Battle Fields

The warrior danced down the line,

Slicing the foes in front of his,

Ripping them apart,

Leaving them lying on the ground.

Birds wheeled in the air.

Some coming down to feast on the dead

But most, still afraid of the warrior

Killing his way though an army

Stay back

The soldiers

Rooted to the ground

Watch as the vortex of blades

Moves along the line towards them

Cutting chopping

Mowing though the death around him

Seemingly oblivious to what he was doing.

A blank face with the same expression

No matter what it did

Soon the field was clear

Of living soldiers

But dead lay everywhere

Its work done, the warrior returns to its dwelling

To lie dreaming

Of years in the future

When it would reap another bloody harvest.

It's the competition drinking game! Every time I say competition you take a drink!

Another week has gone by and I've actually done some writers stuff. If by writers stuff you mean scramble to get a competition done at the last possible minute. I may have actually missed the deadline by two minutes but hopefully it'll be allowed. Anyone interested in the competition should go to http://www.digi-tale.co/ as they've got some good stuff there. And some reasonably generous competitions.
Anyway, I decided to do something different this week and put in some poetry (yes decided to do something different. Not ran out of time again, at all). So it's pretty bad but at least it's something.
See you next week, hopefully. I'll be camping so I might put it out on the Monday instead. We'll see.

The Glass Swallow by Julia Golding, a review

I probably shouldn't have just read that book. Goodness knows I should be too busy to read an entire book in a day. But I have and so I might as well do a review. So here's what I thought of The Glass Swallow by Julia Golding.

In a way this is the second in a series. It's set in the same world as Dragonfly, another book by the same author, but it's more of a spiritual successor as it doesn't relate to the other book beyond a few references. Even the surroundings are different as it takes place in a newly discovered country, which is quite different from the others we've seen before.

Like the previous book it focuses quite a bit on systems of government and how they should be. In Dragonfly we saw how an invading presence which only cares about control can hurt an economy and the people. Here we see how a government too self contained can flounder and consume itself. As before Julia Golding tells us that governments should be there to take care of the people, not the other way round.

This book is a lot darker as society breaks down completely, leaving pockets of people to take care of themselves. It's your typical zombie apocalypse thing without the ravening hordes of undead. The people are also not as nice in this book. Where previously everyone was either evil, a dispensable soldier, dark on the outside while noble underneath or hail-fellow-well-met, here not everyone's in it for selfless reasons. Some have been forced and some act through greed. It gives a bit more depth to the book and some more drama, which is needed as there isn't really an enemy or big bad guy in this, just a shattered state.

The characters themselves are quite interesting. As aforementioned, it's not all black and white. The main girl character, Rain, is a girl trapped in the foreign land, just like Taoshira in the first book. She can't fight or do anything practical but seems to get through everything by mostly force of will. There's also a youngish boy called Retsam, who's level of maturity fluctuates so much you occasionally wonder if he is some reincarnated being as is suggested.

But all that wasn't the reason I read the book. What captivated me about Dragonfly was the romance the built up between the main characters. It was slow, thoughtful and, well, romantic. I was hoping to see a repeat performance in The Glass Swallow.

It wasn't quite like that. While the attraction in Dragonfly was more a sort of slow realisation, in The Glass Swallow it was basically love at first sight. The first kiss came when they'd been in each others company for a combined amount of, at most, three hours. I have nothing against love at first sight but after that reasonably fast start it stalls and moves along very slowly. In Dragonfly there were romantic gestures and, while there is at least one here, nothing seems to come of it, mostly because they don't seem to talk about their feelings, just occasionally kiss. Which is annoying as you keep seeing things from both of their points of view and they're both wondering just how the other feels about them. It's readable and quite sweet but not really comparable to the love in Dragonfly.

All in all it was a very enjoyable book. The main reason I didn't like it more is purely personal; as Dragonfly is one of my favourites The Glass Swallow is just different enough for me to think less of it for that difference. But it is still good and beautifully set out. Each of the chapters are named after coloured shards of glass, which tied in nicely with Rain's profession and added just that bit extra to it. I'd recommend the book to Julia Golding fans and anyone who liked Dragonfly.

A Last Prayer

The Great Hall of the Bellarius Monastery was usually a magnificent and peaceful place. Time was when many people would make the pilgrimage here, through sun, rain and even lashing snow. They would enter through the large oak doors, gazing around in awe at the high ceilings, the colourful glass windows, through which light would stream in multicoloured beams, and at the tapestries on the walls that hung thick with history. Then their eyes would focus on the bier in the centre and they would walk reverently towards it.

Anselem was also making his way in its direction but the scene couldn't have been more different from what was usual. Now the hall was no longer a place of peace. Instead hammering filled the air as a few of the remaining monks tried to nail long planks across the doors in a desperate effort to reinforce them. Others were crouching on pulpits, clutching crossbows they barely knew how to use and keeping an eyes on the walls. The windows were no longer their former radiant selves; many were broken and of the twelve of the saints that had once stood there watching over the hall only Granio remained intact, sitting at a wooden table, quaffing beer. Maybe not the most edifying one to survive but any glimpse of divine favour was welcome. Occasionally shadows moved in the darkness outside the frames and a nervous monk would loose a bolt but if they hit anything it never made a sound.

Anselem was engaged in a third activity, though he would much rather be holding a weapon instead of just a staff. He was moving slowly across the floor, lighting holders full of incense. He occasionally glanced back at the work on the door. It didn't really matter, in the long run they were all going to die, but he felt that the longer that time could be delayed, the better.

The shuffle of slippers caused him to look up as the Abbot made his way to stand beside him. He put a hand on Anselem's brow; a blessing. “You're doing good work, Anselem,” he told the kneeling novice.

“Thank you, sir.” Part of Anselem wanted to ask, what was the point? But he already knew the answer.

Abbot Bob seemed to sense the question and answered it anyway.

“We might all die when the werewolves finally get in. But with the incense lit they won't be able to find the others.”

The Abbot shuffled away and Anselem returned to his work, while his mind strayed to those sheltering in the cellars; the servants, the villagers and the farmers from the outlying settlements. All had fled here when the werewolves had swept down from the hills.

They'd always been a problem, always a threat to lonely travellers. But they'd never been seen in bands of more than ten before. Any merchant caravan had just taken some guards and they'd been fine.

Now hundreds boiled down from the hills, destroying all in their path.

The nobles of the land had tried to stand against them at first. Since the time of the Saints the power of the monasteries had waned and lords and barons had raised themselves up. They had trained bands of men under their control and it had seemed for a time that they would be able to keep the darkness at bay. But one after another their holds had fallen, their soldiers used only to other men, not the powerful, savage beasts they found themselves fighting. Now the nobles cowered in the cellar along with the carrots and the people they had once controlled.

Anselem wondered how they must be feeling, how everyone must be feeling. To be trapped in the dark, because the werewolves seemed to be able to smell the light given off by candles, hearing the shrieks and howls from above, knowing that you might be found at any moment. It had to be hellish there, hellish and quiet as no-one would be able even to whimper. For a moment he was glad that he was up above. At least he would die breathing air in the place he'd worshipped in and where he'd once found peace.

That moment soon ended as another assault from the werewolves began. The door began shuddering, the monks around it being knocked back, and the howling grew to a great crescendo. There was a clattering as one of the monks in a pulpit released a bolt and it shattered against the wall beside a window. At first Anselem hoped it was just nerves but as more went off he looked up and saw the wolves scuttling like dark spiders through the windows, their dark, hairy limbs almost like humans but far to bestial. He ducked and ran toward the bier, burning the last of his incense as he went. He crashed into its side and spent one second gazing down at it.

Saint Bellarius lay there under a glass case, fingers lying lightly on her sword. She had been dead for longer than time had existed yet here she still rested, not changed in any way at all. Her silver hair pooled across her pillow, her eyelashes still stood like towers. The skin on her face was without blemish and her lips were full and almost moist. She radiated serenity.

Anselem caught a sight of his face reflected in the case. It couldn't have been more different. Hair shorn away, expression full of fear and dirt. Brown eyes wide with the knowledge that he probably wouldn't live to see the next half hour.

There was something else. A flicker of movement, high up behind him. As he turned to see there was a growl and a thud, off to his left. A werewolf had dropped from the ceiling, landing in a pulpit. The monk turned, trying to fire his crossbow and pull a knife from his belt but the beast swiped a claw at him, knocking him down and out of sight. The werewolf followed him down and there came a spray of blood and the sound of rending flesh.

Then he heard a growl and, looking up, he saw a shadow bearing down on him, it's claws raised, a hungry grin floating about it's elongated face. His knees gave out beneath him and he fell against the casket.

“Saint protect me, Saint guide me, Saint allow me no harm,” he half muttered, half begged, trying to raise his staff in a defence he knew wouldn't be enough. He closed his eyes, preferring his last sight to be the darkness he beheld in prayer to the slavering jaws of the beast.

There was a smash of glass and a drop of something landed on Anselem's forehead.

His eyes eased their way open and a gasp of holy shock escaped his lips.

The Saint knelt in her casket, arm outstretched, sword piercing the chest of the werewolf. It hung lifeless, blood running down the blade and dripping onto Anselem's head, like a baptism.

The Saint got to her feet, flicking the body to the side contemptuously. “Well it's about time,” she said and her voice rang like a bell.

Anselem could only gape up at the sight. Bellarius's head were up and her eyes blazing. Unlike the scriptures said they weren't blue but a striking violet, glowing like the moon. Her hair hung to her waist and seemed to sway in a breeze. She bent down and rummaged around her casket for a bit before pulling out a hat with an impossibly wide brim. She secured it onto her head, tucking away her hair. All eyes were on her now, both monk and werewolf, the later apparently having scented the blood of their own. The Saint looked up and seemed to grin. Then, with a flicker of movement, she was gone.

A werewolf on the other side of the hall growled and was dead before it had registered her presence. Another charged toward a monk and was sent toppling back, a gash opening up its chest. Two more died on opposite sides of the room in what seemed to be the same instant. All that could be seen was the glint of her blade or a flicker of her hair and where they were seen, people died.

Anselem could only watch, needing to lean against the bier for support, heedless of the broken glass. He'd read the scripture and, since he was a novice at her monastery, had focused on the segments about Bellarius more than the rest. But he'd always thought they exaggerated in some way. He found himself quoting part of it under his breath. “...and she was death and took death everywhere she went.” He'd always found it needlessly poetic before but now he could see the truth of it.

The werewolves were retreating now, there was nothing else they could do. Any stand they tried to make ended in a moment as a pile of dead. Backward they edged out of the doors, trying to watch for any weakness that might present itself.

Bellarius flickered into being in the centre of the hall, just in front of Anselem. Throwing back her head she uttered a sound that was half song, half screech. There was a harshness to it, yet also a melody. But it followed no tune Anselem could recognise.

There was a grating sound from outside the building and the ordered retreat of the werewolves turned into a full rout. In seconds not one of them were left, all that remained were their corpses. Anselem glanced out of one of the windows and saw horned, winged shapes in pursuit. Had the Saint just brought the gargoyles that encrusted the monastery to life?

Bellarius turned to him, wiping her sword on the first werewolf she'd slain, the one who'd almost killed him. She smiled at him. “That was close,” she said, in her bell-like tones. “How did Seliv ever let them get close?”

“What?” Was this some sort of test? “Surely that's for only Him to know?”

Huh?” Now the Saint looked confused. She may have been able to detect the capital letter in the middle of the sentence. “Where is he anyway?”

Anselem was still puzzled. “The Maker? I don't know. Who am I to know the will of a god?”

“A god? Seliv?” Bellarius looked around, taking in her surroundings fully for what appeared to be the first time. She looked at the tapestries, the alter and finally at the casket where she'd lain dormant for so long. “How long was I out for?”

I bet it won't be long before I can't think of a title for these.

Well, this one is slightly early. It's still technically Sunday so don't be expecting two and this one was actually written this week (shock). I might finally be getting on top of things, which makes a nice change.
So I hope you enjoy this, and I'm off to bed.

Love Through Time

At any other time of the day this place would have been peaceful. A quiet walk beside a river, trees crowding on the grass by either side. Just beyond them a river lazily made its way into its future, unbothered by what was happening. But school had just ended and everyone was going home.

The boy walked alone down the path, a satchel slung over his shoulder. His coat hung open, showing the ruby red school uniform underneath. He stepped to the side as a band of girls, their uniform showing they were from the same school, sauntered past. Amongst them was a pretty girl with long blond hair piled carelessly around her shoulders. That she was their leader was obvious by the confident way she walked and the way all the other girls crowded around her. Her eyes lingered for a minute on the boy and she said something that caused all the girls around her to burst into mocking laughter. The boy sighed to himself and continued on his way.

All this was observed by the man leaning unseen against a tree, eating an apple. He was quite tall, wearing a long jacket and dark clothes underneath. A battered satchel like the one the boy was wearing was slung in an identical pose over his shoulder. In fact many things about him were like the boy, so much so that anyone who saw him might think him an older brother.

He smiled and closed his eyes, thinking about how confused the boy’s thoughts were, equal parts attraction and nervousness. He concentrated for a moment and when he next looked he could see that the scene had changed. Instead of a path beside a river, now he could see a road that ran through a quiet residential area, though the sound of water could still be heard in the distance. The girl leader, several years older, was walking along, listening to music, her head bobbing along to the beats. Some of her gang of friends appeared from a side street across the road and waved across to her. Without thinking she waved back and ran across towards them.

The lorry that she hadn’t heard slammed on its brakes but continued to slide towards her.

The boy from the river suddenly appeared and ran towards her as she turned and saw the lorry screaming towards her. He bounded across the road but it was plain that he would not be in time.

The man concentrated and suddenly everything froze. He walked over to the lorry and, taking a knife out of his satchel, slashed at the tires. He then walked away and again concentrated.

The world unfroze and lorry lurched back into life. But the slashed tires had slowed it down and the boy was able to get the girl out of the way just as the lorry thundered past. The man took out a phone and dialled 999. On the grass the girl was gasping in the boy’s arms, obviously in the middle of a heart attack. The man ordered an ambulance, then with another burst of concentration, vanished.

The new scene appeared suddenly. He was in a hospital ward, a green curtain hanging just in front of his eyes. He tweaked it aside and looked out.

The girl was lying in a bed just in front of him, looking pale and exhausted. A nurse was standing by her side and was talking.

“…miracle that the lorry’s tires burst. Even then you would have been dead if that boy hadn’t grabbed you in time. But it seems that you have a problem.

“There is a weakness in the walls of your heart. The shock knocked it out for a while. If someone hadn’t called for an ambulance you wouldn't be here now. Luckily now we know about it all you have to do is be careful. You’re young and strong so it might get better but you’re not to do any strenuous exercise. Do you hear me Laura?”

Laura nodded. “Is…is the boy who saved me still around? I don’t even know who it is. I’d like to thank him.”

The nurse nodded. “Yes, he waited to see how you were. I’ll send him up. But you’re not to get over-excited. And he’s the only one you can see at the moment.”

The nurse disappeared and a few minutes later the boy walked into the room. Laura sat up and looked puzzled. “Adam? You are the one who saved me?”

Adam nodded. “If you don’t want to see me I’ll go. I only wanted to make sure you’re all right.” He headed back towards the door but Laura called him back.

“No, wait. I didn’t mean it like that. I only thought…”

The man smiled and took another bite of his apple as he listened to the sounds of a painful conversation between two embarrassed teenagers. Then he concentrated again.

He appeared this time back on the path beside the river. He sidled back behind the tree and looked over towards the bench where Adam and Laura were sitting side by side, holding hands, their fingers entwined. They were both about eighteen. Adam still had his satchel but apart from that it was hard to tell that he was the same nervous boy who had stepped to the side to let Laura pass five years before. Laura too looked different. She was very beautiful but as well as that she looked very confident in herself.

The man felt a stab of pain to his heart to see her like this. He watched as she laughed at something that Adam said and kissed him on the cheek. He watched as they both went very still, their heads very close together. He watched them lean closer together, their lips meeting. He sighed and turned away, taking another bite from his apple as images rose to his mind. Her sweet lips on his, her hair brushing his cheek, her hand in his and the incredible feeling of happiness that had burst through him.

He concentrated again, knowing where he had to go and what he had to do. A final destination burst into being. It was the residential area again. This time it was night and Adam and Laura were walking along, their arms around each other. He could hear her laughing and the sound was like a sword through the heart.

There was movement in the shadows across the street and two men in suits walked out. They approached the couple and a few words were exchanged. Adam and Laura began to back away but it was too late. One of the men raised a tazer and shot at Laura.

The man froze time and walked over. He could see the two small wires snaking out from the tazer almost touching her. He knew that he could easily tweak them aside and she would be ok. But he couldn’t. He knew what would happen if he did. He’d seen it.

So he took one last look at her, saw her face, the way her hair fell across it and saw her beauty. Then he stepped aside and let it happen.

The wires thudded into her and the charge slammed through her body. Her heart fought for an instant then died and she fell limply to the ground. Adam gave a cry and fell to the ground beside her.

The man reached into the satchel and pulled out a gun. With tears streaming down his face he aimed at the two men and fired twice. They fell, blood pumping out of them. The anger gave him power like an avenging angel and he froze time, went and found each of the other men that were waiting in hiding. Each died with a bang from the gun in his hand. Then he put the weapon back in his satchel and returned to Adam.

The boy was where he’d left him, cradling Laura’s dead body in his arms, tears streaming down his face. He looked up when the men approached.

“Who…who are you?” he stammered, his voice choked with emotion.

The man seemed to think for a moment. “What will be,” he said sadly.

Adams face flushed with anger. “Don’t give me any of that crap,” he yelled. “Could you have saved her? Who were those people?”

The man was still for a moment, remembering what he’d seen. Her bruised face and bloody body, begging him to kill her. “No, I couldn’t have saved her. Not for long.”

Adam gave a growl and leaped at him but the man's hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat. He snapped out of whatever memory trip he'd been drowning in. He spoke with new determination. “I couldn’t have saved her. Now listen carefully. Those men wanted you. You have abilities that they want. I’ve kept them off your back for now but they will be back. Wait two weeks then go find a man called Sengario. He lives in Rome. You’ll find him.”

Adam could barely breathe but still he choked out the words, “Go to Hell. Why would they want me?”

The man reached into his pocket and brought out another gun. “You’ll understand one day. This emits an electromagnetic pulse. It’ll kick-start your abilities. Good luck. And learn how to fight.”

The man shot him and let him sag unconscious to the ground beside Laura’s body. The wail of sirens in the distance told him that the gun shots had attracted attention. He threw his apple core away and brought out his first gun. He concentrated and vanished.

And the man Adam would become went to seek vengeance.

Way do I always start my blog posts by saying I'm too busy?

Probably because I am. I've way too much to do at the moment and I seem to lack the self discipline to be truly organised. But I'll try to pull it together this week. I'm planning to get a lot of back up stories written, just in case I really can't cope at some point. I'm also thinking of doing reviews on my youtube channel but that's probably not going to happen any time soon. First I'm planning to expand my audience by posting short stories on lots of online forums. So more work.
So once again, here's a story I wrote ages ago. Enjoy.

Fever Crumb by Philip Reeve, a Review

For world book day you get given a token worth £1 and a selection of two-in-one books to spend it on. I got one with a short story from the Mortal Engines universe, because I was in a steam-punky kind of mood. A friend got the same and we chatted about the books for a bit. He said he had one of the ones from the prequel series and offered it to me to borrow. I got it today and began idle flicking through it. That's when I got trapped.

I could barely put it down and an hour didn't go past when I wasn't reading it. Which, as you can imagine, wasn't something my teachers were too thrilled about. But for this book, I'd say it was worth it.

As prequel to the Mortal Engines series Philip Reeve this time set his book at the very birth of the idea of Municipal Darwinism which made his first series so memorable. As such there is little that you know but he does a good job of blending what is from our time with what will be in his future. One of these good references was the religion which went around chanting 'Hari, Hari, Hari, Potter' Every so often you see something which came from his original books and think, 'so that's where that came from.' The plot is tight and fast paced. The characters are enjoyable, showing some extremely different points of view at times. You have Dr Crumb, who seems everything without emotion. You have Kit Solent, who has lost his wife and lives mostly for his children. And in between you have Fever Crumb, ward of Dr Crumb and apprentice to Kit, who doesn't seem to know what she believes.

There are supposed to be a few sequels and I'm not sure how they would quite fit in, though I'm willing to believe it's possible. But regardless of them, if you liked the Mortal Engines series you'll love this and I'd recommend buying it. Or stealing it from a friend, which I'm also seriously considering.

Something slightly different

So why am I doing this? It's a question I frequently ask myself, usually at some ungodly hour of the morning when the story still isn't done. And there's a number of reasons. It's good practise for when I eventually reach some sort of writing profession. It forces me to expand my ideas quickly and get them down on paper even quicker. There is also the addrenaline surge I get from writing, which can never be discounted.
But mostly I'm doing it because I kind of hope that someone will see it and instantly offer me a two-book contract, followed by a movie deal. Which really isn't likely. But seriously, that's mostly my idea. Build up an online presence which will make it easier to get publishers of one kind or another to take me on.
I'm devoting a fair amount of time to this (ok that's a lie, I'm leaving it till the last moment then praying desperately but I'm meaning to spend lots of time on it.) And I want to do other things as well. So I got this idea. There's more to writing then stories. I can do reviews too.
So that's my new plan, which is really just an extension of the 'write about everything' one. I also have a youtube channel but nothing is on it yet. I'm planning to have me reading out my stories or maybe some of them being acted but I need more money for that, to pay for illustrators. So I'm just going to be writing stories and reviews for now.
And here's the first. Fever Crumb

A Brother's Goodbye

Some places on Earth are beautiful. They could have green meadows filled with fragrant flowers, they could be cities with soaring glass sculptures. All were impressive, all were soulful.

This place that she found herself in was none of these things. The only impressive thing about it was that such a place could exist when the city that surrounded this small patch of wasteland was expanding so rapidly. The only way it could be soulful was if damned spirits wandered between the piles of junk. It certainly wasn't beautiful; unless you found ruined earth and twisted metal beautiful.

There were many places in the world better than this; even the most neglected garden would seem like some bright picture from a travel magazine in comparison. Yet this was where Sarah was and she knew she had nowhere else to go.

She felt like an animal, skulking in this place. Hair, long and black, might have been a discarded bin bag. Eyes, brown as the mud in which she crouched, looked fearfully out onto the world. Her small, thin body hugged the ground as she hid in the shadow of a burned-out car. A few more hours and she'd be able to go home.

But she might not last those hours.

Already she could hear them, their calls echoing across this forsaken place like vultures, looking for their prey. She wriggled deeper into her hiding place, throwing out a desperate prayer to any god bored enough to look her way, that she might be hidden, be safe.

What she got was a second's warning in a victory cry before a hand seized her ankle. She kicked back, squirmed, broke free. Powered by fear she ran.

She knew she wouldn't be fast enough and that knowledge weighed her down more than iron chains. She heard their barking laughs as they delighted in the prospect of the chase. Over the car they crunchingly came and the pursuit was on.

She knew her way through the maze of rubbish and zigzagged desperately but they caught her long before she reached any sort of exit. They surrounded her, grey laughing faces, tall as towers. She tried to turn but found no escape. A hand found her back and down she fell, like a tender sapling felled by an avalanche. She tried struggling back up but down she was pushed again, to louder laughter. She lay on the ground, exhausted in many ways. It was tempting to give up but the sooner she did that, the sooner the kicking would start. As she got to her knees she stared between the bullies legs for some brief sight of freedom. And what she saw made her breath catch.

Behind her were huge walls of junk but the ground in front was clear. And across that ground there came a bright spark of shining white, followed by a wave of green. The wave was moving fast and passed the spark. It reached the car that had been her refuge and, with a grinding noise, it turned to a large rock. Across the distance the wave came, with groaning when it reached rubbish and turned it to stone, then it was under her and past her. She stared in amazement as grass sprouted, grew thick and healthy in moments. Then her eyes went back to the spark.

They bullies weren't laughing any more. They too stood and stared silently as the light came closer. It coalesced into a figure, ambling along with something slung over its shoulder. It stopped a small way away and stood regarding them. Then it took a bite from an apple.

“I think you boys are in the wrong place,” it said. “You should be in some sort of zoo. Or maybe a nursery. Then you could find more babies to beat up.”

One of the boys growled and charged forward but the white figure brought its arm forward abruptly and with a sharp crack the baseball bat left his shoulder and impacted with the bullies head. The bully fell to the ground as the bat returned to its shoulder and and the shining person stepped forward, using the body like a bridge. It took another bite of the apple.

“Anyone else?” it asked as it swallowed. The boys shrank back and turned to run but where there had once stood piles of junk there was now cliffs of stone, impassible. The figure finished its apple and chucked the bits away. Then it started forward again.

With each step it shone brighter and with a rustle the grass began to grow again. It was over Sarah's head as the figure passed her. And she felt it's hand, still sticky with juices from its apple, brush her hair. Then it was past and now she had to stand to see over the grass. It stopped again and held the bat in front of it.

“You bastards don't have a car this time.” It didn't yell the words but the slow, calm way it said them was somehow worse, the anger evident.

Then it started walking again.

The bat exploded into white fire and lightening and the figure shone brighter and brighter. The bullies shrank back against the cliff walls, shielding their eyes against the light that turned them to indistinct shadows. The figure reached them, the bat swung, thunder cracked and they dissolved into the brilliance.

Later, as Sarah lay in the grass, the figure came back to her, the light around it fading to a warming glow. She looked up into the face she knew as well as her own.

“Brother,” she said, half questioningly, tears running down her face. It was him, as she always remembered him. Kind face, battered leather jacket. She stretched out her arms and he gathered her up, cradling her as he'd always used to.

“Sarah,” he half whispered, holding her tight, and they just stood like that, remembering how it used to be. Then he set her down again.

“This isn't how you are,” he told her. “You aren't seven any more. You've grown up. I've been watching and I'm so proud. But you can't let them push you around any more. You've got to stand up to them.”

“I can't.” A sob half caught in her throat. “You don't know what it's been like since you went. There was the accident and then nothing happened to them and then they got cocky and there was no one and then they...” another sob chocked her off. “They can't be stopped,” she said, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes.

Her brother sighed. “I know you feel this way. And no surprise. Look around. It was so barren before. Let the life back. Embrace it.

“Stop living in fear.”

She still looked at up him, unable to speak. He sighed again. “You'll have to go back in a moment.”

“No!” She scrambled to her feet, caught him in a desperate hug. “You can't leave. I can't loose you again.”

He hugged her back. “You won't. I'll always be here, inside of you. It's never goodbye.”

He began to shine again, the light wrapping itself around the two of them, swelling up to fill her entire world. Then there was only brightness.

She came back to consciousness reluctantly, face first in the dirt. Almost every part of her ached and she lay still for the moment, hoping that this was the dream, that she was about to wake up and be with her brother again.

“Is she dead?”

She knew that voice. It was Marco, one of the gang. They'd ambushed her today, as she walked back from school. It all came rushing back. She wished it hadn't.

“Maybe. Like Quanto.”

Quanto. Her brother. The one that had practically raised her. The one they had taken from her.

Her eyes shot open and she got unsteadily to her feet, firmly back in reality. She wasn't seven any more, she was fifteen and as of her last birthday her brother had been out of her life for more than half of it. All because of these people.

They weren't expecting the first punch, which got Marco in the face. He yelped and took a step backwards, dropping the bit of pipe he was carrying. She spun and hit another in the stomach.

But this didn't appear to have any effect. She was still weak, only barely awake and the man she'd punched had been skipping school to work out for years. She bounced off him, then another hit her from behind and she went down.

She fell heavily onto her hands and knees, tears flowing freely. I'm sorry, she thought at her brother, at whichever place inside her the dream had said he occupied. I just can't do it. Not without you.

All right, a voice seemed to reply. One last time.

Her body seemed to suddenly buzz out of her control. Without her willing it her hand reached out and grabbed the fallen pipe. She was risen gracefully to her feet. It was slightly frightening, having no idea how it was going to move, but through her veins she felt an energy course, warm and familiar, as her brother's soul streamed through her meridians.

As her body rose it twirled like a dervish and the pipe hit the stomach of the man like she had, but with more success. He doubled over and was given a firm tap on the back of his head which sent him crashing down. She was sent skipping through them till she reached the alley wall. Then she was turned and faced them.

Her shoulders rotated and loosen. Her legs dropped her into a crouch. Her fingers twirled the pipe like a baton and her lips pulled back in a mad cap grin. She could almost feel her eyes flash and blaze.

“Come and get it,” said her mouth, then her brother leapt her forward and into his vengeance.

WTB one organisation

Another weeks has past and another story, this time not even one about robots.
So today kind of ran away with me and I didn't get quite as much work done as I was wanting. I'm currently trying to stock-pile as set of stories to use in emergencies but I'm not quite there yet. So I'm again using one I've written in the past, from about a year ago. No idea what you think, so please, as usual, feel free to leave comments.