Rage

Rage is brewing inside me. It's starting to consume me, more and more daily.

Not at anyone mind you, just at life.

I've been sober over 12 years and the outcome of this week is testing even my stubbornness not to pick up a pint or a bottle of vodka.

On Tuesday my wife has to go for an operation under her skull. To sheath her trigeminal nerve. What a sentence. Until 3 week ago I never fully understood what it meant.

My brain is flitting between anger and sadness. Try as I might to be strong, I'm absolutely failing. Good portion of yesterday was wiping tears away. And as I type the buggers have returned.

The speed of seeing the specialist (he probably had a different job title but I missed it) to getting a surgery appointment took us by surprise as he claimed it's usually upto 6 months.

I'm slowly turning into a gibbering wreck 

Resurrection

Where do I start?

Not as much a question but a conundrum. 

I'm convinced my memory has been damaged by Covid back in 2020. I assume like most people, we would have thought or more to the point hoped, the cloudy like sensation would one day lift. Alas. Nope. Not a bit.

My memory has never been great but this is a noticeable change to me. Once I only forgot names of people and places, but never forgot the actual places or faces once viewed. I suppose knowing it's there is better than not. At least I can work around it.

Now, it's almost comical that I can't remember a 4 digit security code from a text into an app. 

My previous life, I worked in Research and Development, and, Quality Assurance labs. I wouldn't trust myself to go back to that. Imagine adding a reactive chemical and getting the amount wrong by a massive factor. Such as 15g instead of 0.15g 

At best this 

At worst injury and death 

PS - I love AI for quick images 

Why am I telling you this? Well, for reason that will become clear next time, over the weekend, I realised why I no longer want to write. No that's wrong. Why I think I'm scared to write. 

In the back of my head, memory fog has also messed with my motivation. No idea if covid caused that specifically or a side effect of the memory fog. 

I never stopped jotting ideas down on my phone. I just stopped the pen and paper aspect and scrawling away. 

Until next time folks. 

As the True Crime Garage podcast always ends. 

Be good, Be kind, And don't litter 

I'm not dead

Honestly been a while. Doubt anyone has noticed. But I'm alive 

Miss me

After a personal tragedy for most of 2022, I have managed to pick up pen and paper again.

It's slow going but words and sentences are forming. Next trying to make them sound coherent.

Woke up at 2am to let dogs out, had an idea and wrote the word "Blood". Yeah, me neither sat here reading it now. 

#28prompts challenge Feb 2nd

“You hear news of your next-door neighbor vanishing without a trace.”

I open the curtains, snow has come down fast and heavy. The garden is covered in around 5 inches of the fresh clean white stuff. 

The chickens in their coop looking shell shocked at the surroundings. They won't be coming out today for a run about in the garden. The plastic compost bin, green with an ice cream topping. The shed and greenhouse off limits until the thaw comes. 

Unlocking the sliding door, the dogs escape to empty their bladders. Instead of chasing and playing in the fluffy snow, they run to the fence and see tails wagging. 

I stick my head out and peer to my right. 

Two policewomen are at the neighbours door talking to Mrs Cleary. From her facial expressions alone it's obvious that she is worried. 

"You ok Jo," I ask

"No… NoNo I'm not… Tom's missing" 

"Missing?" 

"I've just got back from my mothers and there's no sign of him" 

"It is early, maybe he crashed pissed at one of his mates" 

"His phone, wallet, everything is here" 

"Gone for a walk?" 

"All his shoes are here" 

"Not likely to have got far barefoot in this. I thought he'd been quiet. We haven't heard the telly since Thursday" 

One of the policewomen walked towards the fence and removed her notebook from her trouser pocket. 

"Mr?," she asked 

"Mark Sawyer" I relied 

"Can you narrow down a bit further, the last time you saw or hear Mr Cleary?" 

"Yeah, it was definitely Thursday, as we could hear him yelling at the football. By the sounds of it they were losing" 

"Nothing since?" 

"Not a peep" 

A few more questions are asked but I couldn't help them further. The police finish up and leave. 

Jo smiles at me. I smile back. I tip my head to the bottom of my garden. She looks and smiles more at the compost bin. 

#28prompts challenge Feb 1

My twitter friend @ASYoungless Asyounglessauthor.com (check her stuff out) posted an idea of during February, she would set #28prompts and who would be interested. 

I took my time thinking about it but eventually signed myself up. Today is 10th Feb. I've just finished my 10th mini story. Somehow I haven't forgotten or missed the deadline. Mind you I didn't finish yesterday's until 45mins beforehand. That was close. 

I'm 10 in, 18 to go... 

I have surprised myself at where my creativity has taken me. Subjects I would never have thought of on my own. 

Here is the 1st prompt and my story. Hope you enjoy. 

"Write a story in which you retell a famous tale from mythology, fairy tales, literature, etc, from the POV of a minor character."

#28prompts

Poppy forces her body past Barley and pops through the mousehole first. 

"Mamma mamma, we can hear whistling" 

Mamma mouse's ears prick up, "No, not again. I'm not having it. PAPPA, PAPPA, activate Defcheese 1"

On all fours Pappa scurried away to the larder. 

"Children, roll call" 

"Quinoa here, Barley here, Peanut here" 

And then silence 

"Where's Poppy?" asked Mamma

"She's followed Pappa," came three replies 

"Stupid girl" 

Small footsteps could be heard as Pappa ran back, with a large lump of cheddar under his arm and Poppy surfing on his tail. 

"Faster Pappa Faster" 

Screeching to an abrupt halt, they stop just before they hit Mammas feet. The icy glare she gave Poppy, was enough for her to say "Sorry Mamma" 

Even before Poppy jumped off his tail, Pappa, quick as a flash starting gnawing 12 ear plugs from the lump of cheese. 

Barley didn't hesitate, he was lying on his back, mouth open catching cheesy shavings. 

"Children get them in your ears and for goodness sake don't take them out. She's coming. Keep your eyes on me at all times." 

Mamma was the final mouse to squeeze the cheese into her ears, just as Snow White burst into the kitchen singing and whistling. 

"Battlestations", Mamma mouthed to her family. 

While she could feel the vibrations of footsteps, couldn't hear that witch singing of 'we whistle while we work' 

But peeping out of her mousehole front door, she could see lips moving. 

The empty kitchen suddenly became full. Blue birds flew in the open windows. Red Deer, rabbits and a tortoise came in through the door. Chipmunks jumped in through the window. 

The birds while flying, used their beaks and claws to fold the dwarves clothing that were drying above the stove. 

To the right, an adolescent red deer had stuck his tail through the carvings on the wooden chair. A rabbit directed his tail wiggles to dust in all the curves. 

A cute red fawn was in the far corner licking plates clean. 

"That's disgusting," thought Mamma Mouse. 

Two chipmunks skipped towards the rug near the entrance to her home. She stepped backwards into the shadows out of sight. 

One chipmunk held the edge of the rug up while his friend tail swept dust under it. Snow White the slave driver of the animals wagged her skinny finger at them, "No, no, no" 

In shame, they relifted the rug and and brushed it the other direction. 

"Hell no", thought Mamma,"They aren't. Are they? They are, " she dived at her children and pushed them to safety, as the dust storm flooded her home. 

In anger she inhaled hard, her lungs filled of dusty air and blew it back out, spraying and covering the chipmunks in the dust. 

Poking out of the mousehole she yelled at them, "That's it we're moving in the Queen's castle. It was luxury here when it was just the dwarves without that harlot turning up" 

Coffee Break

 

“Hurry up and get that kettle on Billy will ya, I’m parched,” demanded Mickey as the back door slammed shut behind him.

“You know where it's kept if you’re that desperate. Anyway the coffee is made and it’s in the pot steeping,” replied Billy

“Steeping?”

“Aye Linda got into using these cafetiere things with proper coffee. She binned all the instant stuff.”

Billy slowly pressed the plunger down, separating all the coffee bits from the murky brown liquid, and poured them both a mug each. The mugs were  already nearly a third full of semi-skimmed. But the milk didn’t seem to do anything to lighten the colour of the coffee.

“Cheers lad, I need this,” as he took a sip. His smiling face turned as if he was a bulldog sucking  on a wasp, “What the hell, this is awful, dunno how you can drink that muck”

“Tastes lush ya wuss” 

“Do you not sweeten it?”

“Nah messes with the flavour” 

“It needs messed with. Do you have any sugar?” 

“Nah, Linda is on a health kick, she binned that with the instant coffee”

“Any sweeteners?” 

“Nah”

“I'll take an apple or a pear that I can soak in it. Anything” 

“I've got a Twix finger left. I’ve had to hide it from Linda. It’s behind the tins of tomatoes in the cupboard behind your head.” 

Mickey reaches into the top of the cupboard, and finds the solitary finger of the Twix tucked away. Unwraps it and drops it into his mug.

“This is much better, not only will I get the sugary goodness, I'll have a mocha.”

“Weirdo” 

Looking back into the cupboard he spots something interesting and pulls it out examining it, “What's this? A jar of funny coloured dried mushrooms?”

“Oh... Well… That’s for special occasions. That’s my dream time drink”. 

“Drink?” asked Mickey.

 “Yes, you know, you make a tea with them” 

“Oh, these are magic ones?” waving the jar.

“Aye”

“Never actually seen any of these before. What're they like?” 

“Far better than that weed you and Fran smoke non-stop.” 

“Howay man. You know that's pain relief for her arthritis. Codeine doesn't touch the side anymore when her knees give her agro”. 

“That doesn't explain you though, does it” 

“You don't like to drink alone, well she doesn't like to get high alone. C’mon tell me, I can’t say no to her could I? It would be rude” 

“You'll need triple the dosage tonight for it to have any effect after that coffee”. 

“It's still stripping the coating off my tongue” 

“Stop moaning. There's a bit left over carpet in the outhouse. Make a rug for it,” indicating outside with a backward thumb gesture to Mickey.

“Talking of carpets, we better get this shifted”. 

“Aye, coffee time over. Grab that end and slowly roll”. 

“This isn't my first clean up. I do know how to do it”. 

“I'm aware of that Mickey. But look at the size of this fat bastard. It's going to be obvious if his arms fall out and dangle down and this is my house. Can’t have the neighbours seeing, now can we.   Especially with his head twisted around the wrong way. They already think I'm a wrongun. Don't want to give them any more ammo  on that score.”

“Maybe we should tie his hands together up first”. 

Billy looks down to see the corpse looking back at him even though his arms are wedged under his bloated stomach, “No. I don't want to have to roll his lard arse more than once. As it is, it’s going to be painful enough getting him to the crematorium.” 

“We better hurry. Fran can't keep the doors open after 4 o'clock. The last burning is scheduled for quarter past 4”

“She's a cracker your Fran. Give her a kiss from me tonight as a thank you” 

“Keep your mitts off her Billy. Otherwise I'll get Barry to help roll your skinny arse up in the last of that carpet”. 

They smirked and got back to it. 

“Remember Mickey, bend with the knees, one, two, threeeee.. Jesus he weighs a ton”