An open letter to a stranger

This is a bit long and contains some profanity. I implore you to read it though, it’s sincerely meant and for all to read.

Hey, how are you?

I’m writing from my desk when I could be, arguably, doing more important things. However, I believe that this may be one of the most crucial things I ever could do … writing this letter to you.

I remember becoming excruciatingly aware of the passage of time a couple of years ago but none has rivaled the year that was 2016. I could bitch about it to no end, about the mistakes I made and how increasingly small I feel in this yawning old world that knows how to squeeze happiness out of a soul as much as it knows how to inspire an all-consuming will to live simply by existing in all its majestic beauty.

Sounds really poetic, doesn’t it? You know, poetry isn’t all pretentiousness, not all the time anyway. It’s the insincere assholes with some underhand agenda and something to prove that spew nonsensical drivel, giving the rest of us a bad name.

What did you learn from the past year? Did you pet many dogs? Got braces?  Did you get that promotion you toiled after? Or did that jerk with the broad white smile grin his way into the spot?

I hope you quit smoking, if not I’m tempted to send you what a smoker’s internal body cavity looks like. Yeah, go on looking disgusted and fed up with the well-meaning but unsolicited advice. It’s just … I want you to know that somebody out there cares.

Look up

I’m sorry that your brother/sister/mother/father died. I mean, I wouldn’t have known them personally but that new absence is a black hole in the fabric of your reality and I know that shit isn’t light, yeah? I remember when my grandad died three years ago, at the viewing before we took his empty vessel to the burial ground to be cremated into the open air … one of my grand-uncles told me to be strong. What he meant was “don’t cry”.

What the actual fuck even? I’ll tell you what I did. I cried. I cried because I don’t flow with that stoic shit. Because my grandfather was one of the most important people in my life and I hardly knew him. Even when I’d lived with him up until that last day. I did know that alcoholism screwed up what could have been a more promising life past his post in the riot squad.

But that was sixty years ago. The man I knew suffered withdrawal from the bottle, pissed and full of vinegar one day, and peaceful and jovial the next. He evened out eventually, but then came the mild assault of Alzheimer’s and the more prevalent Parkinsons that got worse after his fall. I laugh a little because the man could still quote Shakespeare off his head. He was a decent human being that made mistakes and paid for them. We moved on and lived as best as we could, but looking back today it was a half-life and the waste was mine. It was all of ours.

So when I was told to be strong … Continue reading “An open letter to a stranger”

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The Little Fears get published!

The following is a reblog from Little Fears, a fellow WordPress site that’s guaranteed to make you snort hot beverages or simply laugh out loud. Without fail, there’s an amazingly creative illustrated pun every day brought to you by actual little fears like Spectre, Hydra, Yuffie, Serpent and the gang. Peter Edwards, the Illustrator, has a book in the works that’s full of January’s entries and I am so excited! Go on over there and see what the fuss is about.

You noticed the decrease in grammar and spelling mistakes right? We had an editor attack our tales. I have been asked on social media if I am going to release the Little Fears as an art book. Well, yes, I will. In a couple of months time I hope to release the Little Fears in full paperback form. But for that, good grief did I need an editor.

Slightly exciting in the mean time though, Little Fears – January. The collected Little Fears tales of the first 3 months. Currently on pre-order, available from the 22nd of March.

£2.99 for the UK on Amazon.co.uk

$3.65 for the USA on Amazon.com

I get about 70p per sale due to image size and bandwidth used on Amazons end. So if you fancy having us on your tablet or kindle, you can help fuel the illustrator on cups of tea.

If you want to wait for the paper edition, I can tell you it will be closer to £10 due to the colour images, and will be available in May.

If you just want to support the Little Fears, you can also head over to our Patreon page, where for as little as $1 a month you can contribute to Hydras food bill.

Thank you for being a wonderful audience and allowing me to indulge in my scribbles and stories on the internet.

Fiction: Silverlining

Via One HD Wallpaper
Via One HD Wallpaper

“Aren’t you pissed? I’d be seething,” Rooney asks with disbelief.

“I’m better off without him,” I say.

“No, no. That I get. But that you let the bastard go without a scratch … why are you laughing?”

“What gave you that idea? That he went scratch free?” I couldn’t help it, I laugh some more.

“Okay, I’m officially lost,” Rooney complains.

“So it occurred to me last night that my tears should be reserved for more important things – ”

“Like?”

“Supernatural for one, though I’m stuck at season six now. Anyway, look at it like this, she did me a favour.”

Rooney’s eyes lit up, understanding. “And who’s to say he won’t bail on the cougar?”

“Exactly. He’s weak and obviously strays easy, that’s punishment enough. Besides, I deserve better,” I tell her.

“What’s with the scratch thing?”

Continue reading “Fiction: Silverlining”

Snippet: Over chicken soup

Via All Of The Vegan Food (or is it?)
Via All Of The Vegan Food (or is it???)
The following is a snip from a short story I’m working on right now. I love it when kids are like best friends with their parents, usually I find that those cross out the unnecessary drama that depict cliched relationships. What do you think?

I slouched on the bean bag, my dress in a mess. I never slouch. I’m the chick that preaches “thou shalt not slouch” and I’m in a state where I don’t give two ducks, or geese which are actually more nasty.

“Look dad, this is going to sound all poetic and dangerously cheesy but here it is: when love is the religion, trust is king and truth is queen – or whatever – and together they make it work. You do want it to work, don’t you?”

He looked up at the ceiling, lips pursed. Then he smirked, looking a bit evil with eyes red and puffy from crying.

Continue reading “Snippet: Over chicken soup”

Frustration: a painting in words

Frustration is defined as the feeling of being upset or annoyed when unable to achieve or change something. It’s a kaleidoscope of mismatched emotions born of my own inability to change, to develop in order to achieve what I possibly can. Personally, it is for – the most part – a two-toned orange and black fighting for dominance and you know you’re down for the count when they beat each other to a nasty mud brown.

Frustration is sometimes like being thirsty. So thirsty and the thought strikes you that, yes, the Sahara had to have been an ocean ages ago. A tall glass of water sits before you. Your frustration can be defined by either not being able to reach it; or having it in your hands, the condensation dripping wetly down your knuckles but finding that you refuse to drink.

Often, no … many times, the orange wins and the black and mud would swirl down and away into the abyss of a sinkhole. And it’s fine for now.

Continue reading “Frustration: a painting in words”

empty (1)

there is a hole in my stomach

that I dig myself

with scooping hands

shaped with inattention

but I do this absently 

like snoring in sleep

i become aware of this

hollow alcove

when I plunge into waking

when my actions (or inactions)

catch up with me

and I feel in that hollow

a lacking within me

to which only I can or cannot fill

with decision

with conviction 

and with belief in none other

than myself

Coshed over with the fact, 

yet once again,

i am my own saviour 

and my own ruination

– devina s.