Category Archives: fiction

short stories and story ideas I have

snippet 2

It was midnight and Sophie was brushing her lush brown hair that she had just taken out of her beautiful bun and her eyes became heavy, ready for sleep, when she caught a glimpse of a little girl in a cobalt blue dress at the corner of her eye reflected in the mirror in front of her.

Sophie started for a moment and looked behind her, but the little girl had gone.  She shrugged this off as a sleepy hallucination and continued brushing her hair.

Crash went the vase at the other end of the bedroom, smashing into pieces on the floor making Sophia stand up in a start.

What on earth caused that?  She thought.  She started to become anxious, alone in the house with no children of her own and no pets for the cause.  She decided to get downstairs fast to phone her husband who was on his nightshift at Donaldi’s a restaurant in town.

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Snippet 2016 = 1

Relaxed, lounging on the cream velvet chaise lounge dressed in a gold silk dress she smoked from her cigarette extension listening to adagio for strings on full volume, watching the city below her closing down for the night.

Her man, not far from her was helping himself to another glass of whiskey quietly and thoughtfully.

Years has past she thought to herself, years they have seen mortals below them come and go in their petty little lives, lives that they needed and not any of them ever questioned how long they’ve stayed in the area and how they’ve never changed, not even a spot.

Funny creatures she thought to herself.

Such potential though, their talents are wasted on their greed and their dramas, if only they knew.

Finally she broke the silence.

“Are you hunting tonight darling”? She said to the man behind her.

“I hadn’t thought of it, why are you hungry then my dear”?  He enquired.

Now I understand that this snippet is full of adverbs and mistakes, but this is what I do when I am between writing actual stories.  I just sit and I write random stuff and the most frustrating thing is that on Facebook I have many friends who are writers and I ask them questions like “do you do this too”?  They never answer me.  So am I alone in how I write?  Or do all writers sit down with a plan?

Also understand that this is a first draft and is not part of a planned story, it was just something I wanted to get out of my head and I couldn’t go any further with.

 

 

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Cold Sands (introduction)

Windy, grey and cold was the weather that day, the cold wet sand beneath Rebecca’s bare feet felt oddly comforting to her. Trying to warm herself in vain with folded arms rubbing her shoulders, standing in nothing but a renaissance style under-dress, she watched the horizon intently as though focusing on something approaching, but there was nothing and nor was she really expecting there to be.
She could hear them coming behind her – her family and her maidservant, calling out to her to get inside and put some clothes on, as she might catch her death of cold; but she looked on and the nearer they got, the further towards the sea she walked as though hypnotized by some demonic siren.
Intrigued to find out what happens next? Like this post and if I get 10 likes by the 20th November I will make a story for you.
Thank you, enjoy!

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Karmic Angel

A man who was too free with his words once spoke unkindly to another, when the victim replied against him, the man asked “What have I ever done to you, for you to say that to me, you don’t know me”!

The stranger replied, “it’s not a matter of what you’ve done to me, it’s what you have done to others in the past, karma has a peculiar way don’t you think”?  The stranger smiled and wings appeared on his back as he walked away, the man too astonished to say anything else, thought about his words and realized that he speaks unkindly to others, and he doesn’t like it when the shoe is on the other foot and his angel taking pity on his bitter life, saved him that day.

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Creature 2006

I wrote the below piece in 2006, however the original piece was done within ninety minutes and was never revised despite me putting it up on the lulu.com marketplace.  Ironically it sold 9 copies, unfortunately that’s all it did sell in the whole seven years it was on site.

In my humble opinion this revised copy of the book is far better.

It is a little long for a blog post, nine pages of an A4 sheet of paper when this is printed to be precise.

You can probably guess what the creature is before the end, as I don’t exactly leave it a mystery, but I hope you enjoy it.

I wanted to publish the revised copy of this book on lulu.com but I have found they no longer accept books which are less than 32 pages, so I couldn’t.

There is a creature on this planet which reaps more than it sows and causes fear to all other animals, birds and fishes because collectively they are merciless.

This creature tries to override natural laws, embittering themselves whilst destroying everything else that stands in their way.

It pollutes its own habitat, making trees fall all around them rendering other animals homeless, helpless and lost. 

Everywhere this creature touches, becomes barren stony land, or so heavily polluted that it is spread thick with black goo called oil, the seas and oceans are turning black with the stuff they call “black gold”.

They consume both meat and vegetables, eggs and even fill their bodies with toxins and chemicals without a thought of what it might do to them.

They try to deny nature to touch them, living in stone boxes, avoiding feral behaviour, denying they’re an animal too, they try to outwit death and prolong their already long lives with unnatural means.

They fell massive forests; day after day after day, nothing is safe, thousands of miles a year doomed to become barren wastelands.

They don’t always do this for food and shelter alone, but for the sake of owning more than their companions, making things that are unneeded for natural survival and like termites they sweep across the Earth like a plague causing nothing but mayhem and destruction; though, they see it as construction.

They hunt other creatures on a mass scale, hundreds become extinct a decade because of this foul creature, bird, fish, insect, mammal, reptile, nothing is safe.  They hunt for food, clothing, trophies, decorations and fun, or simply because another creature seems to become successful too, this is not allowed, nor is another creature allowed to trespass on their lands.

This is not all, this terrible creature I am telling you about will also kill themselves, their loved ones, their neighbours and even strangers, whilst preaching about rights and equality and love.  Oh yes, this creature is definitely paradoxically hypercritical.

What do they do to each other I hear you ask?

Strangulation

Shooting

Stabbing

Boiling each other alive

Setting each other on fire

Blowing each other up

Battery

Smashing heads with blunt objects

Hanging

Asphyxiation

Biological warfare

War

Cutting heads off each other

Eye gouging

Gut slashing

Throat cutting

Drowning

Staking

Forced starvation

Some don’t care why they do it, they just like to do that sort of thing, and others claim they do it for noble reasons, whether it’s religion, revenge or controlling the masses.

This creature isn’t limited to where it goes and where it can live, they adapt unfortunately, to extreme climates, they are making technologies to make cities under the sea and oceans and to even venture to outer space.

This creature can move mountains, hills, rivers, lakes, build them too, but they’d rather destroy, they clear fields and meadows, basically bleed the earth dry of all its resources, nutrients and goodness, turning lands into polluted graveyards of a once evergreen world. 

This creature not only causes havoc with the living, but they also like to bother the dead as well, waking up spirits of their ancestors for conversations they call séances.

If vampires existed they would definitely hide in the shadows like the movies portray, because this creature will hunt it down and bring an extinction before you can say “oh my goodness, there’s a vampire in my street”.

Werewolves would think twice before they started to howl at the moon.

The poor loch ness monster hides for its life in fear of becoming the best trophy ever known to planet Earth!

The yeti and Sasquatch isolate themselves in snowy mountain tops simply to keep a peaceful life away from this horrible creature’s attention.

It is said that ancient gods even moved away from this creature to keep away from their vile creation, keeping their existence secret because they became slaves to the demands of their creatures, who corrupted, lied, cheated and used them for all but good.

Beautiful fur coats of the mink and other animals stripped off their flesh in a second because they’re beautiful; this creature wants to wear the fur on themselves, to imitate its beauty, rather than allowing the lovely creature to live and run around, so they can happily watch them.

This creature I am talking to you about, loves taking another creature as entertainment, making the little animals suffer with little tricks, being wrenched away from their families, castrated so they can’t breed, shoved into small cages, fed unnatural food, being pointed at and laughed at, controlled and humiliated day after day after day. 

Some are forced to fight each other, others turned into slaves.

Insects squashed for the sake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or being ugly… anything ugly in this world is anything dead or soon to be added to the extinction list!

This creature yearns to contact alien life forms, yet cannot tolerate each other in their own various colour formations, cultures, beliefs, languages and orientations. 

This creature is….

HUMANITY

 

This was based on my old views on humanity; I have become more tolerant of them over the years, particularly as we seem to be doing more for nature nowadays and we are progressing socially into a more tolerant species.

 

 

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Sorry Kithara

I’m having doubts that Kithara was a good idea, I’ve had doubts from the moment I clicked publish, actually.  I know what I want to write, but it feels familiar to me, like maybe it’s a rip off of something, there’s that nagging feeling.  I know no book is truly original work, it’s really hard to be 100% original, I understand that, I strive to be original and I feel like a cheat at times.

With the story Kithara, I also felt as though it started rather slap dashed and in a way it did, I wrote it and immediately published it on here, no edits.  A big mistake?

I think it was a big mistake, I was very eager in getting a short story started on here and I didn’t want to put any of my previous stories up because I wanted to save them for approaching actual publishers.  I’ve always been told I rush in where angels fear to tread, I am always rushing what I do and too eager to please everybody all of the time.  So, I got into a habit after reading “Stephen King On Writing” to write my stories and put them away for a few months then read them and edit them accordingly, but I guess I was too excited by this blog that I forgot my new rule.

I want to abandon this story and never do more to it personally; but I do too, because this has been idea that’s been floating around for nine years as an actual novel, I thought it would be a good idea to put it up as short story chunks online.  Although I want to stop this story right now and ignore it ever happened, maybe even delete it from site and start re-arranging it as a novel again. I feel I am ripping off my readers, though Kithara hasn’t had any comments or likes, so maybe it’s not something to worry about?

But worry I do, it’s my nature, that’s why I never get anything done.  I suppose, though everybody who knows me say they never see me resting, they never see me do absolutely nothing.  I am always writing or have my nose stuck in a book, gardening or cooking/baking, playing with my son, tidying up, and doing stuff for charity.

I feel like a secret procrastinator, I actually do very little, it’s just other people see me doing something all the time that they don’t see me for what I really am… lazy.

When I write it’s always as short as a poem each time, then I move onto another story or another poem or song, then I research a little, then I get up and tidy, then I bake a cake to avoid working more, then I go back to typing really slowly my stories, reading, re-reading, editing as I  go along, deleting a lot, and as I mentioned in other posts, burning a lot.

I think the only thing I do a lot is, post online, I do a lot of non-fiction posting of a lot of things in various places.  I’ve been told I should write non-fiction as I seem to do a lot of posts based on it, but I can’t do that, I did an Open University course in 2010 and I got very low scores because I can’t reference for the life of me, I know all these great things but forget where I learned it from and I forget to make the important notes, I make lots and lots of notes, but nothing important; so I gave up that course for a while, mainly because my son was starting to crawl and cause chaos.

The course was “Introducing the social sciences”, these days I am thinking about switching to literature or something, that should be easy because I am still signed up with the OU but as a non-participating student and it is an open degree, means I can shift around a bit.

I doubt Kithara will continue for several months actually.  I think any story posted up here will be a touch and go for finishing.  So please don’t get your hopes up with me, the worst thing anyone can do for me is to have any expectations of me, I always let people down.  Just sit back and hope you’ll actually read an ending some day.

Sorry xx

 

 

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The carnivorous guinea pig

A lot of writers over the years have got famous because their stories came to them through dreams; if this is the case then several of my dreams should have become stories at some point, however, last night’s dream I think would be a little too silly to write and publish!

My dream was about me looking at my guinea pigs and one of them (Autumn) became predatory and attacked me, finished me off completely, I was dead as a doornail as a result of a carnivorous guinea pig.  I guess that’s what happens when you’re dinner is a couple of hours late and gives you stomach ache just before you sleep?

Now this could make me famous I guess, for producing a weird comedy horror, but generally I don’t think people are into carnivorous cute little furies these days are they?

 

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robotic limbs

 I had an idea for a sci-fi but not sure where it would go.  The idea was based around humanity living in a worldwide single leader dictatorship with advanced medicine, the dictator wanted full control of its residences so he organised for everybody to have all their limbs removed and replaced with mechanical body parts, so if there were ever any trouble with an individual a law enforcer could use a special gun to point directly at the limbs to stop them from mobilizing at a distance, rending the person completely disabled.

But personally I don’t think I’m smart enough to write sci-fi so I think I’ll stick with fantasy and let this idea fall on the wayside.

If my son found out he’ll never let me live this down, I really should write this story for him because he is absolutely in love with the idea of robots and machines.

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Kithara (part 1)

Kithara knew this barren land like the back of her hand, it might seem like one endless desert to anybody else, but she knew every little thing about it; where to hunt for lizards, where to find grubs and underground water, and more importantly, how to tame the wildlife surrounding it.

When you looked closely at Kithara’s land, you’d notice it wasn’t as barren as you’d first think.  It was brimming with life and that life fed Kithara’s body, mind and soul.

Kithara was barely fourteen and running through the desert, hopping from rock to rock hunting with her cheetahs, she was very handy with a knife too.  She was the talk of her camp.

You see, Kithara didn’t have a village; she came from a nomadic tribe deep within the wastelands of Banouro, they’d travel the entire desert and occasionally would settle just outside big cities and citadels, the stretch they’d travel regularly was at least a thousand miles in diameter, yet nothing was new to Kithara in any place they’d stay.

One particularly afternoon after Kithara had gone fishing in the oasis she noticed a group of men on horseback all clothed in black and dark purple in thick layers from head to toe, some wore head wraps and others wore fur square hats and just one man chose to wear nothing atop his head, he was an unusual man, one of red hair, quite rare, especially in this country, he must have been a foreigner.  The other gentlemen he was with were semi-local, settlers from the edge of Banouro on the North to North West side.

She’d noticed that the strange men were lining up her tribes people, picking at them and pointing at them and rearranging them quite aggressively.

Then amongst the crowd, she saw her father, a big lump of a man, with a bald head, and large mouth and nose.  He must have been preparing to butcher some meat before the arrivals because he was wearing his leather sleeveless top and it was too clean for him to have been working on something.  Then he saw her mother being taken away with some other women and they were made to stand in a circle around three men and a very old woman dressed in purple and jewels that were looking at them.

Kithara didn’t know who these people were, but she could guess.  She had heard years before of people just like her tribe, people taken away from the barren lands and made to work, whole families forced apart, never to be seen again, or, until at least, they’d leave the workplace.

Suddenly, there was a commotion over by the female circle, Kithara had noticed her mother screaming, shouting, ranting and raving at the old lady.

The old lady looked at her mother in disgust, then did some motion with her hands and her mother was immediately pulled out of the circle and lined up next to other old people from her tribe, the old people were chained together to a carriage of horses, yet no one seemed to have tied her mother in the same way, instead, the red man was called over to seemingly talk to Kithara’s mother.

Kithara’s mother looked up at him doe eyed and silent, then forthwith he took his sword out of his left sheath and sliced her throat open right before her eyes, her mother fell immediately bleeding to death staining the red man’s felt shoes and soaking them through, replenishing the already red dye.

Find out another time what Kithara will do…

© Tina Cousins 2013

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