This little Hare…

I’ve been busy, at last, with my writing. I bought an A4 pad, new pens, and just started writing a short book. You might see from my blogs under ‘novel’ a storyline that has been added to WordPress every day (well, I think I missed a day.) Well that story has a background to it. At least, Emily Quigley does. I’m about 24 pages through the notebook, which is over 7000 words in two days (thank you, thank you *bows*) and I’ve got the rest sorted out in my head.

 I finished my work experience today at the school. It wasn’t so bad leaving, but I think I might miss “snack day”. A teacher each week has to bring in loads of cakes and chocolate. It was delicious! And the kids don’t know anything about it.

I’ll be back there for a visist in March to promote a book my writers group are releasing in aid of the Laura Crane Trust. Every copy that sells is adding to amount we can raise. It means a lot to us, so anyone who purchases a copy *hint hint nudge nudge* will receive great praise!

 I’ve run out of things to say for once. I suppose short and to the point is good sometimes.

As I was saying…

You might remember my insulting blog about people’s intelligences. Here’s what I have to say now.

People are remarkably stupid. You hear about road accidents and things like that, but you don’t hear about the stupid people dying. Read the Darwin Awards, and you’ll understand that they simply get themselves killed in the most ridiculous of ways. And You’ll get a laugh (and a shock) out of it too!

 There is also the case of what happens when you put primary school teachers together in a staffroom, with sugar. They get giddy. They make sexual jokes. And worst of all, they make bad puns. One mentioned an electrician. Another was surprised. then the first goes “I know, I was shocked too!” I sometimes wonder if they have a switch on the back of their heads that turns off their intelligence after class.

Now, I said not only American’s can be called stupid. But in fairness, I think they are the only country in the world that can give a woman the coloured vote and a coloured man the women’s vote. I’d like to see how that works!

English people can be quite stupid too, and the Irish. Anyone that speaks English basically. You wouldn’t believe the lack of punctuation, ability to spell and incredibly small control of the English language. I sometimes feel like slapping people for it. Sometimes I do.

I’m also amazed at how, in this day and age, people still can’t use a computer properly. One of the teachers I’m working with at the moment had to ask for help off another to save stuff onto her memory stick! It’s the most basic of things. And she’s not the only one. People in some of my classes are incapable of sending work to the right printer! This society needs to wake up and learn.

This may continue at a later date. Who knows, I may praise smart people next time!

Unstable – Extract 5

 Extract five takes places shortly after extract four. This is one of the longest scenes in the chapter, and the most violent to date. Hopefully that will spark a bit more interest than the other parts. Enjoy! 

Brock stepped from his car slowly. The man was in the diner, but he kept appearing in different corners of it. And every time he stopped somewhere he held his head as if in pain. The customers in the diner began to get worried. Many started to get up and Brock didn’t blame them. The man had no control. And from the looks of things, he was screaming in agony.

What is this?

He stepped into the diner cautiously, pushing past frightened people trying to get out. The man was at the counter now, blood on the surface, dripping from his nose. “Hello?” Brock called. The man turned around. His eyes were shaking with fright. “You came from the cells?” The crowd were looking at Brock is fear. “It’s okay. I’m here to help.” The man shook his head. “Can’t…” His voice was weak, like he hadn’t used it in a long time, save for his shouting. “Can’t help.” He appeared suddenly behind Brock. Then he was in front of him again. He collapsed onto the chair again. It was then Brock noticed a number on his chest.

“0179?” The man looked up. “That’s your number, isn’t it?” He nodded uncertainly. “What’s your real name?” Brock made a move towards 0179. “Well?”

“He doesn’t have one.” Brock spun around on the spot. A man in a black suit stood blocking the door. He was tall and wide, wearing a short bowler hat that cast a shadow over his face. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes. His shoes were gleaming in the dull lighting, as were his leather gloves. “Get out of the way.” The man’s voice was deep, almost inhuman.

“Who are you?” Brock exclaimed. He clenched his fists, raising his guard. The man smiled menacingly. That was the one part of his face that Brock could see – the jagged smile. “I won’t ask twice!” The man stepped forward, hand reaching into a pocket. Brock moved quickly, raising a hand. With a click of his fingers a small flame puffed into existence. “Don’t move!”

“Another mutant?” The smile turned into a savage grin. “You’ll have to come with me too, then.” The lights started flickering overhead. Glass were shaking violently until one finally crashed to the floor. Brock felt his footing loosen beneath him, as if there was an earthquake happening. He threw the flame from his fingers at the man; he moved swiftly to one side, the glass smashing behind him. “That’s naughty.” He stamped a foot, causing a massive rumble in ground. Brock stumbled backwards into 0179.

“Won’t go…” He vanished from behind Brock and found himself outside. He was running quickly, until he crashed into a convertible that pulled up in front of him. A young woman smiled from behind large sunglasses at him. “Help?”

“Name’s Emily,” she stated. “We have to save Brock.” 0179 shook his head. “Get in the car.” They sped towards the diner, the man in black stepping out in front of them. The car shook from side to side, the tyres unable to keep a hold on the road. A small flame struck the man in the back. He stumbled ever so slightly, making room for Brock to dash past. He leapt into the car beside Emily. “Take the wheel!” she shouted to him. Her foot was pressed down on the accelerator, but her hands were held tightly to the door and dashboard.

The man in black ran after them, the ground shaking worse than ever before. Above them windows were shattering. A rain of glass came down at them. 0179 screamed in fear, but Brock kept his eyes on the road, trying to steer the car from the passenger seat. The glass fell straight through them. Before 0179 could comprehend what had happened, they passed through a parked car. Emily struggled to keep her focus. Her nose was bleeding from the effort of holding the car in an intangible form. But then they were gone, and the man in black was left at the diner.

Unstable – Extract 4 (Emily)

 Extract four takes place shortly after extract three. We’re back with Emily here. Hope you like it. Make sure you pay special attention to the first paragraph. It’s a basis to what the story is like in the future.

Emily paced back and forth. They had received a report that a man had appeared out of nowhere in a diner nearby. He was wearing a hospital gown, shaking and muttering to himself. His nose was bleeding and his eyes were bloodshot. He seemed like a mad man. But Emily knew that while he was mad, he was for a reason.

He must have come from the cells.

Brock had gone out to examine the situation. Emily hoped he would be okay. If the man had just appeared in the diner, he might be dangerous. There was no telling who he might be, what he might be able to do to Brock.

“Emily!” It came from over the radio. “Emily, I’m at the diner. You’d better check this out. You won’t believe it.” The signal ended suddenly.

What now?

Me, my dad, his cousin… unfortunate friends

Weird title? Probably. But here’s why. See, I discovered recently, like today, that a person at the school I’m doing work experience at is in fact my second cousin. It came as quite shock, especially when I realised I didn’t quite know what that meant. So I checked Wikipedia, the source of all life’s answers.

This is the part that explains the title. My dad has a cousin. No big surprise. People over here bred like rabbits a few years ago (no points for guessing where I’m from.) But anyway, she had a son. So she’s my first cousin once removed, and he’s my dad’s cousin once removed. I finally understand that part now. It’s generations. So once removed is one generation, twice removed is two. But my dad’s first cousin once removed is then my second cousin. Same generation (though he’s a good few years older than me), but with a wide gap in the family tree between us.

I would like to make a family tree too, one day. But finding out all my dad’s uncles’ names seems a daunting task. There are simply too many of them. Okay six, but that’s only on the male side. And then I’d need cousin’s names, and their children’s names. Also, I don’t know how to spell my cousin’s girlfriend’s surname, as she’s from Thailand. But maybe it won’t be so hard. With computer’s nowadays, it could be finished quite quickly without all of those added details.

In fact, I’ll make it my new years resolution. Begin a family tree. The only problem then is my mother’s side. I know nothing about it but one great aunt’s name, and she’s passed away already.

 Still, it was interesting to find my second cousin. That’s two I know of now. Another is a musician, and a mad one at that. I don’t talk to him much. Or at all. I don’t think he realises we’re related in any way.

Now onto the second part of the title – unfortunate friends. My work mate, a lovely lady, recently lost her daughter. It came as a shock to everyone. Her picture is in the newspapers as well as a part from the mother’s prayer at the funeral. She died on December 23rd 2007. Anyone can agree it was a dreadful thing to happen. Especially if you know the family. They are the definition of a nice family. May their daughter and older sister (for the kids of course) rest in peace.

It seems to me, but not to them…

I’ve noticed a severe lack of intelligence in today’s society. I’m not going to go naming names like George W. Bush, but people seem to have serious problems doing anything with their brains these days. Now, I understand, a lot of people have enough brain power to let them support a conversation on topics as mundane as politics, but others seem to have only the wit to stay alive, but even our ancestors on this earth had that. The term for it is survival instinct.

 These people seem to have no idea how to stay alive, the right way however. I speak of course about the ever increasing number of obese individuals in this world. America has been noted to be getting wider and shorter (though I’m not quite sure where the shorter comes in), and it seems people misjudge their intellect (but who can blame them after the shocking reality revealed in Super-size me! – not only did it show fat Americans, but also stupid ones; I quote (to the best of my memory) “Where does KFC originate? / I don’t know. / And what does it stand for? / Kentucky Fried Chicken”; only a fool would not make that match.) However, this does not mean that all Americans are stupid. It was just a matter of the stupid ones getting in front of the camera.

I’m not going to tell you I’m thin and a genius. I’m not thin (I’ve got extra baggage, so what), and I wouldn’t class myself as a genius. Intelligent maybe, (modest too!) but not a genius. (Let the record state, I haven’t checked that.) But I do know that I’m smarter than normal people my age, at least at this time in my life. This evaluation of my peers is based on maturity and grades. They lack both for me to put myself on that level. Of course, there are plenty of people smarter than me. I won’t deny that. But the average person in my school seems to lack the average intelligence for their age. People three years younger than me last year (still three years younger than me, but the events I’m about to describe took place last year) thought that some of the words I commonly used were “big words”. They were not. Some they referenced were about seven letters long. These people were twelve/thirteen years old. When I was younger than them I learned to spell words like “polychromaticxenomorphological” and “pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis” (if I spelt that right there; my friend has since shortened it to P45, as he’s a medic and thinks it’s easier to say with a spoon in your mouth.) Personally I blame this post-MTV society we live in. I say post-MTV because no one watches MTV anymore.

This blog will be continued at a later date when I have refuled my insult cap. I hope you have enjoyed it so far.

Unstable – Extract 3 (0179)

 This next extract of the story, also from Chapter 1: Unstable, features a new character. The story will phase in and out like this often. So far in the story, this man has no name. However, previous evidence from the chapter suggests how he might find out. How you enjoy. 

0179. 0179. 0179. I am 0179. I am 0179.

He looked around the room again, eyes darting from side to side. His breathing was quick, he was shaking. The walls were made of steel. Supposedly he could do something. But he hadn’t shown anyone any evidence. The only thing that placed him in that room was a test result. He was… unstable. He was specimen 0179. He couldn’t remember his name. He couldn’t remember his life outside these fours walls, except that there had been one. He put his amnesia down to the drugs they gave him. The needle they stuck in him every three days.

I am 0179.

There was no door in the room, just one large observation window. It was supposed to be a mirror, but he had gotten close to it once and he’s seen straight through. They didn’t think he had seen them, but he had. He knew where he was. Or at least he had. Then they had drugged him. He was 0179. And he was stuck here. They had called him molecularly unstable. His old self might have interpreted that as being different. He knew it was just another way of saying he was guilty of being a mutant. A freak. An accident of nature. but that was why he was there. So that people could do what he could.

What can I do? I am 0179.

He peered through the mirror. A man in a white coat was looking at him and writing something down. A name was written on his coat. Horizon. The man thought that an odd name. A crackling came through the room. “Good evening, number 0179.” Them an threw his head from side to side. “It’s just an intercom, don’t you worry.” He looked at the man on the other side of the glass. He was speaking into a box on the wall. “Why don’t you show us what you can do? You’ve passed the tests. You are like the others. Now show us how.” The man was trying to be kind.

I am 0179. I cannot do anything.

“Come now, young man. I know you can do something.” 0179 shook his head. “I see.” The man looked at his watch. “Yes, it’s about time now. Get this door open. It’s time to administer the medication.” 0179 ran away from the glass. He knew what this meant. The drugs to make him forget. He didn’t like them. He clawed at the walls with her fingers, trying to get out. “Hold him still.” The man was in the room, a needle in hand. Two large men in white grabbed 0179’s arms. They forced him down. One pulled his sleeve up for the needle.

No, not again! Please!

0179 closed his eyes tight. He didn’t want the needle. He wanted to get out of this place. The doctor was getting close. The needle was nearly pressed against 0179’s arm. And then it made contact. It was cold, like he remembered. His eyes closed even tighter, and then he was gone. The needle penetrated air and the two large men fell into each other. 0179 was gone.

A kick in the pills

We’ve all had that moment in our lives. When everything seems to be against us. When we lose our friends and can’t do anything about it. When people don’t trust us. We feel lost, alone, afraid. A friend of mine calls this a kick in the pills (I don’t think that needs explaining.)

 I once had this feeling. I often do. The life of the teenager I guess. But sometimes, I think it’s supposed to happen. My firm belief in destiny I guess. A lot of the bad things that happened to me, the bad things I’ve done… I believe it all happened for a reason. If you’ve seen my other blogs, you know that I’m a pacifist and why I made the decision. You know how it worked out to basically save my life. I believe it’s all the work of destiny.

 But enough about that subject or now. A kick in the pills is a serious problem. My friend is being forced to move from his friends, the girl he loves (although she doesn’t know it). And it’s problems like this that we all experience in our lives at some time. I’m sure a lot of you know what’s it’s like to lose a loved one; whether they have passed on, moved on or moved away, we’ve all experienced it. It’s not nice.

I found that the best way to get over it sometimes is to look at the good things that come from it (but I’m not encouraging you to look at the plus side to someone dying). I got my best friends in the world by losing another. When I almost made up with him, I messed it up big time. It’s taught me a valuable lesson – I should sometimes ignore those voices in my head that I thought I had gotten rid of. The same ones that inspired violence in me not too long ago are the ones that are trying to take my life apart.

I’ve seen death, you see, in my head. My friends suffering. Dying. In pain. And then it comes to me. Sometimes I’m the one causing it. Others I’m the one in pain. It was a serious problem I faced. Then I just… let go. Let it all go. I knew it wouldn’t happen because it was all in the world of the extraordinary. And still I was curious.

And I think now is the time to harness these horrible visions into something productive. There’s always a reason for the things in my life. I guess this is one of them. A kick in the pills… not always what it seems then.

Unstable – Extract 2

As promised, here is the second extract.

“You get it?” Brock – Emily’s driver. “Did you get the disk Emily?” She nodded slowly, wiping her eyes softly with her fingers. “What’s wrong?” He didn’t turn to look at her; his eyes were trained on the road. They were alone, save for the streetlights rushing past them. “Talk to me!” he snapped.

“They saw my face, Brock. They know who I am. And what I can do. They’ll come looking for me. I’ll be on this list soon.” She flashed the disk in her hand. “What can we do against this thing?” He remained silent. They were getting close to their headquarters. “Look Brock, I know you believe that by getting this disk we can save those people, but we don’t know that. No one has ever gotten in or out of the cells.”

“No one’s ever stolen from Horizon either,” Brock noted. Emily smiled lightly. “It’s not hopeless, okay. There are people in those places that can do things like you and me. If we get them out we might be able to stop this whole thing. Who knows what they can do!”

“No one, Brock. That’s the scary thing.”

Welcome to the World of Emily Quigley

 Following a blog earlier today, I’m going to post my novel, piece by piece onto my blog. This first extract is from Chapter One: Unstable. I hope you enjoy it. 

 She ran through the darkness. Screams and shouts came from behind her, light flashing after her- torches. She was Emily Quigley. And she was a thief. In her hand was a disk she had stolen from the archives of Horizon Inc. It was a high priority company held strongly in the public eye. Except for their experiments. Emily considered herself their hero. She now had proof to run them to the ground – the names and locations of what could be hundreds of people. People called them mutants. They were molecularly unstable – that’s what Emily had been told. Or perhaps that was about her. Everything in Emily’s life was unstable. This was all she was good at.

The corridor in which she found herself reached a sudden end. There were two doors – one of each side. On the right, an simple and uninspiring office. On the left – the stairwell. She jutted to the left quickly, bursting through the doors. “Take the elevator!” a man yelled. Footsteps sounded away from Emily. She wasn’t concentrating on them anymore. She had to run. The doors burst open above her. She continued pacing down the stairs.

A gun shot echoed through the stairwell. Emily stopped on the spot, afraid to move. Her bronze hair covered her face, hiding her in the shadows. Only the torches could see her now. The footsteps continued down towards her. The doors at the end of the stairs opened quickly. A security guard rushed through, gun in hand. He aimed for her chest. “Hand over the disk!” he yelled. The other guards came to her back. Emily was trapped. “Hand it over!”

Emily let out a sigh. The guards flinched, expecting her to make a move. She flicked her hair away from her face, smiling at the man before her. “I can’t do that.” Before he could argue, she had passed through the floor. Molecularly unstable. A ghost. Free. The guards cursed loudly as they heard a car screech away outside. They had failed. Horizon now faced the threat of an angry mutant.  

Tomorrow, the next extract will be posted, also from Chapter One. The only thing you won’t know about this book is the title and the author. But don’t let that spoil it.