Paris, Japan, Hate, & Insignificance

I should be writing Delivering Hope right about now. I’m 30k words in, which is great. It’s far further along than I thought I would be after everything. But I’m not writing right now.

Instead, I’m wondering about humanity. Yesterday was Friday 13th. Bad luck according to many, but I don’t think luck had much to do with a lot of the horror of yesterday.

The lights in Paris are out.

And the rest of the world is sharing its grief in France’s national colours. Such is the sadness of our hearts.

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Most Ardently

The thing that I was worrying about is all clear. Negative not positive. So that’s good, really, even though a small part of me is kind of disappointed. I suppose that’s to be expected.

The title of this post is taken from a scene in Pride & Prejudice. My favourite scene, in fact, which is probably because I can see myself in it doing exactly what Elizabeth does because she’s too proud and too hurt, despite the fact she obviously quite likes Mr Darcy. The moment when he says it and you can see his heart in his eyes is so beautiful.

It’s rare anyone truly looks at you like that.

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Flash Fiction No. 30

#Flashfiction

A Million & One Candle Lights

Scarlet sprayed the walls. He reopened his eyes, feeling the wriggle of loosened teeth in his head. He had to give it to them; they were going all out on this. They said it was a test of his abilities. It was perfectly routine.

But how is beating a man to within half an inch of his life routine?

The scientist in the corner hummed and jotted something down on his clipboard. He nodded to the torturers as he readjusted his glasses.

Pain smashed across Blake’s face. Blood pooled in his mouth, collecting at his lips and falling in strings of thick saliva down his shirt front. He lifted his head with some effort, fixing his gaze on the scientist again.

They didn’t get it.

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Burnt Offerings

#Poetry

I don’t think I’ve posted these poems here before. In all likelihood, they have been stashed away in my MS Word document since the time of writing without another backwards glance.

All I am is time and space,
Compound thoughts in a worried face ,
Shattered visions turn to dust,
A society that’s growing rust.

In dark places, the truth still creeps;
In hypocrisy, the world, it sleeps.

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