Category Archives: Original Works

No Lock On The Door (original poem)

NO LOCK ON THE DOOR

Quiet creeps in

Hands strike twice

The crack of dawn

Today I’ll play nice

No dares with the games

No mess on the floor

No questions to ask

No telling what for

Sit down, watch the match

Stand and applaud the score

Just keep your voice down

There’s no lock on the door.

Sunset Mind (original poem)

SUNSET MIND

Clear as water

A moon set alight

Sunset’s burning

I stand by my rights

 To speak out of turn

To right what is wrong

I only regret my shortcomings

At the rise of the dawn

At that time I’ll stand corrected

And submit again to the grind

There is never any silence

For the troubles in your mind

Erromate: The UnSpoken Link (original series)

 

ERRORMATE:
THE UNSPOKEN LINK

The cube made its way down the corridors of the ship towards another room, one which was blaring out an assortment of dated pop song spread across the history of the dour little blue planet the ship had embarked from many well-worn stars ago.

As the doors opened and the cube entered, it found a wide eyed and hot tempered young girl with jet black hair, a long leather waistcoat and green jeans, her shoes loose with their laces, looking over a bushy haired young boy with large oval shaped goggles, a blue lab coat, and a chef’s apron. Both were keeling over to examine something stirring in a frying pan.

“That’s not a kielbasa” she said.

“You haven’t poured enough beer over it” the boy countered.

“It still wouldn’t make it a kielbasa” she continued, prodding the miniature slice of pork with her middle finger.

The boy shrugged his shoulders and resumed work on what appeared to be a small wind-up clockwork dragon.

He extended his hand, motioning for something to be placed in it, he didn’t let slip exactly what, and he just relied on Corella to know instinctively what he was requesting.
She gave him a wrench.

“I asked for a tuning fork”

“You didn’t even say anything”

“I thought you said you had a feel for people?”

“So I’m to know instinctively what they want in the very heart of the moment.”
“You’re always telling me to seize the moment; I just tend to look at moments as instruments is all”

“I’ll hand you a moment alright” she said, clenching a fist.

“Corella Breadweather?” the cube whimsically requested.

The girl reluctantly acknowledged her name being called.

“What is it?” She said, her tongue playfully wedged around the muscles beneath her cheeks.

“Ms. Risque has requested you put together a presentation on her behalf for the attention of Commander Marcus”

Corella motioned for the cube to follow her towards a calendar lying on top of her bunk bed. Her middle finger hovered over a specific day.

“It’s the weekend, schools are closed, and Sunday is where I do my homework”

“Forgive my confusion, but why would you settle on the seventh and final day of the regular cycle to put focus on your assigned projects?”

“Beats me, it’s just something she taught me. A custom amongst students she taught from her time, her place” Corella explained.

“Gives us more time for rest and play also” the boy added.

“May I offer a suggestion?” the cube asked.

Corella took to thumbing through several out of date fashion magazines littered across the messy quarters, trying to feign disinterest.

“You are being difficult” said the cube, recognising the reaction for what it was.
Corella’s mother Prentice soon joined them, having spent the day out at the market.

“I managed to attain a fetching crimson red frock for you to wear when we attend the social function this evening” she said

“Mom” Corella groaned.

“And I got you those expensive sandwiches you like to eat, surely that’s a sufficient currency to persuade you to try the frock on?”

Corella looked at her wide-eyed, raising one eyebrow, sighing and snatching the frock from her grip.

“Fine, I’ll give it a whirl” she murmured.

“Then you’ll do it?” the cube replied, picking up the response.

“Do what? The function? It’s not like you have an option, you’re still not the age to make an independent decision” replied Prentice.

“I can manage both in this thing can’t I?” Corella suggested.

“Depends, will you be anywhere moist?” Prentice asked.

“I won’t drench it if that’s your concern”

“Don’t even joke about getting wet around me, the last time one member of this family faced off against a flooding half the ship nearly drowned in its own tears, and you were deprived of a father”

There was a thin and palpable tension one could cut through in the air as mother and daughter gave each other telling and solemn looks before Prentice headed to the door leading into her own quarters.

Corella waited for her to be on the opposite end of the door before turning to the boy, Gizmund.

“You coming with me?” she asked.

“We have somewhere to go?” Gizmund.

Corella approached the cube.

“Go on, play it”

“You wish me to play the message?” the cube asked.

“What message? You never said there was a message, either of you” said Gizmund.

“Ms. Breadweather’s ability to tap into the unspoken link that connects the binary mind is a talent many of my kind have been trying to uncover in every inhabitant on the ship, we do not believe your people are born unique, that you are all one singular collective consciousness who are following a long-standing illogical desire to experience oneself from a subjective viewpoint”

“In other words, Corella’s left you stumped” Gizmund added.

“A mystery we are prepared to spend as much of our free time to uncover whenever the opportunity to interact with her arises”

“Does the crew know about this link you have?”

“It remains unspoken”

“But I just asked you, and you responded, hailing frequencies were very much open”
“You are a friend; you will not betray our confidence”

“Or maybe you’re trying to test me, to see if I’m wise enough to maintain my silence?”
“You are far too logical” the cube observed.

“And maybe that’s what’s keeping you in line too, you need someone close to Corella so as to learn how she ticks outside of the symbiosis you two share, you’re observing her, trying to create a unified network…smart thinking. I’m in”

“Just play nice and play it” Corella asked

The Cube did as instructed and played an audio recording of a tall man with a bushy beard, torn jeans and a grey trench coat, holding a spanner.

“Corella, I don’t have time, I’ll have in a few minutes is space, and there are people who are depending on me to get them home safely, when you get the request that I know is coming down the line, on the next field trip to lunar point frenz, I want you to take that which I’ve given you and head out towards the northern point, plant it in the yellow crater and stand well back. Once it does what it needs to do, return and fulfil the request. They’ll listen to you, Risqué is right; they always listen to the children”

The sound of rushing water could be heard echoing behind him, it grew louder as it headed closer.

“I love you, remember that, love and listen; it’s the key to all of this”

Corella requested the message be cut off.

Corella opened a box on her desk, inside was a crescent jewelled seedling, a murky miniature black vortex swirling across its centre.

She briefly hesitated, but eventually reached out and clutched it tightly to her chest.

“Give me an hour” she said.

“What’s an hour?” Gizmund asked.

“An Apex, in an Earthly language” she replied.

Erromate (original series) Prologue: An Earthly Language

This is the beginning of a series of short stories and novellas based on a fantasy/sci fi  idea I’ve had bouncing around in my head since 2014.

You can also find a version of this written as a Doctor Who story over on FF.Net under the title of “In Media Res” with the role of Barbara Risque filled in by Barbara Wright

 

ERROMATE:

AN EARTHLY LANGUAGE

“Ms. Risqué? Ms. Risqué, are you awake?” came the soothing electronic voice of a glistening metallic orb hovering over Barbara’s head as she groggily rose from her failed attempt at a peaceful night’s sleep.

“Yes, not surprisingly” she said irritatingly, rubbing her eyes. She stared out the observation window of the SS Gallus, and was dismayed to find the ship had not budged from its position.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“The time is now Quarter Apex to Starlight Pinnacle”

“In an earthly language, that’s quarter to seven I’m sure”

“Numbers again Ms. Risqué?”

“Oh I’m sorry; I do forget my place every so often here. Night Delta Apex, NDA, is that what you want to hear?”

“It is an adequate guess”

“My guess is as good as yours” Barbara remarked

“Ms. Risque,  you are implying that I have zero accuracy in cataloguing our present co-ordinates”

“Navigation requires a lot of luck where I come from,  I don’t believe that is a concept understood by machines”

“By luck you are referring to the chance encounter that led your travel machine and it’s pilot directly to our door”

“Yes, our travel machine, something we’d like very much to have back at some point”

“Commander Marcus was quite adamant you were to regain control of the machine once you were able to secure the vote for planet-fall”

“We already send the children down there to pick up rocks and plant small seeds, there’s no reason why adults can’t go for a little r’n’r too, maybe even settle  there, raise families in the clear air and with clearer heads”

“The vote is to determine visiting hours specifically for all generations; settlement is out of the question”

“And who’s fault is that? Marcus is too stubborn, he’s content to treat everyone on this station like they’re the workload. I feel bad for the kids. Soon as they graduate, their privileges are stripped from them too. Those moments they spend on the planet surface is like subjecting a tired  soul into the glistening  light of a dead sun, something happens to them, they go from rowdy to relaxed. People above their age on this station are always on edge, always on toes, like they’re waiting for a war to start. Why can’t they be more like the children on that planet? Why can’t the children be allowed to stay this way? That’s what the vote means to me, yet so few are willing to come forward and suggest that maybe this kind of life just isn’t best for them”

Barbara looked distantly into the field of stars visible through her observation window.

“How can I hope to secure a vote when I can’t even tame Marcus or his hounds” Barbra asked as she finally got out of bed and slipped her feet into her shoes, she sprung up and waltzed past the cube.

“I am not an animal” the cube replied, it’s perfect English sounding distinctly distorted, almost as if he were trying to convey he took offence to the comparison and was trying to sound annoyed.

“Let me make one last pitch to the council regarding the importance of the vote, if I can get them on my side, they can spur the people on”

“They will not permit you an audience without consultation with Captain Marcus, and you are presently barred from seeing him”

“Then send one of my students up to him, they can give him a presentation, have them plead my case. He’ll listen to the children, he always has”

The cube’s colour changed from emerald green to shimmering yellow, as if to acknowledge that the request had been approved. It hovered towards the doors to the quarters. They slid open and permitted it to make its exit.

Barbara tended to her laundry, eager to do away with some of the time on her hands by indulging in a little ironing.

As she took her ironing board out of a fairly stacked cupboard, she took notice of an illustration attached to the right side of the wall, a crudely drawn picture of a tree with three domes attached to branches at the top of it in place of lush green leafs. Inside the domes were small buildings.

Barbra looked longingly at the illustration, something a student in her class had drawn for her based off of her stories.

This picture was all in this particular time or place that could remind her of the ongoing urgency she and her friends scattered across the station were faced with.

The children thought very highly of her, she would miss them when the time came.

 

THE ERROMATE SAGA WILL CONTINUE

The Sun Rose In The Morning [Original Story]

THE SUN ROSE IN THE MORNING

 

The phone signal went dead again.

Patton looked at the clock, the minute hand etched closer to midnight.

Too close. Far too close.

She tried to get the signal going again, she tried three times, always looking at the clock, always keeping her focus trained on how much time was left.

At midnight, the lines of communication would not be the only things closed off to the Earth. The greater signal was being cut, the switch to digital service was coming.

Today was the last day they would hear their voices in the most caring, humane way.

When midnight came, when the sun rose in the morning and the signal was to be turned on again, everyone in the sector  would be speaking a different, more binary language, no longer the code of kings or queens, the regency was to be deprived of privilege, there was not even a place for the people’s power, a people’s vote.

But then, they weren’t people to begin with. They were demons encased in glass and fleshly tissue, ribbons in their hair, fire in their silicon soul, and a hole in their minds.

They wanted so much to fill that hole, to cram it with knowledge of how the upper class worked, which classes they would look down on, which classes to look up towards.

Patton’s family, her ‘bloodline’, were to roam the city built for her people, these teeming masses, and they were to determine who would be classified as the Frankensteins amongst the post-modern privilege.

Then her only son, her priceless son, turned to one of the paupers, and found his heart drawn to their plight. He stood against his family, and fled with whom he now desired.

Now, with the threat of the cut off looming, the all too swift realisation that the grand experiment was over, Patton found her one bright light was standing against time itself. Precious time.

The signal to the phones were dead because he was blocking the wavelengths. He did not wish to speak, he did not wish an audience with someone who could so easily follow instruction.

Patton dialled the numbers feverishly, she held the phone to her makeshift ear, she pleaded for his voice to be heard.

She got it.

A voice message.

The minute hands ticked by, precious seconds to go before it brought forth the decisive hour.

She thought of a thousand words to choose from, and a thousand ways to say them.

She’d offer him a horse, but neither could ride.

She’d offer him a party, but she couldn’t dance.

She’d offer him creative freedom, but he had persistent writers block.

So many scenes, all to do with spoils.

She needed vital words, words so rarely considered by the privileged.

She didn’t know how to say them, how best to describe in so few words what she meant to him.

He was her sole light. Her bright burning star.

Then it hit her, she knew what to say, it was as simple as night and day.

“I pray you rise in the morning” she said.

The minute hand struck. It was midnight.

All were dead.

All was clear.

 

Just Another Place On Earth (Original Poem)

Where are you now?
Your tiny thoughts?
Everything you wish you were
Locked away in the box?
Where are you now?
What can you see?
Is there somewhere, some place, some time
You can spend with me?
I know what you are
You’re in my sights
I know all that you desire
I live your life
Heaven knows where you’ve landed
And heaven lies right here
Half of your world in the distance
Your better half is near
For I’ve seen what lies
In one man’s worth
You fight forever where you’ve landed
Just another place on Earth”