The Gorgon swooped around again. Silhouetted against the backdrop of the moon and arcing round to come in for a final, huge, graceful, wing'd, horrifying, savage, hate filled attack. Carl lay bleeding and smashed on the floor still winded from the last ferocious Gorgon attack.
Carl could see the beast snort and start his downward trajectory. He closed his eyes and awaited his gory fate.
But just as the Gorgon seemed destined to end this one-sided match up bully off and barrel in for the kill. A climactic approach that Carl wished the damned Gorgon would get over with and done with and stop it's scaly, reptillian posturing.
The Gorgon steamed forward, head down, out of the night sky.
But just then, some might say in the nick of time, a figure rode over the horizon, steed ablaze, the noise of the horse's angry breath and the fury of his hooves as it was pushed forward was nearly as fearsome as The Gorgon's death caw.
The rider, sword unsheathed and ready urged his horse on and just as The Gorgon seemed destined to bite Carl's head clean off swung his mighty sword and met the Gorgon in midair.
The Gorgon's head was parted from it's body and rolled away and the rest of the Gorgon crash landed heavily onto the jagged rocks only fit for clarion to feast on. They'd already been circling anticipating Carl's bloody demise and got an unexpected bigger lunch as The Gorgon contained so much more meat to feast on.
The horse reared up, front legs kicking out in a pose of victory. Carl's brave saviour maintained perfect horsemanship and controlled the horse with the ease expected of a hero.
The Hero dismounted and strode over to Carl, he knelt down checked that Carl's wounds were mostly superficial and removed his helmet, shaking out his flowing, golden locks as he did so.
As the Hero revealed himself Carl gasped in surprise. His saviour was his mum.
"Oh mum, that's so embarrassing."
Friday, 30 October 2009
A Mysterious Hole
During the night. When everyone had gone to bed but before the early risers had got up to deliver the milk or walk the Dog a hole appeared. That isn't what alarmed the people of the small-to-medium sized town. What alarmed the townspeople was the fact that it was in the middle of the road.
Another alarming feature of the hole was that nobody knew where it came from and to add to an all round confusion amongst the fretting masses who had assembled around the hole, mostly to look in it and see what it did next, it didn't do anything. It just was there.
No one seemed to be admitting responsibility for the hole being there. No one it seems dug it and that led to further questions like.
Why was it built?
What's the reason for this damned hole?
Where does it go to?
Where has it come from?
What does it want? and.
Should I have a packet of Cheese & Onion crisps or Smokey Bacon?
Some of the townsfolk having a low attention span and were prone to drift off if they weren't prodded to remain in full awareness of the facts or any new developments.
These questions taxed the townsfolk for sometime, or at least until something new came up that they could be taxed and opinionated about, and they felt that because a hole had appeared, seemingly from out of the blue, someone, somewhere must be to blame. Or at least accountable.
The townsfolk began clammering for expert analysis of the hole. They wanted to know what should be done, or even if they had to keep the hole. Are there rules regarding mysterious holes? Especially ones that didn't seem to have an owner. A sort of freehold hole.
The town council called an emeregency meeting to discuss the important features of the hole and what should be done. The press eventually arrived because everyone knows that the press are often a help in these matters. The press came and looked at the hole, and indeed in it. They took photographs of the hole and went off to interview some local folks about there feelings in regards to the hole. Because the press like a vox-pop so much that some media analyists have began speculating that they like general opinion rather than actual news.
Mrs. Gordon-Brown said "It's a disgrace, someone needs to do something about this hole."
Mr. Smithies, the local butcher, said. "It's not me I'm angry for but the kids. They shouldn't have to see this kind of things. They could fall in."
Jim the loafer said, "What hole?" He'd spent most of the time shuffling between bed, the kettle and a multi-pack of Cheesy Wotsits and a general malaise had left him in the dark on the whole subject of the hole.
Experts were called. There were visits from the M.O.D., The Fraud Squad, A QUANGO, The lifeboat people, The fire brigade, the bomb squad, some Ghostbusters, A representative from English heritage and The Surveyor General's 3rd assistant Surveyor General. A navy helicopter was scrambled should it be required at short notice.
None of them were able to shed a huge amount light on the hole except with a torch but all that did was make the hole brighter and make people remember that the hole was there and what a problem it was causing.
A man with a flat bed lorry, a cement mixer and a woolly hat turned up claiming to be a builder and offered to fill the hole for a very reasonable rate, all quotes are free. But the town's planning officer couldn't decide whether it would be necessary for planning permission to be sought to fill the hole and seeings as no one had yet claimed ownership of the hole and therefore hadn't submitted a legally required request to fill in or even do anything with the hole, couldn't allow the hole to be filled.
"I'm bound by red tape." he told the press. He eventually gave up thinking about the hole and went on a walking holiday in the Itallian Alps.
And indeed all that red tape could offer in relation to the hole was a half dozen traffic cones and one of those funny little miniture tents that road gangs use.
The tent was mostly redundant because the towns highway department refused to take ownership of the hole. The building department wouldn't take it either and still no private concerns had arisen to take the hole up and turn it back into the stretch of road that it had been before it was a hole.
A far better time everyone thought.
Another alarming feature of the hole was that nobody knew where it came from and to add to an all round confusion amongst the fretting masses who had assembled around the hole, mostly to look in it and see what it did next, it didn't do anything. It just was there.
No one seemed to be admitting responsibility for the hole being there. No one it seems dug it and that led to further questions like.
Why was it built?
What's the reason for this damned hole?
Where does it go to?
Where has it come from?
What does it want? and.
Should I have a packet of Cheese & Onion crisps or Smokey Bacon?
Some of the townsfolk having a low attention span and were prone to drift off if they weren't prodded to remain in full awareness of the facts or any new developments.
These questions taxed the townsfolk for sometime, or at least until something new came up that they could be taxed and opinionated about, and they felt that because a hole had appeared, seemingly from out of the blue, someone, somewhere must be to blame. Or at least accountable.
The townsfolk began clammering for expert analysis of the hole. They wanted to know what should be done, or even if they had to keep the hole. Are there rules regarding mysterious holes? Especially ones that didn't seem to have an owner. A sort of freehold hole.
The town council called an emeregency meeting to discuss the important features of the hole and what should be done. The press eventually arrived because everyone knows that the press are often a help in these matters. The press came and looked at the hole, and indeed in it. They took photographs of the hole and went off to interview some local folks about there feelings in regards to the hole. Because the press like a vox-pop so much that some media analyists have began speculating that they like general opinion rather than actual news.
Mrs. Gordon-Brown said "It's a disgrace, someone needs to do something about this hole."
Mr. Smithies, the local butcher, said. "It's not me I'm angry for but the kids. They shouldn't have to see this kind of things. They could fall in."
Jim the loafer said, "What hole?" He'd spent most of the time shuffling between bed, the kettle and a multi-pack of Cheesy Wotsits and a general malaise had left him in the dark on the whole subject of the hole.
Experts were called. There were visits from the M.O.D., The Fraud Squad, A QUANGO, The lifeboat people, The fire brigade, the bomb squad, some Ghostbusters, A representative from English heritage and The Surveyor General's 3rd assistant Surveyor General. A navy helicopter was scrambled should it be required at short notice.
None of them were able to shed a huge amount light on the hole except with a torch but all that did was make the hole brighter and make people remember that the hole was there and what a problem it was causing.
A man with a flat bed lorry, a cement mixer and a woolly hat turned up claiming to be a builder and offered to fill the hole for a very reasonable rate, all quotes are free. But the town's planning officer couldn't decide whether it would be necessary for planning permission to be sought to fill the hole and seeings as no one had yet claimed ownership of the hole and therefore hadn't submitted a legally required request to fill in or even do anything with the hole, couldn't allow the hole to be filled.
"I'm bound by red tape." he told the press. He eventually gave up thinking about the hole and went on a walking holiday in the Itallian Alps.
And indeed all that red tape could offer in relation to the hole was a half dozen traffic cones and one of those funny little miniture tents that road gangs use.
The tent was mostly redundant because the towns highway department refused to take ownership of the hole. The building department wouldn't take it either and still no private concerns had arisen to take the hole up and turn it back into the stretch of road that it had been before it was a hole.
A far better time everyone thought.
Thursday, 29 October 2009
A Raft Of Nonsense
Troy plopped a sorry oar limply into a tiny bit of the huge expanse of Ocean. Jeff was at the fore of the ramshackle vessel with a hollowed out tree branch at one eye as a sort of improptue telescope trying to spot land or a bigger, safer boat. Troy was thinking that Jeff was taking this business a bit seriously and had installed himself as Captain without a vote being taken over who should lead this little crew of drifting aimlessness, Troy didn't like this undemocratic approach to deciding the heirarchy of an ocean going vessel, even one as crappily built and unseaworthy as this one.
Troy didn't like rowing as much as being on landwatch but these were extremely testing circumstances and he accepted that between himself and Jeff they'd have to pool their resources and energies if they were to escape a horrid watery fate.
Jeff had only taken up the observation post a short while ago so Troy would just have to get comfy and try to make the best of a long stint of rowing.
Troy hadn't slept in days but when he finished his stint on the makeshift telescope all he'd seen was the flag they created when they'd first been shipwrecked all those months ago in order to attract passing ships and that was if he squinted.
That had been a bit emotionally exhausting and now with the prospect of rowing for hours while Captain Pugwash over there barked orders at him made him feel really very pissed off. He really hated rowing.
Troy started to ponder how much he looked like a character from a book with his clothes all torn and dirty and his hair and beard straggly, knotted and sandlogged when he heard Jeff start shouting and waving his arms about furiously. Troy worked out that he had drifted into a sort of daydream while he'd been drifting on the ocean like a bottle with a message in it from Sting, probably about the smegging rainforest, and Jeff was actually shouting at him.
"I think I see something, quick, turn the boat to Starboard."
"Starboard." Jeff really had gone to a very dark, nautical place that Troy didn't like at all.
"Yeah, left. You know turn Starboard."
"What do you mean turn. This is a bloody raft made of rotten wood and vines not a racing speedboat."
"Just try your best. Look over there, I'm sure I saw something."
"Right skipper."
Troy tried in vain to steer the little craft to turn about but the ocean didn't seem to want to play ball and in the absence of anything resembling a rudder or even masts Jeff was forced to shift his seating position in order to save the sploshing, thrashing, ineffectual attempts at manuveouring a raft.
"No, whatever it was it's gone. You were to slow."
"Too slow. What was it, fucking Concorde, the Space Shuttle, The Ghost of Donald Campbell?"
"What would fucking concorde be doing in the sea?"
"What are we doing in the sea?"
"Not very well obviously. It's been four and a half days and we've not seen any signs of Humanity."
"Humanity. I'd settle for an inflattable party banana."
"A What?"
"You know? Like you get in Ibiza and what not. For riding on and such, when you've got a hangover."
"Oh. Well that probably wouldn't be much help. Anyway enough silly talk, I'm hungry. How many Rolos do we have left?"
"Erm. two. Well one each."
"That's fair, I'll have mine now if you don't mind."
"Aah you see, there is a slight problem. If you have a Rolo now and I've got the last one I'll have to give it to you. That's the law with Rolos."
"Are you sure? Are we really that close?"
"You're the only person I've seen in four years, were alone in the middle of six million gallons of water and as far as I know you're the only person I can be sure is alive. You're as close to my best friend as I've got right now."
"What kind of babbling bullshit was that?"
"Well if I can't see anyone else, ergo there might not be anyone else."
"That's all a bit Schroedigger's cat."
Troy hit Jeff viciously in his head with his paddle, rolled his lifeless body into the vast ocean and had both Rolos.
Troy was saved later by a Japanese whaling ship and despite his liberal tendencies accept a free ride, a warm blanket and a Dr. Pepper.
As he rested in his lovely bunk recuperating he mulled over his recent sea bound adventure and came to three conclusions.
One. Whalers, despite what Greenpeace say were actually very nice people and very accomadating to people they'd saved from bobbing up and down endlessly on a rubbish little raft.
Two. It was lucky he'd killed Jeff in international waters and the authorities were undecided over who had jurisdiction over the little piece of water that was the spot of the unfortunate incident and a quirk of maritime law said that Troy had technically commited no crime.
And three. Yes, Troy decided, he was a little bit big country.
Troy didn't like rowing as much as being on landwatch but these were extremely testing circumstances and he accepted that between himself and Jeff they'd have to pool their resources and energies if they were to escape a horrid watery fate.
Jeff had only taken up the observation post a short while ago so Troy would just have to get comfy and try to make the best of a long stint of rowing.
Troy hadn't slept in days but when he finished his stint on the makeshift telescope all he'd seen was the flag they created when they'd first been shipwrecked all those months ago in order to attract passing ships and that was if he squinted.
That had been a bit emotionally exhausting and now with the prospect of rowing for hours while Captain Pugwash over there barked orders at him made him feel really very pissed off. He really hated rowing.
Troy started to ponder how much he looked like a character from a book with his clothes all torn and dirty and his hair and beard straggly, knotted and sandlogged when he heard Jeff start shouting and waving his arms about furiously. Troy worked out that he had drifted into a sort of daydream while he'd been drifting on the ocean like a bottle with a message in it from Sting, probably about the smegging rainforest, and Jeff was actually shouting at him.
"I think I see something, quick, turn the boat to Starboard."
"Starboard." Jeff really had gone to a very dark, nautical place that Troy didn't like at all.
"Yeah, left. You know turn Starboard."
"What do you mean turn. This is a bloody raft made of rotten wood and vines not a racing speedboat."
"Just try your best. Look over there, I'm sure I saw something."
"Right skipper."
Troy tried in vain to steer the little craft to turn about but the ocean didn't seem to want to play ball and in the absence of anything resembling a rudder or even masts Jeff was forced to shift his seating position in order to save the sploshing, thrashing, ineffectual attempts at manuveouring a raft.
"No, whatever it was it's gone. You were to slow."
"Too slow. What was it, fucking Concorde, the Space Shuttle, The Ghost of Donald Campbell?"
"What would fucking concorde be doing in the sea?"
"What are we doing in the sea?"
"Not very well obviously. It's been four and a half days and we've not seen any signs of Humanity."
"Humanity. I'd settle for an inflattable party banana."
"A What?"
"You know? Like you get in Ibiza and what not. For riding on and such, when you've got a hangover."
"Oh. Well that probably wouldn't be much help. Anyway enough silly talk, I'm hungry. How many Rolos do we have left?"
"Erm. two. Well one each."
"That's fair, I'll have mine now if you don't mind."
"Aah you see, there is a slight problem. If you have a Rolo now and I've got the last one I'll have to give it to you. That's the law with Rolos."
"Are you sure? Are we really that close?"
"You're the only person I've seen in four years, were alone in the middle of six million gallons of water and as far as I know you're the only person I can be sure is alive. You're as close to my best friend as I've got right now."
"What kind of babbling bullshit was that?"
"Well if I can't see anyone else, ergo there might not be anyone else."
"That's all a bit Schroedigger's cat."
Troy hit Jeff viciously in his head with his paddle, rolled his lifeless body into the vast ocean and had both Rolos.
Troy was saved later by a Japanese whaling ship and despite his liberal tendencies accept a free ride, a warm blanket and a Dr. Pepper.
As he rested in his lovely bunk recuperating he mulled over his recent sea bound adventure and came to three conclusions.
One. Whalers, despite what Greenpeace say were actually very nice people and very accomadating to people they'd saved from bobbing up and down endlessly on a rubbish little raft.
Two. It was lucky he'd killed Jeff in international waters and the authorities were undecided over who had jurisdiction over the little piece of water that was the spot of the unfortunate incident and a quirk of maritime law said that Troy had technically commited no crime.
And three. Yes, Troy decided, he was a little bit big country.
Gary Vs. The Sea Monster
The giant sea monster tentacled his way out of the salty depths of the ocean, across the pebbly beach, through the pay & display car park and over the Mr. Whippy ice cream truck, gobbling it up diesel engine, flakes and all and pausing briefly to emit a fishy flavoured belch. A fishy belch with a hint of raspberry sauce and van tyres.
Gary pondered how strange it was to see a sea monster devour an ice cream truck and how strangely his life had turned out since he quit his job as at the Krazy Golf Course with the firm intention of packing his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and following where his whim took him.
His plan was to discover all the fascinating things that the world had to offer and he set out with a steadfast and determined look in his eyes. He waved goodbye to his sobbing Mother and gave his best friend Roy his collection of completed football sticker albums and left behind only a faint, niggling memory of himself for the folk he was leaving at home.
It was just like gary, his friends would later comment, to forget too late that he got sick on ferries and had a crippling fear of finding himself in a vehicle that was once fully able to fly but now was plunging straight down to Earth, one of the engines blazing away furiously and there being one to few parachutes for the total number of people who might need one.
Gary knew that should it come to an election over who would be denied a parachute in the event of a plunging, air based emergency he would be the unfortunate short straw holder and not the parachuter wearer.
Gary had always been a disappointment to his Father. His father, the Mayor and part time Santa Claus performer, had had high hopes when his wife had produced a boy.
He planned that Gary would be a productive and useful member of society, excelling in his chosen field of profession, being adept with a musical instrument, charitable with his time and spare resources, a fighter for the needy and against the World's worst excesses, attractive and witty enough to marry a pretty young girl and produce a stream of grandchildren that his highness the Mayor could dote over. Instead of someone who handed out putters, tees and ice lollies to snotty, grasping children.
Gary remembered his Father once saying to him "If you were any more useless you'd be a broken doorknob, you little idiot." as the sea monster put Gary out of his misery by eating him and carrying on in search of more nourishment. A fully loaded ice cream van and a full sized loser not being enough for any respectable giant sea monster bent on terror.
On hearing the news of his only son's briny demise Gary's father was heard to tut and in an exasperated tone of muted voice say "typical" mostly under his breath.
Contemporary witnesses say the Mayor went back to work. Gary's Father was not the sort of man to be held up by a family tragedy and went about a tricky ribbon cutting ceremony for a short stay car park with his usual pomp and Mayoral grace. Those who hadn't been aware of the Sea Monster attack would not have been anymore aware on watching the Mayor's professional way with a pair of oversized scissors.
His Mother was never the same again. She ran off to a resort on Portugal's Atlantic coast, divorced Gary's Father, married a waiter, joined a cult and died happy of a sex induced coronary attack.
The Sea Monster was finally herded/persuaded to go back to the sea only after eating a coin operated mechanical aeroplane ride outside an amusement arcade, three out of four tennis players in a mixed doubles match, a mime artist, a blind man but not his guide dog, seventeen deck chairs and a Punch & Judy tent. He went back to terrorising pirates and whaling ships having not especially enjoyed his sojourn on land as much as he'd been hoping.
Gary pondered how strange it was to see a sea monster devour an ice cream truck and how strangely his life had turned out since he quit his job as at the Krazy Golf Course with the firm intention of packing his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and following where his whim took him.
His plan was to discover all the fascinating things that the world had to offer and he set out with a steadfast and determined look in his eyes. He waved goodbye to his sobbing Mother and gave his best friend Roy his collection of completed football sticker albums and left behind only a faint, niggling memory of himself for the folk he was leaving at home.
It was just like gary, his friends would later comment, to forget too late that he got sick on ferries and had a crippling fear of finding himself in a vehicle that was once fully able to fly but now was plunging straight down to Earth, one of the engines blazing away furiously and there being one to few parachutes for the total number of people who might need one.
Gary knew that should it come to an election over who would be denied a parachute in the event of a plunging, air based emergency he would be the unfortunate short straw holder and not the parachuter wearer.
Gary had always been a disappointment to his Father. His father, the Mayor and part time Santa Claus performer, had had high hopes when his wife had produced a boy.
He planned that Gary would be a productive and useful member of society, excelling in his chosen field of profession, being adept with a musical instrument, charitable with his time and spare resources, a fighter for the needy and against the World's worst excesses, attractive and witty enough to marry a pretty young girl and produce a stream of grandchildren that his highness the Mayor could dote over. Instead of someone who handed out putters, tees and ice lollies to snotty, grasping children.
Gary remembered his Father once saying to him "If you were any more useless you'd be a broken doorknob, you little idiot." as the sea monster put Gary out of his misery by eating him and carrying on in search of more nourishment. A fully loaded ice cream van and a full sized loser not being enough for any respectable giant sea monster bent on terror.
On hearing the news of his only son's briny demise Gary's father was heard to tut and in an exasperated tone of muted voice say "typical" mostly under his breath.
Contemporary witnesses say the Mayor went back to work. Gary's Father was not the sort of man to be held up by a family tragedy and went about a tricky ribbon cutting ceremony for a short stay car park with his usual pomp and Mayoral grace. Those who hadn't been aware of the Sea Monster attack would not have been anymore aware on watching the Mayor's professional way with a pair of oversized scissors.
His Mother was never the same again. She ran off to a resort on Portugal's Atlantic coast, divorced Gary's Father, married a waiter, joined a cult and died happy of a sex induced coronary attack.
The Sea Monster was finally herded/persuaded to go back to the sea only after eating a coin operated mechanical aeroplane ride outside an amusement arcade, three out of four tennis players in a mixed doubles match, a mime artist, a blind man but not his guide dog, seventeen deck chairs and a Punch & Judy tent. He went back to terrorising pirates and whaling ships having not especially enjoyed his sojourn on land as much as he'd been hoping.
Joe Vs. The Evil Fiend (part 1)
Joe climbed out of the pit. He'd only recently been thrown in there because The Evil Fiend had seen it as an opportunity to chuck him in. The Evil Fiend had been Joe's nemesis now for so long it was like the two were almost friends. Joe knew more about The Evil Fiend than his sister. Although his sister had been away working with chimps in Africa and didn't have access to the Internet so it was tricky to stay in touch. The last time he'd seen her Joe had just saved her from The Evil Fiend, who had used her as bait for one of his dastardly schemes to get Joe's attention while he tried to take over the world by firing nuclear bombs at the moon and altering the Earth's gravational effect thereby causing massive tidal waves and fair deal of destruction, chaos and flooding.
Joe had indeed saved his sister from the Evil Fiend and the world but it had been a close squeak. The nuclear bombs had already been primed and were in blast off count down before Joe had saved the day. It had been close. The President had been grateful though and given Joe the highly prestigious Medal Of Honour, an award only usually given to members of the armed forces but he made an executive decision for Joe and Joe was now a Medal Of Honour owner. This was all two years ago now and it all seemed such a long time ago now as he crawled battered and bleeding from the pit.
Joe had especially not like the crocodile that was in the pit. It had been angry, hungry and not happy to see Joe land heavily in his pit. It was now ready to be turned into a handbag or maybe some cowboy boots. But it wouldn't be doing any biting of heroes at any point soon. Not unless science has found a way to bring reptiles back to life from the dead. And reattach their jaws.
Joe had indeed saved his sister from the Evil Fiend and the world but it had been a close squeak. The nuclear bombs had already been primed and were in blast off count down before Joe had saved the day. It had been close. The President had been grateful though and given Joe the highly prestigious Medal Of Honour, an award only usually given to members of the armed forces but he made an executive decision for Joe and Joe was now a Medal Of Honour owner. This was all two years ago now and it all seemed such a long time ago now as he crawled battered and bleeding from the pit.
Joe had especially not like the crocodile that was in the pit. It had been angry, hungry and not happy to see Joe land heavily in his pit. It was now ready to be turned into a handbag or maybe some cowboy boots. But it wouldn't be doing any biting of heroes at any point soon. Not unless science has found a way to bring reptiles back to life from the dead. And reattach their jaws.
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
intro
Hello. I'm lee smith-jjones.
I shall be popping a view short stories and reviews here from time to time. If you're on Twitter you can follow me there and i will try to update my blogposts as i write them.
I'm new to blogging and as i write this intro i have nothing else to add at the moment but i'll try to post frequently. I'm hoping you like my stuff.
Thanks LSjJ.
I shall be popping a view short stories and reviews here from time to time. If you're on Twitter you can follow me there and i will try to update my blogposts as i write them.
I'm new to blogging and as i write this intro i have nothing else to add at the moment but i'll try to post frequently. I'm hoping you like my stuff.
Thanks LSjJ.
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