Books, Fiction, Writing

An excerpt from “Misty Hollow” – The Shadow Walker Series

There is something to be envied for those that do not dream. To sleep in blissful ignorance every night and wake up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Not for me. Every night I relive the same dream over and over again. The same scene, the same effects and the same ending that leaves me frustrated. And tonight is no different.

 

A coveted sky like a black, satin sheet sprinkled with thousands of tiny, delicate sparkling diamonds dazzle above me. The cool, fine, golden sand beneath my feet feels very familiar. This domain is no stranger to me, I’ve been stuck in this groundhog dream for the past three years.

The glowing moon offers the only form of light. After my first few visits here, I realised that I was never going to get the bright, hypnotic sphere in my hands, but it still doesn’t stop me from trying to reach out.

Walking forwards, I take in the familiar scenery. To my left, the waves from the sea repeat an exact timed performance dancing teasingly towards my feet, never once touching my skin. The silence was slightly disconcerting. Not a solitary sound to penetrate the night.

 

My long, white dress clings to me like a second skin, there is no wind not even a mischievous breeze yet my dress flutters making my skin feel as though it’s being caressed by thousands of delicate butterfly wings. It almost appears luminous in the moonlight. This is the one part of this strange illusion I wouldn’t change, I liked the dress. Its thin elegant straps and plain design are perfect as far as a dress can be. I glance behind me to see the dress dance along the golden, sugar sand and as always there is no trace of my footprints, not even a slight indentation where I’ve stepped. The sand is perfectly undisturbed, I can only assume that it’s part of the illusion and not due to the self-misconception of believing that I am so light on my feet that I leave no imprint in the sand. Despite my endless return trips here, I always find myself doing the same things I usually do.

 

Picturesque and tranquil surroundings are somewhat utopic. The sand dunes protrude, protectively high to my right. Up ahead I see the lighthouse standing proud, high up on the cliff edge, that’s when I realise that I’m not alone. Up ahead, directly below the lighthouse at the base of the cliff is a figure. Between the moonlight and the crepuscular shadows from the cliff it gives the impression that it is moving but never closing in.

 

My eyes try desperately to focus on it. Step after step, my own legs betraying me taking me closer towards the dark presence. My mind is fighting a losing battle with my limbs. My heart thumps hard in my chest threatening to break out with each beat. I can’t be more than fifty feet away when my focus starts to become more comprehensible. It glides towards me in a hypnotic pace. Both of us stop at exactly the same time almost as though we were linked. The figure is wearing a dark hooded cloak that moves as if it is liquid velvet. The hood is shadowing the face beneath so I can’t see who or what it is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was hovering above the sand. So many emotions flit through my mind, curiosity, confusion, anxiety, worry, all at once. Suddenly the waves stop, coming to a complete standstill mid wave. The beacon for the lighthouse comes to a stop pointing out to sea.

 

The cloaked figure makes no attempt to close the last thread of distance between us. My heart is beating so hard that my whole body feels as though it’s vibrating. I try to take a step forward but my legs feel heavy, my arms hang down my sides unable to move. My eyes are locked onto the figure in front of me. My whole body refuses to do what my mind is telling it. Something appears behind the figure. I didn’t notice it before until now as it looms threateningly over the smaller one. The new figure is cloaked too, dark and ragged. Two pale, skeletal hands emerge at either side of the smaller cloaked hood from behind. Thin, boned fingers wrap around the edges of the cloaks hood slowly beginning to draw the liquid material back. Just then, I hear I deep, cavernous growl…

 

Eyes wide open I regain my breathing to a more normal pace. I hate the term “normal”; I’ve never believed that anything in this world is normal, far from it to be honest. For the past three years I have had the same recurring dream, as always just as the hood of the cloak is about to be pulled back I wake up! It is really frustrating. Nothing changes, exactly the same thing over and over again. The first few times I started having them I thought I was losing my marbles. In fact, so did Molly, my best friend when I told her. She even offered to perform a lobotomy, just in case. You can always count on your best friend to be there for you, and offer back-street surgeries that hadn’t been around since the turn of the century. So I decided to take the less extreme route and check out one of the dream books from my book/witchcraft store that me, my mum and my gran own. Not that it helped at all. I got so confused when trying to figure out what it all meant that it usually resulted in a killer migraine.

There is something to be envied for those that do not dream. To sleep in blissful ignorance every night and wake up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Not for me. Every night I relive the same dream over and over again. The same scene, the same effects and the same ending that leaves me frustrated. And tonight is no different.

 

A coveted sky like a black, satin sheet sprinkled with thousands of tiny, delicate sparkling diamonds dazzle above me. The cool, fine, golden sand beneath my feet feels very familiar. This domain is no stranger to me, I’ve been stuck in this groundhog dream for the past three years.

The glowing moon offers the only form of light. After my first few visits here, I realised that I was never going to get the bright, hypnotic sphere in my hands, but it still doesn’t stop me from trying to reach out.

Walking forwards, I take in the familiar scenery. To my left, the waves from the sea repeat an exact timed performance dancing teasingly towards my feet, never once touching my skin. The silence was slightly disconcerting. Not a solitary sound to penetrate the night.

 

My long, white dress clings to me like a second skin, there is no wind not even a mischievous breeze yet my dress flutters making my skin feel as though it’s being caressed by thousands of delicate butterfly wings. It almost appears luminous in the moonlight. This is the one part of this strange illusion I wouldn’t change, I liked the dress. Its thin elegant straps and plain design are perfect as far as a dress can be. I glance behind me to see the dress dance along the golden, sugar sand and as always there is no trace of my footprints, not even a slight indentation where I’ve stepped. The sand is perfectly undisturbed, I can only assume that it’s part of the illusion and not due to the self-misconception of believing that I am so light on my feet that I leave no imprint in the sand. Despite my endless return trips here, I always find myself doing the same things I usually do.

 

Picturesque and tranquil surroundings are somewhat utopic. The sand dunes protrude, protectively high to my right. Up ahead I see the lighthouse standing proud, high up on the cliff edge, that’s when I realise that I’m not alone. Up ahead, directly below the lighthouse at the base of the cliff is a figure. Between the moonlight and the crepuscular shadows from the cliff it gives the impression that it is moving but never closing in.

 

My eyes try desperately to focus on it. Step after step, my own legs betraying me taking me closer towards the dark presence. My mind is fighting a losing battle with my limbs. My heart thumps hard in my chest threatening to break out with each beat. I can’t be more than fifty feet away when my focus starts to become more comprehensible. It glides towards me in a hypnotic pace. Both of us stop at exactly the same time almost as though we were linked. The figure is wearing a dark hooded cloak that moves as if it is liquid velvet. The hood is shadowing the face beneath so I can’t see who or what it is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was hovering above the sand. So many emotions flit through my mind, curiosity, confusion, anxiety, worry, all at once. Suddenly the waves stop, coming to a complete standstill mid wave. The beacon for the lighthouse comes to a stop pointing out to sea.

 

The cloaked figure makes no attempt to close the last thread of distance between us. My heart is beating so hard that my whole body feels as though it’s vibrating. I try to take a step forward but my legs feel heavy, my arms hang down my sides unable to move. My eyes are locked onto the figure in front of me. My whole body refuses to do what my mind is telling it. Something appears behind the figure. I didn’t notice it before until now as it looms threateningly over the smaller one. The new figure is cloaked too, dark and ragged. Two pale, skeletal hands emerge at either side of the smaller cloaked hood from behind. Thin, boned fingers wrap around the edges of the cloaks hood slowly beginning to draw the liquid material back. Just then, I hear I deep, cavernous growl…

 

Eyes wide open I regain my breathing to a more normal pace. I hate the term “normal”; I’ve never believed that anything in this world is normal, far from it to be honest. For the past three years I have had the same recurring dream, as always just as the hood of the cloak is about to be pulled back I wake up! It is really frustrating. Nothing changes, exactly the same thing over and over again. The first few times I started having them I thought I was losing my marbles. In fact, so did Molly, my best friend when I told her. She even offered to perform a lobotomy, just in case. You can always count on your best friend to be there for you, and offer back-street surgeries that hadn’t been around since the turn of the century. So I decided to take the less extreme route and check out one of the dream books from my book/witchcraft store that me, my mum and my gran own. Not that it helped at all. I got so confused when trying to figure out what it all meant that it usually resulted in a killer migraine.

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Reflection, Uncategorized, Writing

Who is your Edward to your Bella?

Sigmund Freud reputedly stated that in all his 30+ years of experience trying to get inside the mind of women, he has failed to answer that age old question “What do women want?”

We want many things Mr Freud but it seems as though women that know exactly what they want are considered to be too intimidating. What would be nice as to have the best of both worlds. As a writer, I know that writing about a male in a book allows you to create him to be anything you want him to be. He can look any way, work as anything and act as anything. Even our fictional characters with supernatural abilities allow us to escape from the harsh reality that real life sucker punches us with.

But I have asked myself when I am writing?: Have i created a character and a world that is too much fantasy and not enough reality?

I write to escape reality and my characters are designed to be attractive and supernatural with prowess and allure. But even other published authors have followed that path. Take the twilight saga for example: For me, after the first one I felt as though it was a false sense of what a realistic relationship is. As much as I enjoyed the movie, I was left feeling as though that kind of relationship can never happen. Bella represents Reality while Edward represents Fantasy and they have become as one in the books and movies, but can that ever be achieved?

look at yourself from Bella’s view then put your fantasy person in Edwards place and ask yourself if it will ever happen. As much as the story painted a wonderful picture of being so in love with someone that you almost merge together, is it actually a true sense of what you can have in a relationship?

From a writing point of view, these types of characters are highly sought after. we all want that sexy, hot, rich vampire that lures us into his embrace with his unadulterated need and blood-lust. But who in reality fits that bill?

My Edward is famous and I guess you could say that even though he is single, he is still unavailable to me. Our social circles do not mix in any way so it highly unlikely that I will ever get the chance to meet him let alone be his Bella.

He will never be my Edward, and I will never be his Bella, so am I living a sad existence to have this crush? Should I be focusing on trying to achieve a more realistic goal then lusting after a guy that I cannot ever hope to meet?

Has “Book Boyfriends” and “Movie Boyfriends” left an image of an unrealistic relationship? Do our celebrity crushes come under this category too? Is it possible to merge your fantasy relationship into your reality world?

It would be nice to think that we could all meet our fantasy men and have something with them, but if not, what is left? If fantasy man is not available, then does that mean you are settling for second best with reality?

I for one enjoy my little celeb crush as it makes me feel  like a teenager again and yeah, I guess the thought of meeting him does sound appealing. But I know that he is fantasy and I am reality and this is not a scene from Twilight (despite how much I wished it was).

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Uncategorized

Escape in my bubble

Sometimes I just want to be left alone,

To sit and think in a room on my own.

Is it so much to ask for some peace and quiet,

Personally I think that everyone should try it.

Just me in a dark room lying on my bed,

Thinking about everything or nothing flying around in my head.

Sometimes i sit in the middle of the floor,

Hoping that nobody comes in through the door.

The blackness of the room is all around,

Only my breathing makes a sound.

I like to escape and get away,

From all crap and hassle i get each day.

I need to get away from the day to day things,

I would fly far away if i only had wings.

Don’t misunderstand me, I am not clinically depressed,

I have no deep rooted feelings that i keep suppressed.

I just take a time out from the reality of life,

So I can chill out and relax with no worries or strife.

I wrap myself up in my own little fantasy bubble,

Enveloped by my imagination to keep me out of trouble.

I can be anyone or go anywhere I choose,

It’s a world of possibilities where I cannot lose.

I won’t be away long, I’ll be back soon,

After all I’m only in my room.

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The mirror of truth.

I can’t be that happy girl that you want me to be,

I sometimes wonder if you even know me.

You walk in my shoes every day and night,

Yet i think you wish i was out of sight.

I get it, i do, i understand,

This whole situation will get out of hand.

But when you look at me with that pitiable look,

It feels like you hit me with a killer right hook.

I am what i am, i have always been that way,

I won’t change myself, no matter what you say.

What you see is what you get,

So stop trying to torture me like your own little pet.

My eyes tell the stories of a suffering soul,

The things in my life are taking it’s toll.

The constant feeling of being stuck in a trance,

Leave me wondering if i ever had a chance.

You stand there staring back at me,

Even when i scream at you that i want to be free.

Is it asking so much for you to be there,

When i need you to listen, when i have things to share.

Whether i sit and cry, or cry and stand,

You may always be there, but never once held my hand.

What i wouldn’t give for a few little cuddles,

Just to stop the tears from forming sad little puddles.

My inner struggle makes me want to run and hide,

Each day i see you, i die a little more inside.

Incessantly screaming to get your attention,

But you can’t answer back as your just my reflection.

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Playing with the Grim Reaper

Whispering shadows floating all around,

Blood splattered glass lay shattered on the ground.

Cold, damp and wet, and so very alone,

Bound and shackled to Death’s boned throne.

Demons dancing all over the walls,

Blood curdling screams coming from the haunting halls.

Forgotten and unwanted, and left to die,

No tears left in my eyes for me too cry.

Rusted iron shackles piercing deep in my skin,

I played Death’s game, but i didn’t win.

He is my master, my keeper and my lover all in one,

There is no point in fighting it, i give up, he has won.

The darkened abyss of his immortal heart,

Has merged into mine so we cannot part.

I am faithfully bound to my immortal keeper,

I am in love with Death, The Grim Reaper.

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Uncategorized

Playing with the Grim Reaper

Whispering shadows floating all around,

Blood splattered glass lay shattered on the ground.

Cold, damp and wet, and so very alone,

Bound and shackled to Death’s boned throne.

Demons dancing all over the walls,

Blood curdling screams coming from the haunting halls.

Forgotten and unwanted, and left to die,

No tears left in my eyes for me too cry.

Rusted iron shackles piercing deep in my skin,

I played Death’s game, but i didn’t win.

He is my master, my keeper and my lover all in one,

There is no point in fighting it, i give up, he has won.

The darkened abyss of his immortal heart,

Has merged into mine so we cannot part.

I am faithfully bound to my immortal keeper,

I am in love with Death, The Grim Reaper.

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Uncategorized

My Bloody Freak Show

Days and nights go by, i ponder, I wonder.

Why are we here? Why do i even bother?

Watching and waiting, time passes, people come, people go,

This isn’t real life, it’s a bloody freak show!

I find no absolution in what you say to me,

I show no interest or emotion in what my eyes see.

I sit and watch the world passing me by,

I sit and watch as the clouds pass over in the sky.

Is there a reason for the never ending despair?

We eat, sleep, work and breathe in the lifeless air.

What is the point in moving from this spot?

I, like you are just an insignificant dot.

We eat to live and we live to die,

So what is the point in attempting to try!

You call me a freak because i say what i see,

But in this worthless reality, you are all just like me.

You all hide behind the lies, that’s always been your way,

But me, I see it all in shades of grey.

I can grasp the concept of reality much more than you,

I am not afraid to see that it’s all the lies and deceit that are true.

So carry on with your circus life of being self absorbed and fake,

I will be the one that laughs when you’re pathetic existence begins to ache.

When the cracks in your desperate and pitiable world start to show,

I will stand up and welcome you to my Bloody Freak Show.

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