Monthly Archives: January 2013

Chloe Prime: Alien Space Vet

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Chapter One: The Night Before the Day After

BANG!

Chloe Prime poked her head out above her blankets and eyed her wardrobe suspiciously. Had it just made a noise? She watched and waited for a few minutes. Nothing. Perhaps it had all just been in her imagination. A flight of fancy? She nestled back under her covers.

BANG!

Chloe quickly pulled her covers down again and glared at her wardrobe. Honestly, this was just getting ridiculous. She had to get a goodnight sleep for her first day at her new school tomorrow. This just would not do.

BANG!

Chloe vaulted out of bed and stood in front of her wardrobe in a fighting stance. Her hair reared out from her head in crazy curls, ready for action. Her legs were encased in a metallic exoskeleton, which made her look every bit like a miniature cyborg, with medusa hair, at the ready. If there was a monster in that wardrobe she was going to have at it.

‘I came here for a bedtime story and to kick butt,’ ten year old Chloe challenged her empty cupboard, ‘and I already finished my story.’

Whoosh!

Kent Prime came running into his daughter’s room closely followed by her mother. Chloe turned to see her father staring at her in shock.

‘Monsters, Dad,’ Chloe quickly informed her father. ‘In the cupboard. I’ve got them pinned.’

Kent Prime attempted to move further into Chloe’s room.

‘Get back!’ Chloe yelled. ‘It’s too dangerous! Save Mum.’

Chloe’s father laughed and closed the gap between them, scooping up his daughter.

‘There are no monsters here Little Miss Lady.’

‘Are you nervous about school tomorrow?’ Chloe’s mother asked.

‘What?’ Chloe snorted in surprise. ‘I’m excited about school. I just happen to have a rather serious monster problem to deal with.’

‘I’ll deal with any monsters,’ Chloe’s father said. ‘You just go to bed. Besides you know that they’re more scared of you than you are of them.’

‘But Dad, what if there are ghosts, or fairies… or I heard that sometimes little time travelling pirates come breaking down your…’ Chloe began.

‘No buts, no brownies, no bandits! You need your rest if you’re going to be on the school shuttle on time tomorrow morning,’ Kent Prime tutted his daughter. ‘Besides you know all our wardrobes are double coated with Kevlarized Graphene. Nothing is getting through.’

‘But what about bears? You know… sort of hiding in the cupboard rather than coming through it?’ Chloe was grasping at straws by this stage. She knew she would never win this argument, and she was getting quite tired anyway. Her mother kissed her goodnight.

‘Don’t you worry about any bears, Sweetie,’ Mum said, as she walked out of the room. ‘I’m sure you can just talk your way out of trouble without fighting.’

Chloe shrugged doubtfully but cuddled up to her teddy Sinbad and began dozing off with images of swashbuckling bears, whispering to fairy ghosts, in her head.

TAP TAP TAP

At this point Chloe leapt out of her bed and flung her cupboard open.

SQUEAK!

‘You! What are you doing in there? You know you’re not supposed to come inside.’

Squeak squeak squeak?

‘Oh alright. I’ll see if I can sneak into the kitchen and find you something but then you really must go outside.’

Squeak.

‘Yes, I know mice don’t really love cheese.’

Squeak squeak?

‘No you can’t come. Mum will freak if she sees a mouse in the kitchen.’

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Typos, Grammos and Spellos

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Why so many typos? Aren’t you an English teacher? Aren’t you a writer? Well yes, I am an English Teacher and I am a wannabe writer, but I am not a robot. I bring you this blog, my stpries, my musings, the odd pretty pic, totally unedited and raw. It goes straight from my head, to my heart, to my hand, to you. I use this space almost like a diary. A place to get it all out. Good, bad, indifferent, I’m getting it out. Musings about my childhood, creative escapes, mythological musings, it’s all me venting my pancreas.

Before you even ask, But don’t you notice them? YES! I’m and English teacher and a wannabe writer, of course I do. But I am just exposing myself and allowing it all to hang out. Typos, spellos, grammos and all.

Don’t the spelling mistakes bother you? YES!!! Oh goodness yes. Drives me a little mad, but then I say to myself, no, you can’t fix it, you don’t have to be perfect at all times, this is your space to show the raw, untamed, authentic, unedited you. And so I stay my shaking hand, and wipe my sweaty brow and stop myself from interfering with the natural process.

But can I make a quick confession… Just a small one… come in… closer… closer… I don’t want everyone to hear this… closer… shhhhhhh… The spelling mistakes don’t bother me half as much as the fact that I seem to neglect commas and quotation marks all too often. I mean ridiculously too often! Of course at work I’d correct them, for something official or professional I’d correct them, but here, well I just run wild and the commas have run away. Come back little commas, I love you, I need you… we all need you.

This is me

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wordpresssmallThey say a picture tells a thousand words, so here I am. This is me.

Snake Song: I am Medusa – Part 1

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medusawatermarked
You may call me a monster, or say that I am cursed. Some have even said I was a merciless killer without a hint of compassion. You would be right I guess. But you would also be wrong. I am just a woman. Angry, yet loving; hard, but gentle. I am the Medusa.

Stories are told, legends abound, and myths are born. Somewhere along the way the truth is forgotten and the real people are lost. I am no more a monster than anyone else. I have lived a long life, I have loved, I have laughed and I have regrets, but I am still just a woman. No more, no less. I was a girl once. Most would claim beautiful. I had a face that put Helen of Troy to shame. Yet despite all this I had a happy childhood. I am Médousa, and this is my story.

I was born in what is now called Anapa. I was the youngest in a set of triplets. It was quite rare at the time for triplets to survive, but not in my family. In fact, my father’s Aunts were triplets. We were considered quite lucky in our local village and people would often stop to stroke our hair before setting out on a voyage or starting out on a new venture. We were happy. Mind you, our Aunts were not afforded quite the same affection. As brown and ugly as the sweet tasting tomatoes they used to grow, my blind Aunts were avoided, even feared by some. There were whispers of sorcery and magics but generally they were left to live in peace and to continue growing their tomatoes in peace.

Our father, Phorcys, was a great fisherman and well respected amongst the locals. He knew the waters better than anyone else. If my father said a storm was coming then nobody set sail. If he told people there was good fishing to be had then everybody followed. My father always managed to catch the best fish though. He would proudly present them to my mother Ceto, who would happily gut and scale them whilst singing of dreams and wishes.

I remember the simple life as if it were yesterday. There is not a day that I do not wish to go back to those quiet times of fishing and singing. But alas time stays still for no man, and all our peace and happiness was to be swept away.

When my sisters and I were but eight years old our lands started to fail. A plague was upon us. Some say that it was Hera in one of her customary rages; others claim it was Freya trying to gain dominion in our lands, what caused it I could not say. But the villagers grew a feared and accused my poor Aunts of treachery. They claimed they had cursed the land with their Grey Lady Magics and that they must go. My father called for calm but it was not respected for long. So, for my Aunts’ safety, we fled. We piled up into my father’s fishing boat and set to the seas. We remained afloat for who knows how long until by some miracle we were washed up on the shores of Boebeis. Starving, frightened, wretched, but alive.