Tweet...tweet... I am ,,,07/05

Tweet...after a hiatus to recover myself from my personal issues, I am back. I had embarked on some short tales and working on one new tale on the Heroes Seven with some new characters. It's at 5,000 words and climbing with a target time frame of one month to complete.

It's has been a journey to write once more. I found my ideas moving in the head and then it fades just when I was to write....maybe two hundred words or less before I stopped. It was until recently with most of my personal issues resolved or placed in the sealed container, I embarked on a visit to my old site where I partake in short writings and some poetry and reading other writes and commenting on them ... and then I found myself back at it.

On the poems, I am no Yeats more of a romantic poet. I did write poems when in High School some decades ago, with three notebooks filled with the young stuff ( no sticky pages though ) and some rather poetic ones ( I wondered what inspired me to write those ). I found the old books in the drawers in the cupboard marked 'not be open'. I had some time so I began reading. It was a laugh to see how I was thinking then; the days when I was 'Romeo' among the girls but little did I knew then, Romeo died in the end.

Well, the Romeo in me is dead now while I am still here, minus the strength to pursue any new ladies into my life. The other day, I was looking (a selective word here ) at a lady half my age; good looking and sexy ( they all are at that age ) when she caught me staring. She looked at me with the 'why are you staring?' expression. I approached and then explained to her.

"Pardon me, you are good looking. I am not looking for a mate but more of a suitable daughter in law. You should meet my son." Well, she did not slap me then but smiled. I have to be honest, in my current package, I am passed the era of being Romeo. Her companion looks good too; must be the mother.

Back to reality, a more easy life would be my current mood. And writing stuff added to the fun.

Cheers

Dark Tales 4 : Imogen the Director

As the film starts to roll, the camera pans around a dimly lit cellar, before finally coming to rest on the figure of a man, visible only from the chest down. Slowly, he begins to walk across the floor towards a dark but otherwise indefinable shape in the centre of the room. He stops, and the click of a switch is followed instantly by two bright spotlights illuminating the central floor space. It is at this moment that the nature of this dark form is revealed to be a young woman sitting on an upright chair. But it is obvious immediately that she is not here by choice. For it is clear, from the taut coils of rope that encircle her body and legs, that she is tightly bound.  

The camera zooms in slowly, to reveal that she is wearing a snugly fitting t-shirt, originally white but now stained and dirty. The only other visible item of clothing is a pair of black tights. She is shoeless.  Zooming in closer still, the camera alights on her legs, showing that she is bound with ropes at the ankles and knees. The white ropes contrast starkly with the tights, which are now shown to have several ladders on both the calves and thighs. A hole, around an inch and a half in diameter, is also visible on the left leg just above the knee, revealing a patch of lilywhite skin beneath. Her ankles are held by some restraining force underneath the chair, which, as the camera now swoops around to the side, is shown to be another length of rope that pulls her feet up under the seat, and is then attached to the upright chair’s back. She is therefore unable to touch the ground with even the tips of her toes. As the camera circles her, it can be seen that her arms are not only lashed with more ropes to the wooden structure, but also that her wrists are adorned by a pair of steel handcuffs.

With this cinematic circuit of the helpless woman drawing to a close, the camera comes around to focus on her torso, which reveals that the ropes holding her arms in check are part of a stringently tied latticework of cords that dig deeply into the t-shirt and her flesh beneath, criss-crossing her breasts and highlighting her trim young figure.  Below this, the rope coils around and bites into her waist, mooring her in position. 

Suddenly, the camera redirects its attention to her head, which has been covered with what looks like a loosely fitting canvas bag. From beneath, strands of unkempt blonde hair can be observed around her shoulders. 

The man, having for the past few minutes been out of shot, steps forward now and loosens the drawstrings of the bag and slowly lifts the makeshift hood away from her head.  The woman is shown to be young – probably in her early twenties. She squints and blinks in the bright and unfamiliar light, then after a few seconds looks up wide-eyed at the man, at the same time uttering a stifled low whimpering sound, and it is evident that the lower half of her face, and indeed her head, is wrapped in grey tape which has bonded to her skin.  After only a few seconds, however, the man can be seen to pick at the end of the tape and then gradually begin to unravel it. Once several circuits have been stripped away, the removal of the final layer causes her to wince, and as the last inches of tape are ripped from her flesh, a muffled groan issues from her mouth. The tape, it is now clear, was not the only component used in the gagging process, for as soon it has it been stripped away, she is seen to attempt to spit out a large wedge of what looks like towelling material from behind her teeth. She has some difficulty extricating this obstruction with just her tongue however, and the man obliges by helping to ease it out. For several seconds, she gasps in deep lungsful of air, then opens and closes her mouth several times, gingerly exercising her jaw.

After a  short pause, the man, whose face has still not been revealed to camera, holds a bottle of mineral water up to the woman’s lips. She takes two or three large gulps, as if it’s been quite some time since she last quenched her thirst. But then, just as she is about to drink again, the bottle is removed. She gazes up at him for a second or two, then, as if given some off-screen cue, looks into the camera for the first time.  In a croaky voice that hasn’t seen service for some time, she begins to speak.

“Hi Mum and Dad, I bet you were wondering why I haven’t been in contact recently. Well now you can see that I’m not exactly in any position to do very much at all at the moment.  I was advised to say something about being a bit tied up lately, but that would sound slightly crass, wouldn’t it?”

The briefest hint of a smile creases the corner of her mouth, but it is a smile born out of irony rather than joy.

“Anyway, I expect you’re curious to know how I came to be in this state...”

At this precise moment, she thrusts herself as far forward as the bonds around her upper torso will allow, as if to highlight exactly what she is referring to by ‘this state’.

“...well the people who are holding me have been good enough to allow me to share with you the circumstances that got me into this predicament, just so long as I don’t give away any names and locations.”

She throws her head back momentarily and takes a deep breath, then with what looks like tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, she continues.

“So, here’s how it happened...”

"Cut!”I roar my voice into the movie set. “This is a farce...”

“Imogen, that scene was ....” I looked towards the lady who intervened into my decision.

“Emily, I don’t care if that scene could win her the Academy but on my set, I am the Director and its my call for the best takes. You may either shut the fuck up or take your star with you to another movie set.”

No one argues with Imogen the Director. Few have tried to the perils of their movie career, and one even commited suicide on my refusal to have him on my set. I turn to look at the named starlet.

“Call off your pooch, and come with me to my cabin, Ms Starling. You need some personal coaching in the art of acting. And no fucking delays or you can stay outside of my sight forever.” I turn to walk towards my cabin while the crews untie the lady from her restraints. I hired the best in the bondage on my set or I will walk. I am Imogen the Director and most producers will go on their knees for me to direct their movies. I got the wall in my office lined up with the array of awards that most others would pay millions to lick at the pieces.

My cabin was not huge like the stars but it did occupied three parking spaces for my needed privacy. I have my faithful hound guarding the area; the bitch does not take kindly to strangers or uninvited guests. I stop at the cabin door just when the bitch growl at the other bitch who was following up at my heels.

“Its okay, Bitch. She is mine.” I told the hound. Lovely creature and companion. They don’t talk back and listen well. I ursher my star into my cabin. It was not much to roar on; I am a minimalist in the taste. I have my bed, couch and dining table with the seating for two, and the smaller kitchen but the walls were lined up with my past achievements.

I grab the dining chair to the center of the cabin. I sat on it.

“Bind me up!”

The slap came hard across my face. I felt the sting in the hand.

“Shut up, bitch!” I heed my mistress then. She was standing there with her legs spread held back by the width of her stand. I could see the early tear on the tight had widen with the shreds handing loose. She had put on her stiletto and stood over me like the damned Queen of the Amazon.

“Out there , you are the fucking Director but in here, you are my bitch.” She gave me another slap in the face. Then her gaze went to my crotch and she reached for it. She placed her right index finger there and pressed down.

“You are getting all hard down there. Well, bitch. I am not amused at that. I am here to tell you that you suck at the scene. You do not shout cut when I am doing my best acting. You keep quiet and filmed on.”

“I...” My reply was met with a hard slap on my face, and then the fist that went down hard on my crotch. I slammed my legs shut to ease the pain there. She grabbed my knees and pried them open.

“I am the Director here now. Yoiu do not close your legs. You let them stay open.” My mistress then yanked my head towards her face. “You are my bitxh. You do as I say.”

I nodded. And then she licked her lips over my nose towards my eyes and then my ears.

“Are you perspiring in fear?” I could only nodded then. I feared my mistress when she is angry.

“I think you need to be loved.” My mistress stood up and then turned her back towards me. She pulled the tights down and showed me the G-string she wore. She then sat down on my lap and slowly gyrate her hips over me. I wanted to sit back but the chair was hard on my spine. She spread her legs and leaned down onto my chest.

“Feel me, bitch.” I could not control my hands. They were not mine anymore when the fingers moved towards her hips, and then stepped over as if I was crawling on my front to reach in between her legs. I was no more Imogen the Director. I was Imogen the Bitch.

My mistress moaned and called out names which I had no reference to. She did not have to move for it was my fingers who were doing the works there. My nails scrapped her flesh and drew out the secretions from her; trailing onto my fingers with the sounds that even my hound outside joined in unison with the howls. She then closed her legs togerher trapping my fingers and then slammed the back of her head hit my face I could taste the blood in my mouth but I was more into sniffing her hair at my nose. I smell every strand of her hair and it was my turn.

I could not stop it then. I came and it was huge. I was all wet.

“Was it good, bmy mistress?” I asked.

“Can we freshen up? We got a movie to complete.” I nodded. She was my favourite and half my awards was from her acting. “I am more into the role now. Is it shot 49 next or 50?”

“50, my mistres.” I do not need fifty shots to complete the scene, but it was worth the time and film. After all, I am Imogen the Director and nothing is complete unless its perfect. Just like my love for my mistress, its always perfect in every scene.

I love my works and actors, and above all, my mistress. She is a real bitch.

Dark Tales 3: Yes, you bastard

I am coming in.

Hold on will ya. The body had one too many drinks and its not easy to walk with the stiletto I had on. I left the window opened. I guess it was always open. You love it that way; our expression of love to the world. Who cares what they see, or understand of it. We were lovers. You and me. Only us like the first time we make love.

Yes, you bastard. It was the shade you loved; dark crimson like the virgin blood I once shed for you. Even my shade for the night was the same dress I wore then; the tight dress down to the stockings .... You knew I don’t have anything underneath. You knew then or you won’t have rushed me. You loved the easy slides, and the shoes were the right height. Evenn my lipstick was the same shade to leave marks on you.

Yes, you bastard. Its all memory to you now. My lipsticks are all smudged onto some other places I cared not. I cared not who raise my hem or slammed me to the wall. I am not yours anymore. I did not leave you but you left me. You left me like the slut I was. Or was I your slut.

Yes, you bastard. I cared not who they were. I am just another body with them while my soul remained here in this room. Your slut is back in our very own suite with the huge bed and the stacks of pillows. You loved it when they are stacked below. I was ever willing for you even though you were selfish. All you cared on was yourself. You cared not to see me cry out in pain or pleasure.

Yes, you bastard. I am in love with you. And you left me with the exit wounds while death took you on. Fuck you... Yes, we did. That was always in you for me. Sorry, darling, I did not mean to say those sad words, but I am sad now. I am without you. Since you left, I had no one to love. I have my lovers but they were never meant to stay. They were there to soothe my wounds. The wounds you inflicted on me.

Yes, you bastard. I hated you. Fuck yourself. Here is my shoe. Do it up to your own. Feel the pain yourself. Feel the hardness and point. Slammed it hard and cared not for the pain. Yes, release yourself onto it. Yes, my love. That was how I felt then and now, I felt you once more. Come in deep, my love. I can take it all for you. Only for you.

Yes, bastard. I am lonely. That was our bed, and now it's without your warmth. I need you back. I can bleed for you but only you can stop the bleeding from my heart. I am a broken doll and needed your care. Please come back. I know you would if you want.

Yes, you bastard. Do you? Have we ever been apart before? I think we have never been apart. Not a single night since we met. Not a single day have I not longed for you. Not a single kiss have I missed from you. Not a single fuck have I missed of you. But you had to leave me.

Why? Was death your way to say goodbye?

Well, to each their own ways. I will see you soon. The jump will be on now.

"Adapted from the lyrics of the song Exit Wounds by the group named Placebo. "

Dark Tales 2: Beat the Devil

Adapted from the short movie; Beat the Devil by Tony Scott.



1.

“You have a smoke” My hands were on the steering wheel; firm handling of the Ford Mustang 1962. She was the first few to rollout from the production line. The two doors coupe handles well in all road condition, and despite its age, it could outrun many current models.

“Ford Mustang? I have not ridden in one for years. Kinda old to be on the road huh?” The passenger of mine won’t stop talking. He was at it since I picked him up on the corner street at four in the morning hours. He was a unique one; dressed in the turquoise jacket with those bottom flared pants and platform shoes. He had the hairstyle when the hippies went older and the disco stepped in.

“Not one to speak on, huh?” The man won’t stop talking then. “I know you are only a driver but I am feeling lonely. You could offer me a smoke, or stop by the shop there. I could get a pack there. You do puff?’

“Pardon me asking, do you like girls?” Man, the passenger was irritating me then asking me personal questions. “Not in, huh. You don’t know what you are missing.”

“My stopover…. Oops, you missed it.” I did turn the corner and it was not to avoid the stop but there was the car following mine for over two blocks and at four in the morning, they are either the cops or some loony drivers. I accepted the second for they also are armed and shoot before asking questions.
My passenger took notice when he turned around to look.

“Argh…. Told them I was not interested in the gig. Why can’t they just accept my answer?” I ignored the passenger for I was pressing the Mustang forward. The German V4 engine took over and we were doing the straights to the corners leaving skid marks on the road but the darned pursuing vehicle was keeping pace. I took a glance at it; the Italian model. They make good cars too; the BMW 7 series kept its distance.

“Driver, you have a piece?” I don’ carry one. Never felt the need for one. I have my Mustang but the BMW caught up. It kept paced at my rear with a few bumps on the fender. Darn, I just polished that part. We soon picked up another tail; the patrol car saw our tit for tat on the road and took offence. The patrol car tailed us making us into a threesome. I took the lead and drove towards an open yard where we could clear out our preferences. I reckoned we have three minutes to spare before we attracted the other patrol cars into a wild orgy of metal and dust plus wrecks. I turned the car into a tight u-turn and then faced the others. The BMW stopped before the Mustang while the patrol car took the position adjacent to us. Maybe that patrol car was a voyeur to our mating but I gunned the pedal down and turned towards the patrol car. The BMW did the same. It was a sandwich move and the patrol car reversed but it was too late. The BMW slammed into the patrol car but I was a deceiver at times. I swerve at the last moment and avoided another dent into the Mustang. I drove on and was soon out of the yard. I hit the road once more and took my way once more.

“Driver, we have the BMW on our tail.” That was not expected but I have to do more driving. I drove on with more turns and straights but no patrol cars caught onto us then. I came to a straight and hit the brakes with the wheel turning, I righted the Mustang facing the BMW. The other was not expecting my move and swerved to avoid mine. It hit the side walk and then went sideways towards the wall, and ended up in the flower shop.

“Driver, you are fabulous. Do you do this often?” I pressed the pedal to bring the Mustang towards our destination; Hotel Requiem. It was not an outstanding building among the more recognizable names beside it. The hotel was sledged in between two of those and no one ever noticed it, unless you are going to stay there.

“Hotel Requiem. Ever the magnificent tower hidden by the hills of metal structures.” My passenger looked out of the window of the Mustang. “She is like the old creations of mine. The lyrics kick out its own meaning unlike those new head bangers.”

“Driver, your fare is in my room. Care to wait?” I don’t wait for my fare. I collect them when its due. I stopped the engine and stepped out. I saw the BMW parked half a block away. It’s dented but still purring. It’s not your everyday car.

“You are following me? I do appreciate it. I never trusted my manager with my monies unless it’s in my bank.” The passenger stepped out of the Mustang and approached the hotel doorway. It was a tall double wooden door that resembled the doorway for a castle. There was a figure seated there with the head drooped. When we reached the doorway, the seated figure pointed to the door.

“I take it we can go in.” My passenger spoke to me before turning towards the seated figure. “Thanks, Jarvis. You still look good.”

It was then I saw the BMW revved past behind me.



2.

We were to step in when another figure stormed out. It was a familiar face. Marilyn Manson; dressed up or rather undressed with the unbuttoned shirt and long coat. He stepped up to Jarvis and rant on.

“How can anyone rest here?” The singer stared at the reclining hairline on Jarvis with his left hand holding then the Good Book. “Creep down the hall, complaining about the noise. I was not practicing then. I was reading. And your Management told me keep it down. How could I? I was reading to sleep.”

“I doubt he could help.” My passenger had to do the good things also by the good book.

“Who ask you?” Marilyn sneered at my passenger. “Are you here for your refund? Take a number and wait. He ain’t answering any calls.”

I pulled my passenger into the hotel before he lands on the flooring with a bloodied nose. And me without my fare. We stepped past the double door and was into the huge lobby with the dome ceiling painted with the mural of the fallen angels. In the center of the lobby beneath the mural was the long white marble table manned by the figure there. He looked like Jarvis: perhaps they were twins.

“Mr. Brown. We missed you.” The other Jarvis looked at my passenger with the sneering smile. “And you brought a fri….”

Jarvis the receptionist was stunned when he saw me. I have to admit that I do have an impressive figure and dressed in the corduroy jacket over my round neck shirt and jeans tucked into the knee high boots; I looked like a younger version of John Rambo.

“I did …” I stopped Jarvis there.

“Do inform your Management that Mr. Brown is here.” I pulled my passenger towards the caged lift that opened there behind the long table. I selected the number thirteen then on the panel and the door closed. The lift shot up the levels and we saw the different scenes of unspeakable actions on each level. The only thing that was similar on each level was the twilight lighting and the silent screams.

“I will be honest.” The passenger spoke then. “Each time I take this ride, I feel naked and yet unfearful. Am I normal? Like a sane person or insane. It ain’t easy to be James Brown and scare kids.”

I was to reply but then the door of the caged lift opened. And another figure stood after it.

“It ain’t easy to be James Brown and scare kids. That may be true but Hell, you scare me and I am the prince of darkness.” The figure that claimed to be the prince of darkness held out his arms towards us. My passenger reached for it but the prince was offering to me.

“Brother, welcome to my …. realm. It’s been ages since we last spoke.” I disliked to see him but he is still my brother; bound by our souls and yet we fought each other in a war that was not of our doing.

“Lucifer…” I found my voice to greet him.

“Yes, my rightful name. I do adore that name but the others had branded me as …. you know them. Satanic was their choice. Devilish was more of ….. you may not appreciate that fleshy indulgence.” Lucifer smiled and offered us into his parlour.

Lucifer had unique taste far from my minimalistic approach. His parlour was alike to a fourteenth century Parisian decors for the walls and the furniture was Asian in design with the huge plasma television; that was awful in taste. He saw my distaste of his choices.

“Pardon me, Michael.” Lucifer revealed my identity then.

“Michael…. Is he who I think he ….He is.” The passenger of mine was gasping for words. “What the Hell? Pardon the outburst.”

“Without much ado. Mr Brown, I believed you came to see on some matter. Do state your piece and then be gone.” Lucifer looked at my passenger. “I do have a long conversation with a long lost brother.”

“Well, I came here to …. remove the gift you gave me years ago.” I shall have my passenger speak then. After all, I did pick him up as my passenger intentionally. He was my first that brought me the invite to the hotel and to see Lucifer. I knew of the hotel but we have a rule; we do not intrude without an invitation. My passenger gave me the invitation. I was drawn to him by fate or was it by random choice and when he mentioned Hotel Requiem I was delighted. Then he said his fare was to be collected and the invite was complete.

“Gift? I bestowed you no gift. I only opened your mind. I gave you the courage to be who you are.” Lucifer revealed then. “Maybe not the part of scaring the kids. That was your own doing.”

“Okay that’s done. Shoo off. I got some family matters to settle.” Lucifer looked at me. “Michael, shall we have a drink now?”

“No, Lucifer. I just came to collect my fare.” I looked at the other in the eyes. “It will be one damned soul that I will remove from your darkness. My passenger here now is the first.”

“I cannot believe my ears. And I don’t have my pointy ones.” Lucifer looked at me. “You spent eons waiting for an invite to come in and when you had, you took that as your intention to take those lost souls. Why, Michael? I would have given them to you if you only asked.”

“Spare me your words, brother. You never give anything away. You trade them like sunsets and sunrises. I have dealt the first trade. Mr. Brown is no more your passenger but mine. He will be free of your influences from now.”

Lucifer laughed and then he said to me.

“Michael, you have bested me once more after that last war. You may have Mr. Brown but the others may not be that easy to trade. You can beat the Devil…. once but not every time.”

I did not reply to him. I took my passenger to my car and drove off. It’s my aim to drive those lost souls back to the real realm.

“Driver…. I mean Mr. Michael…. I took the hotel register. Maybe it will help you to …. you know I am no angel myself.” Mr. Brown left the register in the Mustang and since then I have been driving more to the hotel.

Tweet...Tweet... 15/04 I trying to come back

I took a short break from the working environment. got more UV lights on the skin, lavished on poor diet and wondered why I could not sleep ( I left my notebook at home which I surf on the internet for the wrong stuff ), and only had my other notebook which I cannot surf for its shared with my wife. You can label that as PG or in my own terms PD which stands for you P... Denied.

I was more like in the recovery room of the facility.

And while there I revisited an old site where I used to dabble in the writing there, read other people's tales, commenting and other stuff. I needed the pick up from there. I skipped the ADULT pages despite the Inner Demons of mine poking me with the trident up my butt. I told the Inner Demon, you may be a pain on the butt but my wife could be worse and not only Butts.

I guess it worked for I wrote a short tale for one of the contests there.

I will categorise it as Dark Tales Collection. Kinda reflective of my mood....hahaha

Please read it and enjoy. I do appreciate any constructive comments

Yes, my dear. The influences were from iZOMBIES, Z Nation, Walking Dead, And more of others courtesy of NETFLIX.

Cheers

Dark Tales 1: Hello Joey

 I could not help it but stared at the image outside the window. I guess, after a a year of resisting and killing them zombies, you would be immune to their looks . I had done it all; shot and sliced off their limbs before I removed the head. The removal of the head was the to make sure they stayed dead. Uncle Jake missed that part and ended up being one but I did him the final roll with his head. Well, back to the image there, it was a boy I would guessed in his early years, and probably got lost and then bitten to become a zombie. He stood there and stared at me. A silly notion came to me then, and it was then I pulled up a chair to the window and grabbed my can of home brewed drink of corn and whatever I could rummage from the ground. It tasted like nothing I have ever tasted but it gave me great feelings soon after I drank it.

“Hello.” I had my legs stretched out and onto the window will; leaned back on the chair and held my drink in the left hand. I would had use my right hand but its was missing some fingers then.

“You new? I have not seen you around. Are you looking for your folks?” I was being nice then; with my smile and generous look.

“I could offer you a drink but I am rather low on the supply. So pardon me, if I do the drinking and perhaps you could tell me more of yourself. You know make some noises will do.” I ain’t stupid. I knew zombies can’t talk with their brain dead; but they could moan and groaned. Not that I fancy theirs but after being left alone for that long, any resemblance of the words were refreshing.

“Oops! I may had killed your parents. I mean you are around and they probably are. If they were, I would had killed them for I held a rule here. No adult zombie allowed on my property. You could try to search for them at the mound over yonder. There I buried most of them, including Uncle Jake too.” I could had sworn then I saw tears in the boy’s eyes.

“Now hold on to your emotions, boy. I said I would had killed them or maybe they went to the other place. Lady Jane there kill anyone including me if she could find me on her property. Maybe they are there and you are in the wrong place.” I pacified the poor boy.

“Tough times, huh?” I lowered my legs and then took a sip of my potent drink. “I was the lucky one I guessed. I survived that long. We were once a huge family; pa, ma, uncle Jake and aunt Mary, and there were the three brats named Joey, Bart and Ted. They are all dead like you. I shot them all.”

“Hey, you looked lile Joey. Are you Joey? I think you looked like him last Spring.” I leaned over to the window and stared hard at the face. “Yes, you are Joey. Well, hello. I did not see you last round. When did you come back? Was it Winter or Summer?”

“Have you seen the others, Joey?” I had to ask then. I was being a good girl.

“Mary Lou, are you off your bonkers again?” I sat back on hearing that call. It was my parrot pet, Tell Me. I trained it to talk to me and it did was said those words. I had one look at Joey again.

“I guess class is over, Joey. I love you. I will see you when I come to class next time.” I got off the chair and walked to the kitchen to pour another drink. I heard my parrot calling out again but that I ignored it. I just want to go back to my cooking. I dug up a heap of them growth from the mound earlier, and they are brewing just fine on the slow fire. I have my works planned daily and that includes talking to Joey by the window or Bart by the fire place, and I threw Ted into the mou d. He was a pest. The talking to my cousins kept me sane here in this lonely place.

I walked up to my pet parrot and then reached for the button to rewind the recording. It was recorded by my Mum for me  

Tweet/..tweet.... My last completed tales since October 2018

As the title said it, it was my last completed tale.... and since then I have not written a word. I have some uncompleted tales which I have yet to embark on....been pushing them off and using my time to do other stuff. Even my daydreams are short and without any reading ideas...

Well, you could say I am having a mental block but actually, it was the works at my new office after so-named retirement.... and some lapses of PMS or was it Masculine Declined Syndrome.... just tired and lack of focus on the writing. When you reached the mid way point of life time frame, other factors stepped in to interrupt the once held strengths. Yes, I am popping more supplements than before and it ain't 'blue' in the shade, but it fought the blues off the moods.

As it was coming to Chinese New Year ( I think its the boar figurine this round... ) I had strengthened myself up to complete a personal project.... tale of my grandfather who sailed the seas from China to South East Asia and did his part for the family from WWII to the Independence of the country. I have in me his memories and some handed down events of his life, which I promised myself to pen for the new generations to read.... my kids in particular... and remember the man then. It will be a blend of facts, fiction and fun....He was no good .two shoes man, and had his own ventures then..

And I will embark on my once self taught skills as a sketch artist to pencil his image for the readers. I had not sketch for over thirty years now though I have seen the skills in my daughter who is an illustrator/ designer now. I can still do it.... I did  a fair and sexy figurine of Snow White...had it in my favorite folder for my night purview.... The dwarfs? Narry a taught for them... as I was Prince Charming then.

Guess what White uttered when she saw me.

"Sure don't look like them seven ......"

And I made a promise to complete my unfinished tales....which I would soon. That is my aspiration in 2019 to return here as the blogger. And with more tales. But till then, I would like to thank all of you for coming by and spend some reading times here.

Cheers

Team of Seven Heroes Short Tales 5 Chapter 9 Finale

9.

Holmes woke up to the surrounding faces loomed over him. He looked down his body and saw the hospital gown and the grim looking Doctor Watson at the end of the bedding. He saw to his right was Inspector Lestrade with one other officer that he had not met. On the left of his bedding was his brother Mycroft Holmes with the ‘what did you get yourself in’ expression on the face.

“We found you at the cliff asleep like this. You been asleep for over three days now.” Watson spoke up from the end of the bedding in his stern voice. “We have examined you and you are healthy.”

“What did happen there?” Lestrade asked. “I woke up and everybody was gone. Missing to be exact. I woke up Watson and we explored. There was nobody in the village, only remains of their dressing on the roads and the shops. We went down to the Station and saw the same. Even the boats were in the docks. And you were missing.”

“I had the Inspector called for assistance and explored the village once more. You were missing so I searched for you. At the Inn, at the tavern, and even to every single shop. You were not there. It was noon when the other constables arrived and we widen the search. You were discovered late afternoon on the grass fast asleep. We brought you back and could not revive you. I had you sent to the nearest county hospital and contacted Mycroft. Your next of kin.”

“Old boy. You scared me out of my wits. I reached here the next morning and since then, seated here looking at you sleep. Are you well, Sherly?”

“I couldn’t be better. Darn good rest I had. So, tell me what happened at the village? Did we find Leroy?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, we did. He just needed some rest and food. We also found some missing persons from the last months to the year. 

Those were also resting but they needed more care. We found them ….. malnourished as expected in this cold weather and being exposed out there. No signs of hypothermia though which surprised me.” Watson replied.

“However, the locals are all missing. Brady, Murray and even Clayton. All had disappeared in turn.” Watson looked at Holmes. “Do you know why?”

Holmes leaned back on his bedding and thought hard. He has a tale but it will be unbelievable one. He has to be careful then with his words or he will be considered as a lunatic or worse, a rambling fool. He looked at the faces looking at him.

“Who may I ask are you?” Sherlock looked at the one he did not seen before.

“Matthew Benner. I am from London and just arrived this morning. Sir Fleming sent me.” The one who spoke was a average height figure with the round rimmed glasses perched on the nose bridge, and he looked to be in his thirties with the broad shoulders. He may be trying to hide his real personality which showed him to be a soldier. Those visible signs were the way he stood and the regiment ring on his left ring finger.

“I am from the Department of Science. We are to understand the situation here.”

“There is none to understand, Mr. Benner. They may have all left. As for me, I did take the night walk alone and fell asleep there.” Sherlock replied and then remained elusive on any line of questions. It was the next morning, he took the carriage to the village. He visited the Red Mane, and looked at the frames.

“I hope you have fully recovered, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock turned to look at the man who spoke to him. It was Mr. Benner.

“I did and thank you. Tell me Mr, Benner, did Blip leave the place?”

“Yes, Blip left. The cavern had been …. destroyed and the entrances covered. The village is all that is left.” Mr. Benner asked. “Why did you ask?”

“If Blip left, why are you still here?” Sherlock asked. “Your picture is still there.”

“Some stayed back. We are used to life here, and more to it, we need to preserve our existence here. For anyway.” Mr. Benner replied. “It was us who told Clayton to surface the jacket. We wanted you to examine more of the evidence but you chose to ignore it. We saw you going to the hut. We had the old fool there gave his visions to draw you away but again, you ignore it.”

“I saw you that morning on the far side of the grassland. You were following us. I recalled your face in the frames here but you were not in the cavern.” Sherlock looked at Mr. Benner.

“Blip is an integrated community that made up the blob you saw. When we arrived here, we assimilated into your kind and found something unique. It was named individuality. We …. Some of us learned it, and Blip as a whole discarded us. We were banished to the interior but we are still Blip. We did not go far but maintained our presence near. Blip have wanted to leave earlier but the craft was without the means to leave then. It needed time to rejuvenate. The means to do so was….”

“The blood in our body. You needed our blood to rejuvenate.” Sherlock glared at Mr. Benner. “You took our blood and then left us to make more. Over the years, it sapped their strength to make new ones. Blip then took on the new bodies. But what happened to the women here?”

“They were the initial batches and we held them as captives. They all dwindled and we had to move to the men.” Mr. Benner looked to the frames. “There are no women here. We were all that was left.”

“What about the tattoos? Why were there none on some?”

“The tattoos were always there but not on the arms for some. Those with the tattoos on the arms were warriors. They defend the others.”

“Who is the old cloaked man in the hut? Is he Merlin?”

“No, he is Blip. He is the leader and he was with Merlin before. He was the first to explore your world and he inhibits only the body that matters then. He is what you termed as our King. Merlin made him King too.”

“The others that you spoke to; Brady, Clayton, and Murray; they are all leaders of different sections. Leroy was the prime 

one on the craft. We all have our functions and if one gets terminated, we lose a part of our skills and existence.”

“Did you lose any?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, we had. With you and the last few we inhibited in, we recovered something new. Yours was particularly interesting. We managed to tap into your memories and learned new intelligence. So was Watson and Lestrade. We have applied it to a section of Blip. Just like…”

“Wait, you were in my body. How was I did not know?” Sherlock asked.

“You were asleep. We made you sleep.” Mr. Benner replied. “Now I will leave you. Blip have left but for those of us who are here, we will live on as another Blip. With your knowledge and the others, you have given us a good opportunity to explore.”

“Would you invade our world later?” Sherlock asked.

“I can’t tell for now for it’s the newly formed Blip decision but I reckoned not. Your kind have the ability to destroy yourselves without anyone’s help. Goodbye.” With that Mr. Benner left Sherlock to his musing with the frames. He 

looked at the figure there by the huge Marlin.

Matthew Benner. Fisherman of the Year, 1815. He did not wear glasses then. 

Team of Seven Heroes Short Tales 5 Chapter 8

8.

Sherlock opened his eyes and saw his new surrounding was a huge cavern. He could hear the waves and reckoned he was inside the cliff. He looked to his sides and saw the others. There was Lestrade and Watson there with Mr. Brady and the other Inspector named Murray. He saw then the others including Max, and John Clayton.

And an unidentified man. He was wearing the zippered suit from neck down in the shade of red. He had the facial expression of Man.

“Mr. Holmes. You have been a hard man to deter off.” The identified man stepped up towards Sherlock. “My name is Leroy. Eugen Leroy Smith. Everyone calls me Leroy.”

“Here in the village we are also known as the Blip.” Leroy told Sherlock. “Let me tell you of Blip. We are not from this world. We came here in a flying craft that landed here when we had machine malfunction. That’s the flying craft that we came in with.”

Blip or Leroy motioned to the far end of the corner. It was a not a huge craft; more like the size of carriage but it rounded in shape. It was secured by some red cables to the number of caskets that were placed around it. The caskets were covered and it looked like coffins. Sherlock estimated over a few hundred there.

“Who are we then? Blip is us and we are Blip. We are hosted by your kind with us using their frame to move and function in this world. We are incorporeal in our real form. The only physical form we hold is the red dot that you see in their upper limbs.” Leroy motioned to Brady to step forth. The others then displayed the arm where the tattoos were drawn. The red marks there that was the fish eye moved there as it was alive.

“We can reside in several numbers on the frame but one takes control on the frame. We are not a few in the numbers. There are many of us in the landing craft and on the frames which we inhibit in.” Leroy smiled. “We control and maintained on the frame, utilising its self-built skills like walking and sleeping as if they are normal to another. We do however control their thoughts and action if need be.”

“We were once not in Man but in the sea fishes but the threat of being capture and removed forced us to secure the new host. We fought then with the fishermen as you called our host. We won and then took over the form. We could not hide inside the frame for we needed the sun to regenerate our forms. There was why we had the tattoos done on the arms.”

“Hold on there, Leroy or whatever you may name yourself.” Sherlock cut in. “Are you here then to take over the world we live in?”

“It would had been a natural choice but our numbers are limited and we share no such intentions. Your world is not perfect compared to ours but we have no intention of staying here. We have wanted to leave your world, but the craft needed time to rejuvenate. The craft is non-corporeal like us. Its in that form for its recovering and once its fully done, we will leave.”

“The village as you termed it is ours. Not all of them have their tattoos done on the arms. Some of them are on other parts of the body. And some frames we returned to be preserved.” Leroy motioned to the rows of caskets. “We could not reproduce new frames but we recycled them in stages. Like the one you knew as John Clayton. He is the latest to be setup for the Clayton. We have his parents and his son in preservation.”

“Why are the cables attached to the … preservation units?” Sherlock asked.

“Each time the frames get hosted and in the works the frame with our assistance collate the energy from the Sun here and from there, we channel it to the craft or ourselves. We do need some form of nutrients to survive. Unfortunately, we could not populate anymore. If a host is damaged or destroyed, we have to move on. Hence, we work on new hosts. Of late, we had to find some new hosts which accounted for the missing persons. Leroy here is a new host and with the vibrancy to give us more nutrients.”

“Then we are new hosts to your Blips.” Sherlock remarked back.

“Not exactly. We are leaving soon.”

“Leaving? I don’t understand.” Sherlock queried back.

“We are almost complete. The craft is ready. Leroy was the last host to boost our craft. We will disassociate with the host and then be off.” Leroy explained.

“And what happens to the hosts?” Sherlock asked.

“Most of them will die like ashes to ashes. Their frame had been used far too many times. It was why we have new hosts but the new ones may suffer some ailments and with care they will recover. Like Leroy here.”

“You could be killing the entire village here.” Sherlock snapped out at the foreign entity.

“It's unfortunate then. We had no choice and with them we have survived.” Leroy replied. “Its all about survival. We knew that in your world, it’s the way of living too.”

“What about the Wizard?” Sherlock asked.

“The Wizard will die too. He was the first host to have us. We will leave him.”

“What about the mermaids and the Sirens? Are they real?”

“They are real in the eyes of the villagers then. We made them real but you won’t see them anymore. They are all ….”

“Dead hosts.” Sherlock looked at Leroy. “Why tell me all of this?”

“Someone had to tell our tale. And if it comes from you, the people might listen but its may not be so. Even the great Sherlock Holmes cannot solve and explain all the mystery in this world.” Leroy smiled. “It will be a challenge for you though.”

“Good bye, Holmes.”

Team of Seven Heroes Short Tales 5 Chapter 7

7.

“A fair tale for a fair night like this.” Sherlock replied. “It does not answer my query on the other stranger. And that was good tea. I have taken better ones.”

“Oh, yeah. The stranger was here on the tattoos and I invited him like you had been to.” The cloaked man explained. “He left soon after.”

“Wizard as you may be called that name. I don’t believe you. You do not entertain any stranger at all. You invited him in like myself because you saw us looking at the sea. He like me believed there is more to the sea there.”

“Mr. Holmes, you are a hard man to deter off.” The wizard chuckled.

“You intruded me into my mind and read my memories. I am impressed, Wizard. Did you do the same to the stranger?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And you knew why he was here. He was not a weekend stayover guest.” Sherlock snapped back. “And I am not leaving till I get some answers.”

“The tattoos were answered by my dream trip but not my other questions. And they are….”

“Your answers are here but not can be told in such a short time.” The Wizard cut in. “However, I will tell you on the stranger. He was here to look at the mystery of the cliffs and the sea. He was from the Section of the Government that were interested in the unnatural events. The tale of the Siren intrigued them but there was more to it. The Government think there was something behind the tale. He was a Professor of Myths and Beliefs.”

“And I am told now.”

“On his death, I am unsure. He could had fallen. Or done by someone from the village.”

“Tell me more, Wizard.”

“I would if I could. I am limited to his memory and not his thoughts.” The Wizard replied.

“If I may see your face.” Sherlock asked the Wizard.

“That was not an agreed term.” The Wizard replied. “Rightfully on, we had no agreed terms. So, what is your next question?”

“Why are you here? Your great grandfather had done his task but why did he want you be here? Who is the grocer?”

“Ben is a good and loyal family friend of over five generations. The family was paid well and from there they were to deliver me food and no questions asked.”

“Was Ben part of the surviving fishermen?” Sherlock asked. The Wizard nodded.

“Was it you who was watching me then this morning?” Sherlock asked.

“No, it was not me. I could not leave this hut. Its my prison if you were to ask.”

“So that leaves me one extra question.” Sherlock smiled. “Puzzles intrigued me.”

“There you have your …. Most of your questions answered.” The Wizard replied.

“Not actually. You have not really answered my questions. You have created more. Good day, Wizard.” Sherlock told the other and then turned to leave. The Wizard stopped him.

“Mr. Holmes, one more last thing. Your memories are rather interesting. Tell, Mr. Holmes. Why are you doing this?”

“Save the world I guess. I am …. Want to be different.”

“Yet you lived…. Pardon me, ally yourself with an army officer who is a doctor. He has been a great assistance to you in your works, and adding as your guard.” The Wizard voiced out. “And he acts as your doctor. He assisted you in your addiction. And even question your sex life.”

“Arghh…. Please don’t go into that. I have my own privacy.”

“Just like Guinevere then with Lancelot. An affair that was hidden from Arthur. You are all fools. What is the physical intimacy that intrigued mankind?” The Wizard asked. “I have mine with the lady Morgause and regretted it a lifetime. Or several lifetimes.”

“The Wizard is you. I thought for a while it was the Wizard of Oz.” Sherlock replied. “You lived long and well, Merlin.”

“So, may you do so.” The Wizard replied. “Mortality has its benefits. You get to live shorter and less of the lifetime worries.”

With that Sherlock took his leave of the Wizard once he was outside the hut, he met the others.

“Hello, Max.” It was a short greeting. Sherlock was knocked from the back and blacked out.