Short Fiction 3: Ballad Of A Dead Heart

This short is actually a story within a story as it is a tale told to one of the characters in a novel I am trying and failing to write entitled Orchid Grove. I thought I'd post it here today with it being Halloween after all. I got cold feet with this particular part of the novel for awhile due to the ending and changed it considerably recently but I thought I'd put it here in it's original form so I hope you like it.

Ballad Of A Dead Heart
By Andrew G. Carson

The reason behind the loss of light had run it's assault course through his already paranoia- overloaded brain his nervous attempts to force his eyes to become accustomed to the now pitch darkness he found himself blanketed within were evidence of that. So were the cold beads of sweat that dripped slowly, teasingly down the back of his now goose bump riddled neck sending a quiet scream to the very core of his soul. Day turns to night that was a certainty but here and now night was not the certainty he feared it was what night brought along with it, what it brought was the darkness and those who creep within.

His breath heavy and shallow his heart pounding in his chest and pounded in his ears as he tried to collect what was left of his once strong resolve, a resolve that had once helped him defeat his inner demons twelve years prior. A resolve that had help him stare the reaper in the eye and kept his nerves intact as the reaper blinked first. A resolve that was now abandoning him for the threat that lay ahead was far to terrifying and far to intense for it to remain, a threat from within the darkness. He knew his own mind couldn't be trusted the years of alcohol abuse had put end to that but he had nothing left to rely upon in his moment of truth a moment when a drink was the last thing he wanted and the last thing he was thinking about but again maybe that's what his mind wanted for him to put down his guard long enough for it to take advantage. No he would have to rely solely on instinct solely on his gut if he was to survive through the night and survive long enough to see his wife's face one last time.

He hugged the floor beneath him with all the strength he had and contemplated the path ahead, did he have the strength to push on till morning? Can he find the strength within his broken body to scrape and fight his way through hell to hold his wife's hand again? He knew deep down what the answer to those questions truly was but maybe that's why he can manage to try. Maybe after all the years of pain, distrust and heartbreak his final attempt to make peace with her to risk his life and/or his sanity would be what finally could lead her to forgive him or at least not hate him, he'd settle for her not hating him anymore. It was her hate for him that he couldn't take anymore and what had led him to this dark damp place and only her forgiveness could save his soul before he met his maker.

His hands shook as he slowly raised his blood covered body to a vertical stance, his jaw quivered with the memory of defeat and he struggled to fight off his knees from buckling as he took his first step in what seemed like a lifetime. CREEK, CREEK each step was accompanied by an echoing reminder of the extra thirty pounds he was now carrying around with him. CREEK, CREEK he almost found himself begging his feet to stay quiet but the absurdity of it made him laugh, "my God" he thought, "is that my voice do I really sound that old?" How drink has aged his thirty something body he now sounding something akin to his father a man of seventy three and a man he despised for being such a hard act to follow after all when your father has accomplished more in a lifetime than most could in ten how the hell do you follow it? No matter what you do or what you become you are destined to always be a disappointment and that's how he felt every time he looked into his father's eyes rightly or wrongly a painful disappointment.

As he reached the door he outstretched his hand slowly and carefully in search of the elusive handle and hoping to find nothing else. A sigh of relief thundered from within him as his hand touched the cold metal. He slowly drew in a large gulp of tainted air before methodically pushing down on the handle and freeing the door from it's frame and sending it wide open. He was greeted by a wave of emotion as his eyes became accustomed to the candlelit room laid bare in front of him. Wall to wall decorated in blood and it was at this moment he remembered what had led him to the hallway outside in the first place. 'No, NO what have I done? NO.' His pleads faded to a silent wail as the image of his wife flashed before his eyes. He remembered that he had tried to make amends with her but she pushed him away she had pushed him down and poured the devil's blood over him sending him into an unholy rage and leaving him hours later kneeling before her now cold, wet, patchwork corpse with nothing but hate and an empty bottle for company and all he can think about is "Where can I get my next drink?" His soul unsaved, his heart broken his mind lost in the darkness with those who creep within.

Thanking You
The Housebound Writer

Short Fiction 2

As I've not posted one of my short stories for awhile I thought I would put that right, this one like my blog post back on May 15Th I have a title and a character name but the rest I will just see what comes as I'm writing, writing blind here people which should be fun.

Insomniac Dreams

By Andrew G. Carson

For the love of the chased requiem had engulfed her and her faith in this love was unequalled and not without reason for slumber had been a best friend and lover for Nora's entire twenty one years on this traveling fireball we call home. Slumber had been the only constant in her ever changing life but tonight he was lost to her and she could feel the bitterness of realisation that her lover may be spending the night in another's arms. Insomnia affects all of us differently some use it to release their inner creative force others feel like every bone in their body is on fire and the reaper is at the door but for Nora it was neither of these just the feeling of betrayal from her most trusted friend.

She lay on her bed staring up at the off white coloured ceiling of her sparse apartment bedroom, her eyes already accustomed to the darkness engulfing her boudoir like a late night prowler. How had she arrived at such a lonesome point in her life with no friends only coworkers, no boyfriend only memories of past sorrow and no family on speed dial only Chinese take away restaurants. She hadn't always been this way she was once the life and soul of every party she attended, rooms lit up with her mere presence but now the closest thing to a social gathering for her was when her neighbour's cat would pay her a visit.

It was 03:21am and the noise of birdsong from beyond the ever lighter shade of dark coloured bedroom windows was driving her mad, what have they got to be so damn chirpy about? Thought Nora as she impaled the back of her head into her pillow hard while pulling the sides up over her ears. How can this side of the World sleep with this incessant racket drowning out the peace of silence? She questioned her inner self as the thought of choking that bird to silent death sprang into her head raising the sides of her mouth to a smile. She rose from bed and awkwardly stumbled to the window to gaze out upon her tormentor but alas she could not see him for the hundred year old oak behind her sandstone apartment building shaking it's leaves and branches at her menacingly in the early morning breeze.

She shrugged and staggered sleepily towards the kitchen through the conjoining living room turning the living room light switch on and off as she passes it as she does so her elbow knocks her receptionist of the year award off it's shelf, a plaque which she was only given to her as a peace offering after she was overlooked for a promotion. She entered the kitchen and opened the fridge unleashing a light that could lead the dead to heaven. Why has sleep betrayed her tonight of all nights? She paused to consider, did he not know of her important appointment in the morning, had he not listened to her thoughts of worry? What if she turns up looking like she has been out all night drinking? She would definitely not gain favour with the team over at Gilbert & Hall and she desperately ached to do so for this would free her from her shackles at Muir and Hollis where she has been overlooked time after time for they only give promotions to members of the boys club and she had the wrong kind of plumbing to join their club.

She stood back and brought the bottle of water in her hand up to her waiting parched lips she felt a slight buzz from the cold liquid as it slid down the back of her throat en route to her stomach, ahhh she said quietly to herself as she gathered the much needed energy to return to her chamber of sorrow. She placed the now half empty bottle of water back into the fridge and closed the door on the teasing light, with a deep sigh she walked back into the living room and picked up her least wanted award and placed it back upon it's dust covered shelf next to the photograph of her parents she paused briefly to look at the photo before turning the light switch on and off like before, a creature of habit Nora definitely was but this time as the light retreated out of the corner of her eye she spotted something...

It couldn't be her mind must be playing tricks on her she thought but when she tried to continue on her journey she found her feet not moving. "I know you saw me." a voice from behind her said quietly. Her body stiffened and she could feel a cold sweat on the back of her knees, Nora closed her eyes briefly before turning round. "Who's there, who are you?" she said with a notable wobble in her voice. "The man that's going to kill you if you don't do what I say." The reply came without a hint of emotion to the voice. "take anything but just don't touch me." Nora called out still to afraid to turn on the light switch. "Oh I'm going to take what I want you stupid C***, I don't need your permission." he replied. That word, the "C" word was one she hated and she wasn't going to let this bastard get away with calling her by it.

Nora reached around and flicked the switch to illuminate her would be attacker, he was average height and of stocky build and he had a pair of stockings over his head like the old bank robbers used to wear squishing his face out of shape to hide his identity. "F*** you!" Nora found herself saying with an anger in her voice that she had never heard before. "What did you say b****?" He replied shocked by her new found strength. "You heard me, get out of my house or so help m.." he cut of her line of thought as well as her speech as he lunged for her, his hands encased her neck, squeeze, squeeze her windpipe would surely crush under the pressure. Squeeze, squeeze he seemed impervious to the punches and slaps thrown by Nora for he outweighed her by sixty to seventy pounds and he was a good five inches taller than she was.

Squeeze, squeeze Nora's eyes bloodshot and on the verge of bursting with the pressure. "you stupid little c***, I'll kill you." His words echoed in her ears, that word again that "C" word Nora reached around to find something anything to save her life. Her fingers stretching up behind her back as her attacker continued to choke her the way she had thought about choking the singing bird. Nora's arms ached due to the contortion they were enduring to find a saviour, squeeze, squeeze his eyes glistened with glee through his stocking mask. Nora was close to the end when her hand finally reached something with every ounce of strength she outstretched her arm and swung her new found weapon colliding it with the back of her attacker's skull.

Slowly he dropped to his knees with a shocked expression upon his face the thought that a woman had ended his existence was something he could not believe. Nora dropping her weapon stumbles over to the kitchen door and reaches into the fridge and to grab her water bottle and slowly, slowly she raises it up against her bright red savaged neck. After a moment she looks over at the motionless body on her living room floor and her blood stained plaque. "Who's the c*** now? " she barks at her attacker before collapsing onto the floor, " Who's the C*** now?"

After hours of police questions Nora still shaken and traumatised by her ordeal finds herself lying in a hospital bed alone with her thoughts once more only a vase of cheap flowers sits beside her bed with a card attached from 'the office of Muir & Hollis', she looks over at the window and watches the rain collide with the glass, slowly, slowly she finds her eyes begin to close and before long her lover has returned to her as she drifts off to slumber.

Short fiction

I've written a short story a 1000 words or so and am looking for feedback, I had a character name in mind but didn't know what the story was about untill I started writing the second paragraph. This is the way I used to start my short stories when I was a teenager but as I've got older I have always started with an outline. I just thought it would be cool to try this way again to see what would happen so without further adue;



Wings of Change

By Andrew G. Carson



As he lay there bound by pain and damp by way of a Misty Scottish rain, James Batchelor had many thoughts running a competitive marathon through his mind. Was this the end to his legacy? Was this what he would be remembered for? After all he was the man that aged nineteen climbed Kilimanjaro in Tanzmania all nineteen thousand three hundred feet of it. He had conquered the great Kanchenjunga in India all twenty eight thousand, two hundred and eight feet of it just two years later.



He then moved onto Rainer and McKinley in the US, Logan in Canada and Popocatepetl in Mexico before the age of twenty four. Later he moved onto his greatest accomplishments in the form of Lhotse, Makalu and the pinnacle of all mountaineering.... Everest when he reached her peak on the dawn of his 30th Birthday. Six months later he conquered K2 in Kashmir to round off the set and equal the great climb of his hero Sir Edmund Hillary a man, a great man he had the privilege of meeting only a matter of weeks before his death in 2008.

To go from all these great achievments to finding himself sat in a puddle filled with his own blood pouring out of the various wounds occupying his twisted lower limbs. Seated at the foot of a Scottish mountain for which he didn't even know the name of. A mountain he would call a mud hill, to him this was no mountain and for this to be the mountain that finally beat him in the deadly game of chance was unacceptable.

The thought of the World wide roasting he would experience at the hands and mouths of his rivals was bad enough but the ridicule that would be unleashed upon him by the British tabloids was enough to make him hope he would remain unfound, he was almost praying the reaper would pay him a visit first.

The fact atop this mountain there were sheep grazing was not something the great James Batchelor could find amusing no his ego would not alow that. He had been the greatest mountaineer of his generation this World had to offer leading him to be compared to his hero by a great many people not just the lazy tabloids or the trying to be hip broadsheets but by many in the mountaineering community who regarded his immense talent only matched by his immense self opinion. After all he had been known to boast to all within hearing distance that he conquered all the big climbs by a younger age than any other a statement that although may have been true was still far from modest and not in the nature of the greats that had preceeded him.

James stared down towards his frayed blood soaked rags covered legs both of which were visibly broken, bright white bones brighter than he could ever have imagined they could be stabbing through defeated skin and tattered trousers. No doubt in his mind that his pelvis was also the result of the two to three hundred foot drop. He had climbed bigger mud hills than this when he was thirteen, hell by the age of fourteen he had climbed Ben Nevis these silly little Scottish mud hills didn't impress him these were biginner climbs no match for the best of the best that he was.

The sharp pain in his pelvis was the only thing now keeping him awake and possibly alive as the blood loss from his lower extremeties had now become excessive. 'Why God, why me? What the hell did I ever do?' James asked aloud. 'I will spit on your face if this is how you end me, I will spit on your face.' Lashing out at a God he doesn't even beleive in James lay in a puddle filled with a mix of Scottish rain and Kiwi blood and was loosing his mind, his eyes loosing focus.

How long had he lay here? How could an experienced climber like himself loose there grip so readily? Why the hell did he pull his car over in the pouring rain? Why did he jump the small roadside fence? Why did he walk the steep incline too the foot of the mountain and begin to climb unaided? What did he have left to prove to himself? He found himself pondering as the icy rain eased off he closed his eyes and quickly faded away to slumber.

James awoke to a voice echoing in his ears but as he opened his eyes he could not find the owner through the haze. He found the sharp pain in his pelvis had now faded to a dull twinge. 'Mister can I help yae?' the voice shouted once more. James realized the voice sounded like that of a child's. 'Are yae all right doon there?' the voice inquired. James looked skyward to the heavens and found that above him on a small ledge maybe five hundred feet up stood a boy of maybe ten years of age.

'I need help, get an adult'. James replied as loud as he could. 'My Da is away tae get 'em rescue guys.' The child shouted down with relief in his voice. 'How did you get up there?' James asked with a now evident rattle in his raspy voice. 'I climbed up wi' mae Da.' the youngster replied with great glee in his voice before turning around and disappearing from sight.

Time passed strangely for James as he awaited his rescue from the boy and his "Da", time almost seemed to stand still. He contemplated what the boy had said about climbing up with his father and James found himself remembering back to his own childhood when he too climbed mountains just like this one with his own father. The joy he experienced from those adventures led to the development of his passion for the bigger climbs and to discovering the legacy of his Hero Sir Edmund Hillary. The flashbacks also unvieled to him the day he told his father that his lack of skill was holding him back from his destiny and that he no longer needed him on his climbs.

Remembering that moment caused him more pain than any caused by his various injuries, how could he have been so stupid? How could he have let his ego get so out of control all those years ago? James found himself remembering back a few hours to the questions that had flooded his mind, why the hell did he pull his car over in the pouring rain? Why did he jump the small roadside fence? Why did he walk the steep incline to the foot of the mountain and begin to climb unaided?

He now knew the answers to those questions it was due to the fact that twenty two hours earlier he had watched his father's coffin lowered into his final resting place without James ever getting the chance to tell him how sorry he was for all the things he had said. He never got to tell him that the fondest memories he had of his entire life were those spent with his father climbing those mud hills.

James looked down at his mangled lifeless lower limbs knowing that he would never walk again let alone climb and knowing this he smiled, he smiled knowing why he travelled to this mountain. He knew why he stopped his car. He knew why he jumped the small roadside fence. he knew why he walked the steep incline to the foot of the mountain and began to climb unaided. He did all these things because this was the first mountain his father brought him too, the first mountain they climbed together and the first mountain upon reaching the top his father had told him how proud he was of him. He came to this mountain because he wanted no needed to hear those words once more.

Thanking you

The Housebound Writer

Four Walls part 2

The next installment of my short story Four Walls picks up where the first left off so re-reading part 1 might be helpful.

James untucked his favourite author's latest and opened the book to the marked page and began to read the horrific tale, lips mimicking speech and with one eye on the quiet disserted street ahead he paced on towards his destination remembering tonight he was getting to study with Macy Blair the girl he has had his eye on since high school and tonight was going to be his night to make his move.
Macy first came to his attention while they were teamed together by their science teacher as lab partners and for the next two years James spent every moment of those classes trying not to look like a fool in front of her or be caught when he was staring from behind his notebook.
James felt more confident now than he did as a fourteen year old scrawny kid but he new from past experience Macy still obtained the power to make his hands run sweaty and his lips run dry. She had come back into his life after nearly a three year absence, she was partnered with another girl named Laura Greenwalt in fifth year and James was demoted to sneaking sideway glances towards her in class.
But yet again they were partners in the lab as Macy herself was now attending university after taking a short break from her studies to travel around Europe backpacking with friends. The difference this time James conveyed to himself was she needed his help to catch up with the rest of the class as she was finding the time she took away from her studies had seriously affected her attention span and had come to find herself falling rapidly behind the rest of the students in the class even the mature student Isa Fonty, a sixty three year old divorcee who was trying something new.
Physics was not something to try on a whim thought James but to his astonishment Ms. Isa Fonty had grasped the subject with both hands and now fully owned it. Her growing knowledge only matched with her growing self esteem which she had found sorely lacking after she discovered her husband of thirty eight years had had an illicit affair with an ex girlfriend of their twenty three year old son.
This had come as a shock to dear Isa as her husband had always been an incessant bore of a man or at least he had been as far back as she could remember and he had never been described by anyone as a Robert Redford in the looks department more a Danny DeVito even the blind man at the fountain knew that. He was neither handsome nor rich so to what this young bimbo of a lass saw in him she knew not but she was in a way indebted to her although she would never tell her such a thing but she was indebted to her for giving Isa her life back and giving her a new found passion, Physics.
James was distracted by thoughts rushing through his head of how to broach the subject, he couldn’t just ask Macy at the beginning of the tutoring session as she would only say yes out of some sort of guilt. Maybe he should wait till the end and then ask her as she is leaving if she says no he can play it off as a joke and then quickly and hopefully hiding his embarrassment he can high tail it out of there with no one the wiser.
If only he could be as heroic as the mysterious Jack Elmry of Bradley M. Hawks series of Killer Winds novels, he fears no man nor beast and always gets the girl. James thought to himself that in the real world Jack Elmry would probably be locked up in the nut house for believing in the beasties of the night but in the novels he was the greatest modern day literary hero in James’ eyes and possibly millions of others. How does Hawks create such vivid characters James wondered to himself as he continued his long walk along the bare Civil street which stretches down to the town’s high street and down to the public Library and James could feel his hands begin to sweat.