Day 589

I was talking to a friend about fantasy fiction this week. It got me thinking about my own fiction writing from many, many moons ago. When I first started in the early nineties, I was writing horror and fantasy. Last night I came across this ancient effort of mine from 1997. At the time, I loved it. It even got published in a small press magazine. But now, after so many years, how do I feel about it? I must admit, it makes me squirm and cringe a little. It’s overly romantic and emotional, clichéd, saccharine, and faux erotic. It’s also not well written. Friends who had read it, liked it at the time and asked me to expand it into a book. My answer was always no. Thank God. Maybe I’m being a little hard on the old writer me. Maybe not.

It’s kind of nice reading it again after all these years. It shows a newbie writer trying out ideas for the very first time and seeing where it goes.

As a reminder to myself, I thought I’d put it here, warts and all. It’s untouched (as much as I would love to edit it to death) and as it was when I finally sent it off.

So, what’s this post got to do with recovery and addiction? Absolutely nothing. It’s a bit of positive self-reflection. We don’t always have to be talking hardcore recovery all the time.

If you want to read some cream of the crop fantasy and Sci-fi authors: Freda Warrington, Storm Constantine and Justina Robson’s books are stunning! 

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The Fallen

Silent now, was the shore. Only the distant ebb and flow of the tide was to be heard. In the darkening sky, the clouds were beginning to pass and fade. The full image of the moon, whose rays shone over the vast beach, was now unveiled. Soon it would cover the eternal waters, repeating the rituals of nature, centuries old. The moon beckoned the shimmering sea back and forth like a father would to a child, offering promises of gifts. Only a parent as wise as this could offer the gift of life, love and all the mysteries of nature itself.

The obedient child obliged, slowly guiding the life within its celestial waters. The life, which also saw the child as an ancient guardian, a master that provided food and all the wonder the birthplace of the earth could offer.

Ancient as the game was between parent and child, it still offered new mysteries, fresh wonders of new birth and death.

Death.

For now, the child had been tainted crimson with the bodies of thousands of floating, silent warriors.

From the window, high in her stone fortress, the Scorpress watched these wonders as she had done for decades before. These wonders once held her mind captive. Now, tears welled from her depthless, red eyes.

Silence. The death-screams of her armies now gave way to the sound of the sea. Aside this, only the Scorpress’ grief could be heard. She tore her eyes away from the window and walked slowly to her throne where she slumped, staring at the timeworn stone floor. Her tears washed like tides. Her brave armies had fallen. All was lost. Thousands of warriors bobbed like apples in their watery grave. Others lay strewn on the beach outside the fort, their wounds staining the white sands the colour of berry wine.

Soon her enemies would smash their way inside. They would take her outside, parading their long-awaited prize in public and slowly, ever so slowly, slay her. The Scorpress rose and walked to the great oak table to pour herself a tall goblet of wine. She took one last look at herself in the looking glass.

Her human form always pleased her more than the others she could conjure. She discarded her robe, made from the flayed strips of skin of her enemies. In the dancing flames of the many candles burning around her, her dark skin glistened smooth like highly polished crystal with blood-red flashes across her stomach and tiny breasts. The contrast of pigments hypnotised all who were privileged or cursed to see her naked. Long, straight hair, black as cancer, poured down past her sleek back, gently brushing the floor. The only thing which belied her human shape was the long, muscular, leathery tail. It arced upwards from the base of her spine. At the end of which shone the deadly, hard ivory tip the size of a bull’s horn. It could gently caress a lover to the heights of passion and in the same breath, kill without warning. She lifted the tail over her head, the tip gently stroking the side of her face. Its warmth and smoothness gave her some ease.

Gritting her teeth she let out a deafening blood-scream, whipping her tail around at lightning speed, smashing the looking glass into razor shards which crashed to the floor around her. In her continuing rage, she destroyed in her path – unaware that the soles of her bare feet were being slit to ribbons by the razor-sharp debris. Tables, chairs, paintings; nothing was exempt from the scorned queen.

She fell to the floor helpless and breathless amid the havoc she had wreaked on everything she had once cherished. The stone floor was cold on her face, little pools of blood grew beneath her tattered feet. She whispered to herself, “I have failed my people.”

The door of the great room opened. Slowly, her breath calm, she raised her head. Standing in front of her was Ethis, her lover. Staring into one another’s eyes, they shared the un-spoken conversation of defeat. The black-robed figure slowly walked to his queen. He knelt next to her and began gently dipping his hand through the river of hair. His touch was soothing, as it always had been. There was no need for words, just a caress and a soft breath spoke volumes for the two lovers.

Raising their heads, they heard the inevitable thunderous booming, reverberating around the empty castle. They were here. Their enemies had begun smashing an entrance inside, desperate to claim their trophy. It would be a matter of mere minutes before they were both found. The Scorpress quickly turned to Ethis, her eyes dazzled with urgency.

“They will soon be upon us my love,” her voice quaked. You know what we must do. Ethis nodded. They rose from the floor and gently embraced each other with a new calmness. It was almost as if, in the light of what they were about to do, they had all the time in the world. Facing each other, their cheeks now traced with tears, she blessed her lover’s soft mouth with a long, deep kiss. Silently she whipped her tail over her shoulder, its glassy tip plunging into her lover’s back, puncturing his skin as she pumped her lethal poison into his blood.

Ethis felt nothing. The Scorpress’ arms took the full weight of the lifeless body. Tenderly, she laid him on the floor. Then one last kiss.

“I love you,” she whispered into his ear. Once more, her tail arced over her shoulder, she placed its tip carefully between her own lips. Eyes closed; she drank. The deadly, warm, white liquid dripped deep into her throat. Her body rolled like a rag doll onto her lover. They both appeared as if asleep, in the wake of passion, tranquil and at peace. The Scorpress had finally won, denying her enemies their glittering prize.

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Stay safe and take care, everyone xx