Losing It
I mentioned in “A Day” that I’d had some violent urges. On Friday (the day after that entry), when a number of things went wrong at once, I threw my laptop down the stairs. Also, my husband was coming up the stairs at the time (coming to help me, in fact).
My laptop is my most precious possession – it has ALL my writing on it (mostly backed up, but still). My husband is my favourite person ever.
I’ve never done anything that could harm a person before – or anything that I thought was likely to harm an object (not even a plate, which I believe is traditional).
I always get about half a second of rational thinking in moments like this. All I managed to think was, “This is bad. Throw slowly, and try not to hit him.”
I didn’t hit him – my husband actually moved in front of my bag and stopped it with his foot. He certainly didn’t feel threatened. My laptop (in its padded laptop bag) was fine too. But saying “it’s all good” would be wildly innaccurate.
It’s bizarre and frightening that I would actually throw something – especially my beloved laptop – at a person. It’s weird and embarassing that the underlying cause of my current stress is that a publisher is taking a long time to reply (which is a good sign – but one I’ve had almost twenty times before). It just isn’t a good reason for me to find myself so far over the edge. (On the other hand, like many other writers, I’ve been working toward a big break for over a decade.)
Nonetheless, here I am. There’s a good chance the publisher will reply today or tomorrow. I guarantee I’ll feel better when they do, even if it’s a rejection (that’s just how I roll, people). In the meantime I’m wandering around the house resisting the urge to scream and punch things, and I’ll probably stay that way a few days.
I’d better take me some happy pills tomorrow.
Companion to Day Fifty-Two: Pictures!
My illustrator has done more work for us! If you can rewind a bit in your head, please do so. Otherwise, scroll down a bit to Friday’s “Story so Far” companion and you can see them in context.
I saw girls playing on a beach as we drew close. ‘Let’s attack some other island,’ I said hastily. ‘People with kids never have much loot.'
Sol saw kids in a corner and had me take them outside. Once they were safe, we burned their home too. The night sky turned grey with smoke.
The lovely Mel (aka The Illustrator) is found on deviant art under the handle veleven.
Companion to Day Fifty-One: Multiple Choice
All the guards went to save their homes. We anchored off-shore.
The guards returned black-faced with ash and rage.
‘Tomorrow,’ said Sol.
———————————————————–
What happens tomorrow?
a) It’s Sol’s seventeenth birthday!
b) Sol decides she’s has enough of this island and they sail away.
c) Wacky hijinks ensue.
d) Summer Glau shows up and FIGHTS EVERYONE! YAY!
e) The killing begins.
f) Ulandin wears a dress.
g) The island votes Sol in as their queen.
h) Sol’s magic causes an earthquake. Everyone dies.
i) Ulandin and Sol marry and live happily ever after.
j) Some combination of the above, eg Sol and Summer Glau fight, then everyone dies.
Publishers
Okay, still haven’t heard back from any of the three publishers that have full manuscripts of mine right now. Two of them are now on “any day now” status.
I know I mentioned at least one by name in previous posts. That wasn’t a “name and shame” thing, it was simply information for other writers about what the query process always involves (waiting, then more waiting). My two favourite publishers are Allen & Unwin and Harper Collins, because both have given me free editorial advice (which is VERY rare, mainly because quite a few egomaniac authors insist on flaming anyone that dares say their book isn’t perfect).
Now obviously two of my current potential publishers are deeply late. Yes it makes me angry and freaks me out (did I mention I’m mentally ill?), but the rational bits of me understand that the reason they’re late is because they’re seriously considering my work – which is very brave of them, since (a) most of the world has no clue who I am, (b) I’ve approached them more or less off the street (via a competition in Harper Collins’ case), and (c) the likelihood is that even if they say yes to me they’ll end up making a loss overall (not because my books are bad, but because that’s a statistical fact).
I sent a gentle reminder email to one a couple of weeks ago, and not only did they reply that day, they replied (and were therefore still clearly at work) at 9pm at night.
Publishers – every single one I’ve ever dealt with – deserve all the pity and all the praise they get (and none of the spite, hate mail, or suspicion).
They are always late – always (unless your book is a terribly easy “no” decision) – because they are massively overworked, and because they care about doing a difficult job right.
Companion to Day Fifty: Free Story
The horizon was red with fire, and the air tasted bitter with smoke. Our kids came back from their missions grinning and scorched.
—————————————–
In honour of International Talk Like A Pirate Day, here’s a story for ye. . .
It takes place a lot of years after “Worse Things Happen at Sea”, and is 2500 words long.
“Sol and the Sea-Serpent”
***For reasons of publication-ability, you’ll have to email me to get the story. fellissimo(at)hotmail(dot)com***
Companion to Day Forty-Nine: Story so Far
1 August. 8am
Sun. Pain. I cracked open my eyes and saw land. ‘Sol!’ I said.
‘CAPTAIN Sol,’ she said – and crumpled.
‘We’re saved,’ I said. ‘Right? SOL!’
9am
Sol awoke. She sat up, unsticking her tarred hair from the deck of our stolen boat. ‘We’re sinking.’
I leapt overboard and swam to save us.
9:00am
I wanted to drink the sea, but I swam. The waves flung me upside down and the sea darkened as I drowned.
Sol grasped my neck.
I passed out.
Land August 2. 12 midday
The sizzle of frying eggs woke me.
‘Yep,’ said Sol to a bald man beside us, ‘nasty pirates coming. Best hide your treasure. We’ll help.’
August 3. 8am
We ate bread and wine and milk, and a yellow fruit that tasted like chocolate. It was fun, pretending to be good.
I got a stomach ache.
August 4. 3pm
Treasure, I discovered, is heavy. But Sol wore a girlish smile so I didn’t say a word.
The locals thought we were just kids. But we weren’t.
August 5. 9am
The bald elder missed his jewels, so our good times ended fast.
‘Ulandin,’ Sol grinned, ‘don’t waste our loot on food. Let’s steal a ship.’
5pm
A beggar took pity on me and gave us his crusts to gnaw. ‘I’m called Oldy,’ he said.
Sol said, ‘Ulandin’s my first mate. Wanna be our crew?’
Oldy gives Ulandin bread 6pm
Oldy sang songs until the harbour guards left. We chose the best ship and crept past its crew into the hold.
‘Great,’ I said, ‘we’re stuck.’
August 6. 4am
The crew was dull with sleepiness. Oldy rose like a grey ghost in the bridge.
Sol used magic to fell three men. The rest ran for help.
4:30am
Oldy said, ‘Sol’s a quickener? She moves objects by just touch?’
‘It’s common enough.’
‘Not at sea. It’s bad luck.’
‘Sol’s used to that.’
5am
‘The guards have swords,’ I said.
Sol said, ‘Want one?’
‘I want to go.’
She quickened the ship. We sailed away with every sail still closed.
August 7. 11pm
Sol slept, so we drifted. The sun weighed heavy on my shoulders.
‘At least I wasn’t a slave,’ said Oldy.
I said, ‘We both escaped.’
‘Maybe.’
August 8. 7pm
The ship’s old owners left tasty food in it – salted meat, squishy fruit and lots of crackers. Also rum.
Maybe I drunks a bit too muchness.
August 9. 10am
Sol magically bellied out the sails. We were all surprised when we started going backward.
I tried not to laugh.
Sol broke my tooth anyway.
August 10. 6pm
Sol delighted in the burning wind and sun and the constant desperate clapping of our sails.
‘Look,’ said Oldy. ‘Is that a ship – or land?’
August 11. 6am
‘It’s a ship,’ I said at first light, ‘so do we meet them – or do we run?’
Sol picked at her tarred hair and said, ‘Let’s take their crew.’
12 midday
The wind tore at my eyes. Sol yelled, ‘Trim the sails!’ I actually thought she meant to cut them.
Oldy suddenly knew how to sail – somehow.
6pm
‘Pink!’ Sol screamed. ‘Stupid pink sky! And why is that ship still running?’
‘We’ll get them,’ I said.
‘Or they’ll get us,’ said Oldy.
The other ship August 12 – 7am
‘Sol – Captain Sol?’ I said. ‘Hit me if you like, but there’s forty of them and three of us. And Oldy’s. . . old.’
‘Poor them,’ she smirked.
12 midday
The wind dropped and we caught them.
They laughed at us. I longed to hide behind Oldy.
Then Sol arose, grabbed a rope, and swung across.
12:15pm
‘Do you surrender?’ she cried.
They grabbed swords, but she still had her magic.
Their ship shattered.
‘We’re sorry miss!’ they wept.
August 13. 7am
‘A captain goes down with his ship,’ said Sol – and tied him to his mast. His ship screamed as it sank.
He screamed as long as he could.
August 14. 8am
I said, ‘I’m afraid of her – but I know I’m made to follow her. Are you the same?’
‘No,’ said Oldy. ‘I’m not afraid. And I’m following you.’
August 15. 8am
‘Stop cowering,’ Sol told our new crew, ‘I dislike it. Now, hows about we attack a real target – like an island. Who here wants to be rich?’
12 midday
I asked Oldy why he was following me.
He said, ‘Sol has you. Now you have me.’
‘But –’
‘Everyone needs someone. I of all people know that.’
August 16. 3pm
My back and wrists ached.
The sword tutor asked, ‘Will this island have women then?’
‘I suppose.’
He cheered and toasted Sol – with my rum.
August 17. 8:30am
A man muttered something to his crewmates while Sol was out of sight.
I crept up and grabbed his arm.
He shrieked – EXACTLY like a girl.
August 18. 11am
‘But you ARE a girl,’ I said.
‘No I ain’t.’
‘Don’t the men know?’
‘Coz it ain’t true,’ she said, and picked her nose at me.
I gave up.
2:00pm
‘Li’s a girl,’ I told Oldy.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘she’ll be fine.’
‘How could anyone know that?’
He smiled, ‘I’m much older than I look.’
August 19. 5:00pm
Sol cheated at lessons, using magic to bend the swords – then the teacher.
Luckily Oldy was a healer. ‘Kindly stop breaking arms,’ he said.
8pm
‘Wanna be free?’ Li asked.
I said, ‘Sol already freed me.’
She hauled on a sail: ‘Do you really think that?’
I tied a knot: ‘Don’t you?’
August 20 – midnight
Night wind and stars. I shadowed men to Sol’s cabin, and yelled when they pulled out a knife.
She killed two in an eyeblink.
The rest fled.
4:30am
I threw the bodies away, knowing Li had led them.
Sol and I kept watch in silence all night. Oldy slept on in his cabin.
I dreaded the dawn.
6am
Sol judged us at dawn. Li confessed, and Sol threw her overboard.
The men vanished below like dust swept up.
But I saw Oldy steal the boat.
Oldy stole the boat August 21: 7:00am
Oldy sauntered in and helped himself to salty breakfast stew.
‘Didn’t you go with Li?’ I asked.
He shrugged, ‘I came back.’
4:00pm
‘Who stole my boat?’ Sol screamed.
Oldy raised his hand. ‘You’re a fine captain. We won’t need it.’
Sol said, ‘You’ll live – for now.’
August 22. 5:00pm
I showed Sol our hold. She said, ‘We still have food for – what – two days?’
‘About that,’ I said, ‘and we’re out of soap.’
‘I’d noticed.’
August 23. 2:00pm
We reached land, searched empty houses, and found a child’s skeleton clutching at dirt.
‘Anyone want to leave?’ Sol said.
No-one spoke.
August 24. 2:00pm
The sun glared on something, and we sailed for it: a pirate ship.
‘Hurrah,’ said Sol, ‘they’ll have food AND treasure.’
The ship chased us.
5:00pm
I forgot my sword lessons and punched and bit. The real pirates slashed my arms and legs. We lost badly. Sol’s face was black with rage.
8:00pm
Sol ran her hand across the bars of our cell – tink, tink, tink. No-one else moved.
‘They’ll feed us soon,’ she said. ‘Then we’ll attack.’
August 25. 9:00pm
I woke slumped against Oldy’s fuzzy beard. Sol was gone. Only our bodies held us up. Then Sol appeared with her arms full. ‘Anyone thirsty?’
Sol appeared with her hands full
midnight
Sol brought us food and life all night. Our guard almost saw her, but she passed magically through the outer wall of the ship until he left.
August 26: 5:00am
‘Do we fight now?’ I asked.
Sol said, ‘Anyone got a sword? No? Never mind. Oldy – come.’
We waited in silence, and heard nothing at all.
9:00am
Sol said, ‘They’re all asleep.’
‘A healing sleep,’ Oldy said, ‘which I wish I had time to give you.’
We scoffed pie before we started work.
midday
We locked the pirates in their filthy cell. Then we stole their cannons, food, and water. And soap. And all their boats. And LOTS of rum.
August 27. 1:00pm
Sol sat on the bowsprit in the dashing spray, frowning. ‘Why, when we won, did half our crew desert?’
‘They’re afraid of you.’
She smiled.
August 28.
8:00am
I saw girls playing on a beach as we drew close.
‘Let’s attack some other island,’ I said hastily. ‘People with kids never have much loot.’
10:00am
Sol politely traded a silver necklace for anchorage. She ordered our remaining crew to be good – no stealing, no killing – not yet.
5:00pm
I bought new clothes! Ones with no holes! And I bought myself a bright yellow hat, so I look nautical.
If only the ground would stop moving.
August 29
7:00am
No crew returned. Sol said, ‘We’re it? A princess, a beggar and a slave?’
I said, ‘Princess? Who’s a –you?!’
‘NO!’ she said. ‘I- shut up.’
Midday
One man turned up.
‘Hello Mal,’ said Sol. ‘Where’s everyone?’
He shrugged.
‘Fine,’ she said, ‘let’s burn this place and find a better one.’
7:00pm
Sol saw kids in a corner and had me take them outside. Once they were safe, we burned their home too.
The night sky turned grey with smoke.
August 30.
7:00pm
I could still see the smoke as we sailed away. At least we hadn’t killed any kids.
Sol was content, even when Mal burnt our dinner to ashes.
11:00pm
‘If you’re following me, does that mean you’ll help me – if things get bad?’
‘Yes,’ said Oldy.
After that talk, I was able to get to sleep.
August 31.
3:00pm
‘Why are all the islands here so black?’ Sol grumbled.
Oldy said, ‘When we take over an island, what will we do with it?’
‘Anything I want.’
September 1.
3:00pm
Sol and I practised swordfighting, and I noticed her hands were soft.
‘A princess ain’t much,’ she growled at me, ‘just a slave in a dress.’
September 2.
5:00pm
Rain poured until my clothes were rough as rocks. We sailed, but we couldn’t see. Sol made us stay on watch – staring into the stormy dark.
September 3
3:00pm
Water spilled into our cabins and slicked the wooden floors.
Oldy paced the hold as the ship staggered. ‘It’s not time. Not yet,’ he said.
September 4
3:00pm
At last I found my guts.
‘What do you know about this?’ I shouted at Oldy above the howling wind.
He said, ‘I know we all survive tonight.’
September 5. 9:30am
The wind threw me into a mess of ropes and I was trapped. It tossed me around and dunked me under waves. A rope slipped around my neck.
Midday
Sol slashed through the ropes, saving my life again. ‘Lazy sod,’ she yelled over the thunder, ‘come help throw the cannons overboard.’
3:00pm
We threw away our weapons and our food, but Sol kept her treasure. The lightened ship flew over the ocean. We hurtled deeper into the dark.
We threw away our weapons and our food. . . September 6. 6:00pm
Rain. Hail. Rope burns on my arms and chest. Can’t see. Can’t eat. Can’t think. All I can do is hold on until the end. If this ever ends.
Midnight
The sky was lit by stars instead of lightning. I hung out all my clothes, and asked Oldy how he knew we’d live.
He said, ‘I always know.’
September 7. 7:00am
We lay in the sun and slept. Sol was naked, so I was careful not to look. Oldy snored.
When I stood, my shape was outlined in dark wet wood.
I was careful not to look September 8.
‘We were blown into unfamiliar seas,’ said Sol, ‘so I bet there’s a REALLY rich island nearby.’
‘Sol,’ I said, ‘look – land!’
September 9.
The locals wore purple and carried gold on their wrists and necks.
‘This is the place,’ said Sol.
Mal leered.
Oldy and I exchanged glances.
September 10.
We practised sword work below decks, out of sight of the people we spied on. Their guards were fat and sleepy, and the houses left unlocked.
Oldy didn’t speak to me, but I knew he was ready. And I knew he was more than he seemed. He frightened me more than Sol – who scared me too.
September 11.
A boy asked Sol for food.
She looked at him. ‘You want gold?’
‘No,’ said the boy, ‘just bread.’
‘Be one of us,’ said Sol.
‘Okay – captain.’
September 12.
The forgotten children came to us one by one – dark-haired, dark-eyed, and ready to fight as Sol’s army.
Oldy sang to them as night fell.
September 13.
Sol taught the kids swordwork. One of them slashed her belly open – then cowered in fear. ‘Get up, kid,’ said Sol, ‘Red looks good on me.’
September 14.
Kids kept cutting one another while training. ‘Can we just fight with knives and rocks, like usual?’ one asked, scratching his bloody chin.
September 15.
Sol and I watched the harbour. ‘That ship’s better’n ours,’ said Sol, ‘so when we rule here, I’m gonna make it mine. The blue one’s for you.’
September 16.
[dawn]
‘We’re under attack!’ Sol yelled. I ran to save the kids, but by the time I reached them our attackers had fled – bleeding and afraid.
[night]
Night fell over two rows of fighters – the guards standing between us and their island, and our own vicious pack lined up on our port side.
September 17
‘Signals,’ said Sol.
I asked, ‘To who?’
‘To our other ships, of course.’
We signalled instructions all day. I don’t even know what we said.
September 18.
Finally most of our guards had left – to find our imaginary fleet.
‘Now?’ I asked Sol.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I want them more afraid.’
A Day
I’ve been meaning for a while to detail an ordinary day in the life of a crazy person (that’d be me, for those who haven’t been paying attention).
Today is Thursday, which means that I have two and a half hours of tutoring – that’s a big day. I’m slightly more stressed than usual due to my partner working a lot of overtime (he seems fine but I’m stressed on his behalf), the long months of waiting for Harper Collins’ reply, and my parents’ 25th wedding anniversary a week and a half ago (I take a long time to recover from things).
I awoke at 8:00am as usual, feeling frightened. This was because I was teaching at a school today, and I was nervous for various minor reasons (which also gave me nightmares). I remembered NOT to eat nuts for breakfast (important when visiting a school, where breathing nut-breath can cause anaphylactic shock). I’d gained another twenty twitter followers overnight (good, except I suspect I’ve attracted the attention of spambots rather than humans). Patched up a rung in my right knee-hi with nail polish (all my other knee-highs were in the wash).
By 9:20am I was at the school with plenty of time to spare, despite taking two wrong turns on the way (it’s about 5 minutes from my house, involves only four turns altogether, and I’ve already been there several times. Oh well).
The class went well. (Although I don’t think anyone actually went home and followed me on twitter, which in theory was the point.)
Went to my parents’ house (while they’re on a second honeymoon) to use their clip art and printer (making certificates for a writing competition – my second attempt at certificates, since our home printer is about as helpful as a customer service line). Noticed a car out the front, and mentally braced myself for my parents (parents are innately scary – I always have my most severe panic attacks in their house). I rang the doorbell to warn them (so they can put clothes on/hide their lover/sweep the dead goats under the rug, paused a second, and let myself in. The cleaner was on her way to the door, and when she appeared I scared both of us by screaming in shock. (She has bought a new car lately, which is why I didn’t recognise it – I had though it might be my parents’ rental car.)
Oh well.
The certificate-making was surprisingly easy, but the parental printer didn’t work.
Oh well.
I bought lollies at the local shop – 150grams chocolate coated peanuts, 200g natural confectionary jellybeans, a mini peppermint freddo and a mini caramello.
I considered staying at my parents for a few hours until I had to go to work, but was too scared my parents would drop by (it’s worth noting that I get on just fine with my parents). So I drove home. (This is trip # 1 to the North side today.)
On the way home, I ate enough jelly beans to feel sick. I left them in the car in order to stop myself eating more.
Ate lunch, ate the two smaller chocolates, and started on the peanuts while reading. Felt sick from choc-coated peanuts. Slept. Awoke muddled and frightened, and considered cancelling my first hour of tutoring. But it was the one that pays in cash, so I didn’t. Just went to work, with a stress-headache (I’ve been getting stress headaches since my partner and I got engaged last year – there’s nothing more stressful than a wedding, and I haven’t really recovered yet.)
Trip # 2 to the North side today.
Stepped out of the car and realised my right shoe, perhaps feeling companionable toward my right knee-high stocking, was broken. I ignored it, except for walking carefully (which I have to do already, because panic-attack and/or medication uncoordination makes heels difficult these days).
Spent a large portion of the lesson chatting with the student. Could arguably call it “holistic” teaching.
During the next lesson I managed to check my email twice (did I mention Harper Collins haven’t replied yet?) Unfortuantely, that student has an assignment due Monday (which – hallelujah – she HASN’T lost this time), and I’d left two important pieces of paper at home (despite writing about them in my diary). I phoned my husband (who I knew was seeing a friend this evening) and asked if his friend lived on the Northside. The friend doesn’t, but my partner suggested he meet me in Belconnen with the two pieces of paper. I told him not to worry.
My third student was wriggly but good. She said I had what looked like possum tracks on my face (this is because she’s been studying Aboriginal culture – and because I write on my hand to help me remember things, which frequently transfers to my face).
Then I went home to pick up the two vital pieces of paper. A car tried to zoom around me on a form one lane (scary) and another beeped nearby (not at me, I think, but my first reaction was anger – then I thought how fun it’d be to smash my driver’s side window with my head. I remembered the last time I’d smashed a car window – also in panicked anger – and decided not to). Ate the rest of the jelly beans, and felt sick.
I was at home for ten minutes. I did a little tidying, pushed my knee-highs down around my ankles so my blood could circulate for a bit, ate a small amount of my dinner, and checked my email (nothing from Harper Collins). By sheer good luck, my husband was still home, so I got a welcome-home smoochie. I was holding up well until he asked how I was, when I immediately (and unexpectedly) cried. (But only for a second.)
Went back to my student’s house. Ate the rest of the choc-coated peanuts and felt sick. (Trip # 3 to the North side today.) Gave her the pieces of paper, and reminded her of various things which she’s probably forgotten by now.
Realised as I left that my knee-highs were still bunched around my ankles. Oh well. On the Tuggeranong Parkway (Canberra’s only 100 kmh zone), I felt a flash of curiousity about what it’d be like to put my foot down and drive into the line of cars in the other lane. By now it was dark and raining heavily, and I was hallucinating a little (which isn’t related to mental illness. I think it’s a mild sleep-apnea thing. Interestingly, I don’t hallucinate when on anti-depressants). It’s rare for me to get those flashes nowadays, but there have been times (generally when off chocolate) when I’d have to write stuff like, “Don’t injure self” on my hand (so I’d remember I didn’t actually want to do that stuff).
Arrived home. Ate. Watched trashy TV (20 to 1 most outrageous rock stars). Cried when they played four bars of Pink’s “Dear Mr President”. Wrote twittertale blog.
Called husband to see if his friend can print the certificates. Friend doesn’t have a printer, but husband said he will make arrangements elsewhere tomorrow (you can kinda see why I married him, huh?).
Now it’s 10:00 o’clock, and my husband’s on his way home to watch a “Buffy” episode before we go to sleep.
And that’s a day in the life of a mental.
Just don't make her angry
Companion to Day Forty-Eight: A Pirate’s Idea of Fun
‘Signals,’ said Sol.
I asked, ‘To who?’
‘To our other ships, of course.’
We signalled instructions all day. I don’t even know what we said.
————————————————————
Quite a lot of historical pirates were just as mental as Sol.
Captain Low and his men were just as dangerous in a good mood as in a bad one. They “almost as often murdered a man from the excess of good humour, as out of passion and resentment. . . danger lurked in their very smiles.” (“A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pirates” by Captain Johnson).
A navy captain called Graves was unusually lucky (if you can call it that). His ship was taken, and the pirates were in fabulous spirits. They toasted Captain Graves, and offered him a drink – which, under the circumstances, he refused. Somehow, he wasn’t in the mood.
So they pulled a gun and said he’d drink to the pirate’s victory or die. Not surprisingly, he drank – about a quart. And that kept him alive.
Horror Story
Hi
I don’t write horror much (mostly because it freaks me out), but one of my best horror stories is podcast here http://pseudopod.org/2009/08/28/pseudopod-157-wave-goodbye/
WARNING: unsuitable for most children. Supernatural themes/horror.
And here’s another picture of my cat. Because I’m pretty sure she’s the best thing about this blog right now.
Ooh, that nap made me sleepy
Companion to Day Forty-Seven: Children
‘We’re under attack!’ Sol yelled.
I ran to save the kids, but by the time I reached them our attackers had fled – bleeding and afraid.
6:00pm
Night fell over two rows of fighters – the guards standing between us and their island, and our own vicious pack lined up on our port side.
—————————————————–
Children are scary.
I was babysitting earlier this year, picking kids up from their school once a week and staying a few hours until their mum finished work.
On one occasion, the ride home was. . . unusual. They refused to sit in front, but instead spent the ride home in the back seat, discussing how to kill me. In the end they agreed on a kamikaze attack.
They were both under ten years old – and vegetarians.
In other disturbing news, my horror story “Wave Goodbye” has been podcast here http://pseudopod.org/2009/08/28/pseudopod-157-wave-goodbye/
WARNING: it is HORROR, so not everyone will like it. Because it’s not written for children or young adults (except ones that like horror), I used my other pen-name, Felicity Bloomfield.
Got a disturbing tale to tell about a child near you? Please do!
They're ALWAYS ready to attack. . .
Felicity Banks 