know you’re gonna have to talk to me sometime, Alex.’
He frowned, turning fully away from her.
‘I’m your wife. You’ve barely spoken three words all week.’ She ran her fingers through her red hair. ‘What the hell happened to you? I realise that you’re scared… but… but I can help you. But I can’t help you if you won’t let me help you, Alex.’
She sighed and turned away, before reconsidering. ‘Maybe you should go and see a doctor.’
‘I don’t need a doctor.’ He roared those five words with the most enthusiasm he had shown all week. ‘I just need… I just need…’ Tears began to well in his eyes.
‘What do you need, Alex?’
He paused before replying.
‘I just need… to be left alone.’
She wondered if he knew that she was crying in the kitchen. She wondered if he cared. What has happened to my husband? Where is the man I fell in love with?
Something happened to him. Could it be true? Could it really have worked? Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared out of the kitchen window into the darkness. She pulled out a cigarette from a packet on the worktop and slid it between her lips. She had quit nearly three years ago, but in a teary bundle of nerves she had bought a packet that morning.
Where is my husband?
He had been staring at the same rivet for nearly an hour, now. He had inspected every shade of silver within it and mapped every detail of it. All he could do now was think. He knew he had to do something. He had to think of something.
He sat there hour after hour, day after day replaying what he had seen in his head. All the terrifying memories.
And it must have happened in the blink of an eye for her.
Three
One Week Earlier
He opened the hatch at the bottom and climbed in, smiling to himself. Where will we be in fifty years? He pulled the hatch door closed until it clicked. Through the window he saw Annie turning round. She’s watching…
He set the controls. He was about to become the worlds first time traveller. This is the most historic mission ever embarked upon by mankind…
He tapped in the destination. February Twenty Seventh, two thousand and sixty. His ninety fifth birthday.
He was blinded by a flash of light and he snapped his eyes tightly shut.
It works.
Suddenly darkness. Darkness and silence. As he opened his eyes, he saw very little. Just a dark brick wall in front of him. He took a deep breath and sat up. Dust fell around the entrance to the machine as the hatch door slid open. The air outside was thick and oppressive, and he coughed as his feet met the ground. Closing the hatch door, he turned and looked around.
It works!
His machine sat at the end of a long room with row upon row of desks that stretched back. It’s a classroom. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years. He picked up a workbook from the desk next to him, which he assumed was the teacher’s desk, and looked at it.
‘Britain after the revolution.’
He placed it back and looked around.
Long cracks stretched up the wall, creeping along and parting at the broken window at the far end of the room. Like a giant wound, the window sat open, caved in, exposing the world beyond. As Alex looked out, his jaw fell wide open, and he scrambled to the other side of the room for a closer look. Out of the window, he saw his home. London. But it was very different to the city he had left five minutes ago.
Amber flashes intermittently lit up the skyline on the horizon, illuminating the twisted, burnt out shell of the city that used to be his home. In the flash after flash of explosions to the south, he saw that everything was in ruins. I have to get a closer look. I have to find out what happened.
He looked across at his machine, and then back outside. Ten minutes. Ten minutes, then it’s back to Annie.
He looked out again and began to climb up a pile of rubble and out of the classroom.
This is where Bernard spent the evenings, outside the old school, watching the bombs go off in distance. He would come out here most nights when the sun had sunk. There’ll be nothing left to bomb soon. The sky lit up in amber flashes on the horizon, followed by a roar, dulled only by the distance it had to travel to reach Bernard’s ears. He knew better than to be out and about on the streets after curfew, so he nestled himself into the ruins and prepared for the long, cold night ahead. Sometimes he would even find food up here – a mars bar or a packet of crisps, but tonight he was content to just rest and watch the orange blaze on the horizon.
Some way across the rubble, over by the classroom window, he heard something and instinctively ducked for cover. It’ll be them. It’ll be his men again. Bernard knew that the spot he had chosen wasn’t technically breaking curfew, but kept his head low just in case. Suddenly a figure raised its head out of the rubble. It wasn’t one of his men. He could tell that straight away. The figure didn’t move with enough purpose to be one of the POLA.
It was a man. One solitary man, looking around like a tourist at the sights. Bernard raised his head to get a better look and the man caught his eye.
‘Excuse me…’
Great. He’s spotted me. This is my camp.
‘Excuse me,’ said the man running across the debris towards him. ‘What’s going on across there?’
‘What does it look like?’ Idiot.
‘Where am I?’
Jesus Christ. ‘London… well, what’s left of it.’
‘London… but…’
Leave me alone. ‘I’m just trying to watch the fireworks in peace, mate.’
‘Fireworks? They’re bombing London!’
Where the hell has this guy been? ‘Welcome to the twenty first century, mate,’ said Bernard. ‘Everyone’s bombing everyone.’
The man looked out at the explosions in the sky in the distance. ‘Why?’
Bernard smiled and looked straight ahead. ‘Power. Strength. Freedom.’
‘Excuse me?’
Bernard actually laughed out loud. ‘Have you got amnesia, mate? Did one of those rocks fall on you and knock you out?’
‘N… no.’
‘Then how on earth could you have possibly missed the demise of the human race?’
‘What?’
Leave me alone. ‘This is my camp. Go find your own place to sleep.’
The man nodded uncomfortably and began to walk down towards the road. Bernard knew exactly what lay down that road. If he’s stupid enough to go down there, he deserves what’s coming to him.
Alex walked down to the road. His road; Lawson Street. He navigated his way across the loose rubble to the muted roar of the bombs in the distance. Everything was different. They had build a long since abandoned school where his workshop used to be, and the park across the road from his house, where Alex used to walk his dog, was now occupied by the crumbling, burnt out remains of an old warehouse. None of the houses on his street had survived; most of it looked like it had been rebuilt as industrial units before being bombed to the ground.
This was his home. In ruins.
From the brow of the hill that led down towards the city centre, Alex began to hear a rumbling sound, followed by the blinding flash of headlights appearing over the crest. A vehicle was hurtling towards him at high speed, ripping over any debris in its way.
Alex held his hand over his brow to shield his eyes from the blinding light and stepped back off the road. The vehicle, a black armoured four wheel drive, skidded to a halt two feel in front of him, and four men dressed in black with black capes leapt out brandishing weapons. One of the men pushed his gun into Alex’s ribcage.
‘Get in,’ he growled.
‘B… but…’
The dug the gun deep into Alex and gestured towards the vehicle. ‘I’m arresting you for violation of curfew. You know the rules, mate. Get in the car.’
With the cold steel of the barrel of a gun in his back as his motivation, Alex got into the vehicle with his hands raised, and just as quickly as it had come, the car tore off down the road again.
From his perch by the old school, Bernard watched as the POLA raced away with their latest victim.
Idiot.
Thursday, 20 January 2011
After the Revolution - Part 1
Hello to all - many thanks to those of you who took the time to read 'Brothers', your support is invaluable to me. Now the next thing... Over the course of the next ten weeks or so I will be posting a serialised version of my new novella 'After the Revolution', a story that follows Alex, a scientist who gets a terrifying glimpse of the future and sees what will become of his country. After the Revolution, Britain is a dictatorship at war, ruled by a man named Wilson who bullied his way into power thirty years ago and runs his country on three foundations. Power, Strength and Freedom.
How will Alex cope when he returns knowing what lies ahead? Can he change the future? Will he?
Be sure to check back every Friday to find out!
One
London
Present Day
They had been arguing just before it happened. About money - as usual. ‘These are tough times,’ she would persist. ‘How the hell can we afford to keep that bloody workshop running during a recession? It would be a different story if you ever actually designed anything useful after all the hours you spend tinkering about in there.’
That annoyed him, and she knew it. His workshop was his life.
‘You got how much from your father when he died? It was Thousands, Alex. And how much of it is left?’
He knew there was nothing left. So did she, but she liked to push the point during an argument.
‘That went towards my experiments…’ he would reply. ‘He was my father, and he left me the money to complete my life’s work!’
‘That was our future, Alex. That was our home, our retirement… everything. We could have started a family… had a life together! And what do we have to show for it?’ She scowled as she gestured towards the open door to Alex’s workshop. ‘Nothing but a load of junk.’ She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Alex let out a long sigh as he walked into his workshop. His wife had been so exited about his work in the beginning. It seemed that ever since they had gotten married, she no longer had the time to dream.
As he stepped through the door, he saw it there, looking down at him; the huge steel structure. She was right of course, he thought, as he looked up. It doesn’t work. Not yet.
‘How can you bear to keep going?’ his wife would ask him from time to time, pained by her husband’s fruitless labour. ‘You’re wasting your life; you’re wasting our life! You have tried a thousand times and you have failed a thousand times! When will you give up?’
Alex stood in his workshop and looked up at the fruit of a thousand failures, smiling to himself and thinking of his hero, Thomas Edison.
I haven’t failed a thousand times, he thought to himself. I’ve just successfully learned a thousand ways not to build a time machine.
His wife, Annie, sat stewing in the other room, seriously pondering the fate of her marriage. She was certain that he had a brilliant mind… if only he weren’t so bloody obsessive. She knew she loved him, and she knew that she wanted to be with him always… but something had to change. He was married to his work, not to her… and pretty soon the money would all run out. What then? This couldn’t go on… this, this fantasy.
‘Annie?’
He stood in the doorway and called over to her. As she turned around, she fully expected the puppy dog eyes and the entire sad apology routine. Things will get better… I can change!
What she saw was quite different. They had only parted ways fifteen minutes ago, but something had definitely happened. Alex wore a wide grin that stretched from ear to ear and his hands were trembling.
‘What is it, Alex?’
He took a long time to reply, so Annie continued.
‘I don’t have the energy for this anymore, Alex. Not anymore.’
‘I did it.’ He spoke only a little over a whisper.
‘You did what? What did you d-‘
‘It works.’
Alex began to chuckle and mutter under his breath. I’ve done it. I’ve finally done it!
‘You have to be kid-‘
‘Come and see it if you don’t believe me.’
Alex led his wife through to the workshop, where he stood, wide eyed, looking up at his creation.
As Annie looked up at it, her heart sank. Of course it doesn’t work. I couldn’t possibly work. She still felt sorry for him, though. Despite all the failed attempts, she still hadn’t developed a tolerance to feeling sorry for him.
‘Watch, Annie… watch,’ he chirped. ‘I saw it with my own eyes… I saw it!’
‘What did you see?’ replied Annie unenthusiastically.
‘This!’ Alex swung around, holding a gold watch in front of his face. ‘I sent this watch through time… just now. Look…’ he spoke in short, excited bursts. ‘See the time on the watch.’ He pointed to the watch face. ‘Eight thirty seven pm.’
Annie gave little reaction.
‘And look at the clock up there on the wall.’
Annie looked up. Eight thirty eight.
‘The watch has lost a minute!’
Annie was solemn. ‘Alex… I don’t have time for these games anymore.’
Alex’s face was not altered by his wife’s stony reaction. ‘These aren’t games. This is real… I saw it!’
‘I’m sorry, Alex. I have to go.’ Unimpressed, she began to walk back towards the door.’
‘Annie! Wait… Let me show you!’
He knew he had to prove it, so he opened the hatch at the bottom and climbed in, smiling to himself. Where will we be in fifty years?
Annie looked back over her shoulder when she heard the hatch closing. Surely not? Annie had seen first hand the state that things (living or otherwise) had been in when they came out of that hatch on previous trial runs. He’s mad.
‘Alex, don’t be an idiot!’ As she began to walk back across the room towards the machine, there was a deafening crash and an instant of blinding white light.
Annie stood, glued to the spot, her mouth wide and trembling with fear. Alex…
She slowly began to walk over to the machine, desperately trying to see into the hatch window. Then, when she got close enough to have an un-obscured view, she froze. Fear coursed through her in giant waves as she looked through the glass.
The hatch was empty.
‘Alex! Alex! Where are you!’ She began to sob and fell to her knees. Her husband was gone. Maybe he was right. Maybe it did work after all.
As she lay on the floor of her husband’s workshop sobbing into her hands, another mighty crash came out of nowhere, followed by another instant of blinding light. She slowly raised her head and looked up. Again?
Annie jumped back in terror as the hatch came sliding open, smoke pouring from underneath the machine.
She slowly edged back across the floor as a dark figure began to make its way out of the hatch. It was a man, but he bore no resemblance to the man who had climbed into the machine minutes ago. He was drawn, exhausted and limped out of the machine, pulling his right leg behind him. He wore a thick beard and a long scar down the side of his cheek, and he was holding something in his hand. A red scarf.
The man collapsed, trying his best to take deep exhausted breaths, shaking on the floor. Then as Annie looked a little closer, she recognised him.
‘A… Alex?’ She spoke a little over a whisper.
Her husband looked up at her from the ground through weary, terrified eyes.
‘Annie? Is that you, Annie? I… I’m back…’
‘…I’m back.’
How will Alex cope when he returns knowing what lies ahead? Can he change the future? Will he?
Be sure to check back every Friday to find out!
One
London
Present Day
They had been arguing just before it happened. About money - as usual. ‘These are tough times,’ she would persist. ‘How the hell can we afford to keep that bloody workshop running during a recession? It would be a different story if you ever actually designed anything useful after all the hours you spend tinkering about in there.’
That annoyed him, and she knew it. His workshop was his life.
‘You got how much from your father when he died? It was Thousands, Alex. And how much of it is left?’
He knew there was nothing left. So did she, but she liked to push the point during an argument.
‘That went towards my experiments…’ he would reply. ‘He was my father, and he left me the money to complete my life’s work!’
‘That was our future, Alex. That was our home, our retirement… everything. We could have started a family… had a life together! And what do we have to show for it?’ She scowled as she gestured towards the open door to Alex’s workshop. ‘Nothing but a load of junk.’ She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Alex let out a long sigh as he walked into his workshop. His wife had been so exited about his work in the beginning. It seemed that ever since they had gotten married, she no longer had the time to dream.
As he stepped through the door, he saw it there, looking down at him; the huge steel structure. She was right of course, he thought, as he looked up. It doesn’t work. Not yet.
‘How can you bear to keep going?’ his wife would ask him from time to time, pained by her husband’s fruitless labour. ‘You’re wasting your life; you’re wasting our life! You have tried a thousand times and you have failed a thousand times! When will you give up?’
Alex stood in his workshop and looked up at the fruit of a thousand failures, smiling to himself and thinking of his hero, Thomas Edison.
I haven’t failed a thousand times, he thought to himself. I’ve just successfully learned a thousand ways not to build a time machine.
His wife, Annie, sat stewing in the other room, seriously pondering the fate of her marriage. She was certain that he had a brilliant mind… if only he weren’t so bloody obsessive. She knew she loved him, and she knew that she wanted to be with him always… but something had to change. He was married to his work, not to her… and pretty soon the money would all run out. What then? This couldn’t go on… this, this fantasy.
‘Annie?’
He stood in the doorway and called over to her. As she turned around, she fully expected the puppy dog eyes and the entire sad apology routine. Things will get better… I can change!
What she saw was quite different. They had only parted ways fifteen minutes ago, but something had definitely happened. Alex wore a wide grin that stretched from ear to ear and his hands were trembling.
‘What is it, Alex?’
He took a long time to reply, so Annie continued.
‘I don’t have the energy for this anymore, Alex. Not anymore.’
‘I did it.’ He spoke only a little over a whisper.
‘You did what? What did you d-‘
‘It works.’
Alex began to chuckle and mutter under his breath. I’ve done it. I’ve finally done it!
‘You have to be kid-‘
‘Come and see it if you don’t believe me.’
Alex led his wife through to the workshop, where he stood, wide eyed, looking up at his creation.
As Annie looked up at it, her heart sank. Of course it doesn’t work. I couldn’t possibly work. She still felt sorry for him, though. Despite all the failed attempts, she still hadn’t developed a tolerance to feeling sorry for him.
‘Watch, Annie… watch,’ he chirped. ‘I saw it with my own eyes… I saw it!’
‘What did you see?’ replied Annie unenthusiastically.
‘This!’ Alex swung around, holding a gold watch in front of his face. ‘I sent this watch through time… just now. Look…’ he spoke in short, excited bursts. ‘See the time on the watch.’ He pointed to the watch face. ‘Eight thirty seven pm.’
Annie gave little reaction.
‘And look at the clock up there on the wall.’
Annie looked up. Eight thirty eight.
‘The watch has lost a minute!’
Annie was solemn. ‘Alex… I don’t have time for these games anymore.’
Alex’s face was not altered by his wife’s stony reaction. ‘These aren’t games. This is real… I saw it!’
‘I’m sorry, Alex. I have to go.’ Unimpressed, she began to walk back towards the door.’
‘Annie! Wait… Let me show you!’
He knew he had to prove it, so he opened the hatch at the bottom and climbed in, smiling to himself. Where will we be in fifty years?
Annie looked back over her shoulder when she heard the hatch closing. Surely not? Annie had seen first hand the state that things (living or otherwise) had been in when they came out of that hatch on previous trial runs. He’s mad.
‘Alex, don’t be an idiot!’ As she began to walk back across the room towards the machine, there was a deafening crash and an instant of blinding white light.
Annie stood, glued to the spot, her mouth wide and trembling with fear. Alex…
She slowly began to walk over to the machine, desperately trying to see into the hatch window. Then, when she got close enough to have an un-obscured view, she froze. Fear coursed through her in giant waves as she looked through the glass.
The hatch was empty.
‘Alex! Alex! Where are you!’ She began to sob and fell to her knees. Her husband was gone. Maybe he was right. Maybe it did work after all.
As she lay on the floor of her husband’s workshop sobbing into her hands, another mighty crash came out of nowhere, followed by another instant of blinding light. She slowly raised her head and looked up. Again?
Annie jumped back in terror as the hatch came sliding open, smoke pouring from underneath the machine.
She slowly edged back across the floor as a dark figure began to make its way out of the hatch. It was a man, but he bore no resemblance to the man who had climbed into the machine minutes ago. He was drawn, exhausted and limped out of the machine, pulling his right leg behind him. He wore a thick beard and a long scar down the side of his cheek, and he was holding something in his hand. A red scarf.
The man collapsed, trying his best to take deep exhausted breaths, shaking on the floor. Then as Annie looked a little closer, she recognised him.
‘A… Alex?’ She spoke a little over a whisper.
Her husband looked up at her from the ground through weary, terrified eyes.
‘Annie? Is that you, Annie? I… I’m back…’
‘…I’m back.’
Monday, 10 January 2011
Brothers - An Introduction
Hello all - I just wanted to give you a short introduction to the poem in my previous post (I realise I probably haven't done this in the correct order, but hey ho). I wrote Brothers as a way of exploring an issue that I am hugely interested in just now - the existence of god... or rather the non-existence of god. I just wanted to get down some of my concerns about blind faith and the poisoning effect that I believe comes with religion.
The poem follows two brothers, one theist and one atheist, who die and must weigh up the sins they have committed in their lifetimes. Please feel free to comment (positive or negative!). Let me know what you think about the issue - I'm always up for a debate!
Enjoy
If the poem is not below, you can find a link to it on the right hand side.
The poem follows two brothers, one theist and one atheist, who die and must weigh up the sins they have committed in their lifetimes. Please feel free to comment (positive or negative!). Let me know what you think about the issue - I'm always up for a debate!
Enjoy
If the poem is not below, you can find a link to it on the right hand side.
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