Short Story Challenge 7 - Hanging Around With Abergast and The Professor

      A few seconds, that was all it took; the camera was gone, and my only chance of success with it. As I watched it tumble down into the gaping ravine below,  I knew the film within would never be recovered. More importantly, I had to grab on to something fast or I too would share a similar fate to that of my Kodak SLR.

      My arms wind-milled almost comically as I flailed wildly in an attempt to maintain my balance. Too late! My footing abandoned me and I tumbled backwards over the cliff edge. Is this it? Is this finally the end for super sleuth journalist Archibald Abergast?

     Not likely.

      Out of the ether came a hand to rescue me – big and strong and… hairy? No, it couldn't be! It was my arch nemesis, the evil Professor Luther-Dexter, the wide grin taunting me through his bushy black beard. Gripping my wrist tightly he held me up, legs dangling over the chasm, relishing this moment of complete power.

      “At last Abergast! How I have yearned for this day!”

      I struggled in vain.

      “Damn you Luther-Dexter! I should have known you were behind this…”

      He cackled loudly.

      “But of course! Did you think that the massive avalanche that swept you out here was an accident? Or that it was a mere coincidence that the swamp you waded through was filled with mutant piranhas? Did you really think that a robotic Tyrannosaurus Rex is a product of Mother Nature? You fool!”

      “I knew something seemed suspicious! That sentient weather cloud following me around – was that your doing too?”

      “Aye!”

      “…And the two-headed fire-breathing dragon chickens… grown in your labs, I presume?”

      “Naturally…”

      “…And the guys in purple jumpsuits wielding ray guns that turned your hair ginger?”

      “Who else could be so utterly gifted?”

      “…Wait a second. You put that turd through the letter box of my log cabin? You know it stained the rug, right? That was a really expensive! You owe me a new rug, asshole!”

      “Er… no that wasn't me. That's actually kind of gross… …But now I wish I had thought of that… Mwahahaha! Anyway, now that you've lost your precious photographic evidence of all my criminal operations, you have nothing. You ARE nothing! Enough talk! Farewell, Abergast!”

      And with that he let go.

      Luckily, my cat-like reflexes served me well and I managed to grab onto the ledge as I fell. It was only one hand, but I was strong enough. What I didn't count on was the Professor’s boot coming down hard on top of it.

      “Die! Die!” he yelled maniacally, stomping wildly.

      Quick as a flash I reached up with my other hand and grabbed onto his boot. He tried to shake me off but my vice-like grip remained resolute.

      “You think that will save you, little man?” he laughed, quickly undoing his laces. He kicked off his boot but I anticipated his move and latched onto his thick woollen sock instead.

      “Seriously?”

      He wriggled his leg desperately, making the sock start to slide off his foot.

      “Gah! …What the…?”

      The sock was off, but now I had grabbed onto his foot. His toes were hairy and hard with calluses - but I had little choice.

      “Damn you…. Let go!”

      “Never! Just as Good will never let go… of the fight to defeat Evil!”

      “That doesn’t even make sense…!

      He was getting desperate - I could see it in his eyes.

      It was then that he pulled out his ace in the hole. Reaching down, he unlatched a strap on his leg, releasing it in its entirety. A fake leg! If I weren’t so preoccupied with my imminent doom I would have taken more time to ponder why he would go to the lengths of having a fake leg with hair and calluses on its foot.

      It was then I remembered my prototype hang-glider gadget concealed in my belt buckle. These Deus Ex Machina Products certainly lived up to their name, I thought to myself as I pressed the switch, releasing the contraption. Professor Luther-Dexter looked on enraged as the wings caught the air, sweeping me to safety.

      “I’ll get you Abergast! This isn’t over yet!” he bellowed, the figure hopping up and down on one leg slowly getting smaller as I glided further away.

      “You owe me a new rug, asshole!” I retorted.

      His voice echoed as the distance between us grew.

      “I told you, that wasn't meeeeeeeeeee……….!”

30th August 2012

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Short Story Challenge 6 - Children of the Seasons

      Four children were left on Martha’s doorstep, one each for the four seasons. Winter’s baby came last, wrapped in night and gazing at the stars.

      No one knows where they came from or which persons were responsible for abandoning them so, and yet Martha took to raising them as her own, her loving warmth more than making up for the cold indifference with which they were cast aside.

      Spring was the first to arrive - her tiny cries piercing the crisp chill of the morning air. Martha had no choice but to pick her up and cradle her to her bosom straight away, lest the cold silence her. As she grew into a child, Spring was the one that always followed Martha around, helping with the household chores and tending to the garden. Her horticultural skills were something to behold, transforming a barren patch of soil around the house into a floral paradise.

      Always the first to do things and arrive at places, Spring was always so enthusiastic and full of verve. Her constant energy seemed implausible and overly chirpy to some – but for others it was a welcome reminder of how one could exude boundless positivity - living without being afraid of anything.

      It was a sad day then, when she passed. Dying young is always tragic, but more so for one seemingly so full of life. No one knew exactly how she died, but rumours spoke of how living double the life in half the time had been the cause, whilst others speculated that somehow deep down she had always known of her short time on this earth, which in turn led to her living her life to the fullest.

      Summer was the second of the children to arrive. It was a blazing hot day, and if it were not for her laughter echoing amidst the warm breeze perhaps Martha would not have found her. Always happy and content, Summer grew to be a lovely young woman. Relaxed and friendly, she would calm anyone in her vicinity – when she was around it would always bring out the best in people. They would forget their quarrels and hardships in their life and just be.

      With no end of suitors it was no surprise that she married young and subsequently left the household to travel to faraway lands. She was always grateful to Martha for her care and upbringing but it was clear that she could not remain in one place forever. It is not known what became of her, but it is certain that wherever she was she would be bringing a smile to someone’s face.

      The third child was Autumn. Nestled amidst the fallen leaves, she wailed when Martha picked her up and cradled her. She was beautiful as a baby, but growing into her adolescence she became almost impossibly beautiful. Her pale skin and clear blue eyes would hush rooms as she walked in. Men would avert their gaze when she met theirs and her name became etched on the hearts of thousands. She was always such a sad child, so distant and detached; unable to identify with anyone or anything other than the ethereal and the mythical. She never found one that she could love – all those she met eventually left with a heart broken, knowing that she could never truly belong to them and them only.       Once again, tragedy befell the family when she was found hanged amongst the bare branches of the orchard. She was unable to belong in this world.

      Winter’s baby came last, wrapped in night and gazing at the stars. Martha quickly fetched some cotton blankets and held her close before the unforgiving cold could claim her. She was hardly breathing, still and silent as the frozen night – it was a miracle that she was still alive.

      Winter was quiet as a child. In fact, she hardly spoke at all. Always lingering at the back of the room. The last to arrive, the last the leave. Sometimes people didn't even notice she was there. Always so silent, simply watching and waiting. It was no surprise then that she ended up outliving them all, even Martha. She was the only one there at her side in her final moments, comforting her with her silent smile.

      Once Martha was gone there was not much purpose for Winter to stay here. One day, without a fuss, she quietly packed her bags and disappeared into the night, never to be seen again.

      No one knows exactly why these sisters were brought into this world in such a way, or ultimately what their purpose was. But one thing was clear – they lived on within the hushed whispers of the townsfolk, the stories of their lives continually perpetuated by those huddled around a comforting fire. They would not be forgotten.

24th August 2012

 

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Short Story Challenge - Notes on weeks 1-5

      For those of you good enough to have been following my weekly short storychallenges, here is just a little summary of the five I have completed so far.

      Although I don't want to fret too much about every detail (the stories are a speed writing exercise after all), here is a quick summary of each one I have written, including creative decisions, trivia and possible improvements/changes I would have made if I had more time and/or was writing a longer story.

1 – Red Ring

Opening Line: The Priest pulled out his finger from the stripper’s ear lobe in shock…

      This one in particular was very important to reconcile the initially ridiculous and implausible sounding opening line with a story that actually makes sense. The main themes being that of a very human willingness to create mental links and see causality and meaning where there necessarily isn’t any – rather transparently illustrated here by a man of religious belief (religion being heavy on symbolism and meaning as it is) against the more common supernatural beliefs even non religious people experience every day with their thoughts on coincidence, destiny and so on.

      This story is not an attack on religion – just an observation of how we are all prone to ascribing meaning in everything around us – especially when we feel heightened, such as in a time of crisis.

      I was lucky to come across an image on the London Eye lit up in red whilst doing a google image search (I originally wasn't sure it could be that colour) but it turned out to be a fitting end for the story both thematically and with its setting.

2 – Tomato Soup

Opening Line: “No thanks, I’m on a diet”, she replied without looking. It wasn’t quite the answer he had hoped for. Time for plan ‘B’…

      This one was the most fun to write and probably the most accessible to readers for its relative simplicity. It’s very dialogue heavy - which accounts for a lot of this – but writing dialogue does come a lot easier to me.

      There were two main conceits with this story that make it particularly effective. Firstly, the opening suggests a romantic or ‘date’ type setting which immediately forms expectations for the reader that I could later subvert. Secondly, the ending ‘twist’ where it is revealed that they were both trying to kill each other the whole time adds another layer to the story that gives further significance to the opening that the reader was not initially aware of.

      If I had more time with this one I would have probably taken longer to flesh out the ending as well as perhaps explain the motivations for each character and why they actually wanted to kill each other.

3 – Palingenesis

Opening Line: Let’s face it, I’ve had much worse things stuck to the bottom of my shoe but this is definitely a first…

      I wanted this story to be in the style of old sci-fi/horror cautionary tales, reminiscent of Stephen King short stories or an episode of The Twilight Zone (with a little bit of Cronenberg body horror thrown in there as well). I also chose to do this one in a diary format just as a change of style, but also as it makes sense for someone to be talking to themselves in this way as they need to be isolated from anyone else at that time for the story to work. The challenge here was to communicate the events convincingly through only one man’s recordings to himself.

      Thematically, I am fascinated by the idea that in this modern age we have the technology to explore the outer reaches of space and yet there are still many new species being discovered all the time in the remote areas of our planet such as the vast rainforests and the deepest oceans.

      If I had more time I would have prolonged the transformation to make it more gradual, as well as to go more in depth into the kind of research he was doing out there in the jungle and to communicate more about how alone and helpless the character really was.

      The word ‘Palingenesis’ means the biological reproduction of oneself – fitting for the story – but even ‘genesis’ by itself evokes the idea of ‘creation’ and ‘rebirth’ – as well as alluding to the creation story - the dates used for the diary entries are a nod to this.

4 – A Family Business

Opening Line: When one is kneading dough, it is imperative to have clean hands…

      The idea for this story came from playing with the dual meanings of the opening line as a rule of bakery and that of the code of an organized crime family – ‘dough’ was originally meant to literally represent the cash in their money laundering side of the business.

      I really didn't have much time to complete this story but if I did I would have gone into more depth about the exact operations that the narrator was involved in as well as a more gradual rise to power. I did like the conversational tone that the story was written in as it allowed me to be vague with a lot of these details (which would have required a lot more research on my part), but also as it communicated a cold detachment in the way in which he recounts the violent happenings in his life in a rather casual and factual manner.

5 – Garden of the Seventh Circle

Opening Line: The ivy had continued to grow since I left the village, now hiding the doorway behind it…

      This was my anti Secret Garden story, if you will. Rather than a place of forgiveness and healing as it was in Frances Hodgson Burnett’s tale, this garden is one of penance and ultimately death.

      The title comes from Canto XIII in Dante’s Inferno where in the second ring of the Seventh Circle of hell they arrive at the woods of suicide.

      I liked the idea of how a garden can get wild, dark and oppressive just because it has been left locked up and left untended – much like the narrator’s feelings of guilt and regret.

      I wasn't able to go into the specifics of why he killed his wife (again not enough time to explain his motivation) but I like the ambiguity of it all and letting the reader piece together what happened by simply giving them snippets of information or flashes of images.

      Anyway, thanks for reading  - I enjoy writing about the creative process and sharing it with you. Hope you will keep reading the stories as it's a fun challenge for me.

      Until next time dear reader!

13 August 2012

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Short Story Challenge 5 - Garden of the Seventh Circle

      The ivy had continued to grow since I had left the village, now hiding the doorway behind it. But if you looked hard enough, and knew what you were looking for, you could just make out the faint outline of the archway – the framing of brickwork around the door, almost completely concealed behind a mask of dark green foliage.

      My fingers brushed the leaves gently as I slowly followed the wall down until I reached the door. The whole estate was so overgrown. I had lost count of the years that had come and gone since I was last here – it seemed a lifetime ago. And yet as I approached the hidden doorway, memories inched their way back in to my mind, one by one. Laughter in the sun. The smell of her chestnut hair. The twinkling of the silver bracelet in the water.

      I stopped and shut my eyes, taking a deep breath to compose myself. My hand trembled ever so slightly as I reached into the pocket of my overcoat, feeling for the cold iron of the key within. I had to do this. There was no turning back – nothing to go back to. Taking out the large ornate key with one hand, the other felt out in front of me, pushing aside the leaves and roots to gradually reveal the doorway. The keyhole was blocked with cobwebs and dirt, but nothing really to prevent me from gaining access. The lock turned with a stubborn scrape and click like it always had done – like I had never been away.

      Placing both hands against the darkened wood I pushed. Nothing. For a moment my heart leapt. Perhaps the door wouldn't open anymore. Perhaps it was meant to stay shut and I was suppose to just walk away and never come back. If I couldn’t get in then that was that, right? It was out of my hands…

      Unacceptable. This was the reason I was here – I couldn't let my cowardice get the better of me this time. With a renewed resolve I shoved the door again, hard. There was a soft earthy scraping – as if a seal was being broken, and the door started to open inwards. Once the gap was wide enough to squeeze through, I stepped into the cool shade beyond.

      The hedge corridor had become an ugly mutation of itself. Once neatly trimmed with a pleasing angular appearance, it now stretched up high above me, wild in all directions, its stiff branches clawing at me with gnarled knuckles as I slowly pushed my way through it. Most of the sunlight was blocked out and yet it felt hot and stifling. This path was once an open, bright and relaxing place but it was now only oppressive and suffocating. There was once a time when you could hear nothing but the rustling of the breeze or the chirping of small birds. Now it was all contained and muted – as if I could hear the squirming of the worms and insects crawling in the dirt and the hedges around me, having been disturbed from their deathly slumber by my intrusion.

      Pushing out of the hedge path, I had arrived at my destination. The pond in the middle of the overgrown garden lay there before me, stagnant and deceptively deep. Moss and lichen covered the surrounding rocks and the single statue that overlooked the scene. Once a serene angel – it now resembled a grotesque winged creature, looking down upon me with judgement in its eyes. It had bore witness to what I had done all those years ago and would never forget – even though I had tried to for so many years.

      The puckered white flesh of my beloved, flecked with droplets of moisture as she sobbed quietly. The arcs of thrashing water in the air, my arms straining as they held her under. The silver bracelet, still on her twisted wrist shimmering under the water as it caught the sunlight – lying so still.

      I wasn't scared. This was where my life had ended before. I mean trulyended. The rest of the time I had just been going through the motions, dead inside. Not being able to forgive, not being able to forget. Floating through this world like a ghost. The dinner parties, the cushy office, the award ceremonies – all meaningless. Empty. This was the only solace I could afford myself. The only justice I could see fit for my terrible secret.

      I had no idea how long had passed before I came to my senses again. Getting up from the stone bench I had been sitting on I slowly approached the water’s edge. It was green and fetid but I waded in knee deep, undeterred. I wanted to say something but the words to express how I felt had abandoned me.

      “I’m sorry”, was all that would come out, but this time I felt like I had truly meant it.

      As I drifted forward into murky suspension, I thought again about my beloved, back then when we had first met, when things were good. When the joy we shared was so sweet that it now seemed unreal - we didn't even know how fragile and fleeting it would be - how precious. As my lungs burned with righteous absolution I fancied I had caught a glimpse of shimmering silver, somewhere deep in the watery depths.

11th August 2012

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Short Story Challenge 4 - A Family Business

 

     When one is kneading dough, it is imperative to have clean hands. You can’t leave any traces or else people will come knocking at your door. I found this out the hard way, back then before we had made a genuine go of this family business.

     Of course I was young and foolish in those early years – thinking I was untouchable because I had gotten away with a few scores here and there – not knowing that always, somewhere out there, there would be somebody picking up on the details – all the little bits of evidence here and there – joining the dots.

     It was a few months after the Regency job that a young rookie came snooping around asking questions. He didn't know how lucky he had gotten, but I did. There was a short chase - I knew the streets better than him so it was easier to get some distance between us – it ended unexpectedly with a drunk driver smearing him across the road. I took it as a sign, a second chance granted to me – a higher power indicating that I should do this thing properly. No more mistakes.

     I skipped town and moved further north. My grandfather still had an old bakery up there that had been shut since he died, so I took the lease out under a different name and started it up again. A new lick of paint, a new sign above the door – a perfect front for my operations. I remember my grandfather showing me how to make bread back when I was a boy. I can’t help but think he was preparing me for later in life - giving me the golden rules for running my business. When one is kneading dough, it is imperative to have clean hands… I know that now.

     I have made sure that all my operations are squeaky clean, untraceable suppliers, dummy accounts, money trails hidden deep in the tangled undergrowth of red tape and bureaucracy. It helps to have a good accountant too. It’s hard to trust many people these days, but ever since I made him watch whilst I smashed all the bones in his predecessor’s hands with a rolling pin, I knew he would think twice before betraying me.

     What else did my grandfather used to always say? Ah yes – always leave a clean work surface at the end of the day – this will prevent the infestation of insects and rodents. I’ve known a fair share of rats in my time, sniffing out my business, trying to find an in – a way to extort or blackmail. I used those closest and most loyal to me to seek them out and to make them disappear. Of course as the years went on I would get less involved – my lieutenants often taking it upon themselves to come up with discrete and yet somewhat creative ways to vanish a body. I was left to gradually fade into the background – my real self remaining hidden working behind the scenes whilst my public image grew along with the expanding fortunes of the front business. Last I heard, we now own a few bakeries across the city and in some supermarkets you can even buy loaves with my name printed on the side of the packaging! It makes me laugh sometimes.

     And now, my son, I am handing this all over to you. As the sole heir to my business, all this is yours soon. You may find it a cruel and remorseless existence - and for that I am sorry, but when it comes to legacy you don't really have a choice. We have come so far in such a short time – that's why it is so important to keep this a family run business. Others can take care of the mess for you but you are the one that they must ultimately answer to. 

     Remember this and you’ll go far: it is imperative to have clean hands.

2nd August 2012

 

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Electro Fighter vs Marina & The Diamonds - mixtape

Electro Fighter vs Marina & The Diamonds by Kinsta on Mixcloud

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      Download Link: HERE

      Continuing on in the “Electro Fighter vs…” artist focused series is this new entry – a mixtape of various Marina & The Diamonds remixes.

      I’ve been hearing Marina remixes for a while now through listening to a lot of random electro tunes - and so I thought I would put a few together and make a mixtape out of them.

      Marina has a fairly distinct voice and each track showcases this wonderfully whilst the remixes span across a variety of genres, ranging from my usual electro leanings to more disco-house vibes, via breakbeat and even some dub at the end.

      A lot of her remixes are very ‘club’ orientated or too similar to the originals so I left them out and picked only my favorites for this mixtape. Marina’s vocals have that that pop sensibility – so I could maintain variety whilst still letting the whole thing be fairly accessible for those listeners that aren’t too much into dance music.

      Enjoy!

31 July 2012

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