Author / Colette

by Colette

Seasons

Written by Loulou

I watch the window, where the rain has dew drop races.
Out on the street, I see umbrella-sheltered faces.
My mind begins to wander to other rainy days,
You and I, no longer chasing the clouds away.

We’d be bareheaded and dancing in the downpour,
Singing tunelessly to make it rain some more.
Puddles as stepping stones, with squelching toes on lawns.
And later dripping wet, but not at all forlorn.

And then the bright-eyed, breathless removal of damp cotton.
Shivering though not cold, the weather now forgotten.
Wrapped up together listening to the drumming on the tiles,
And sleepily agreeing, that storms are best by miles.

Now, stood at the window and lost in recollection,
I fondly glimpse your face in the reflection.
I picture you there, tongue poised to catch the drops,
Face upturned, eyes screwed shut, puddles splashing into socks.

I ruefully suppress a smile, sigh and shake my head,
Thankful for your quiet company and a cup of tea instead.
But the rain was not enough to keep us both in check,
So now I’ll take the memories, and not the dripping down my neck.

Reflection comes in all forms within new contributor Loulou’s poetry. Windows, rain and thoughts of previous lovers all make for interesting reading in her work. But we’re most interested in how she loops back to her memory of the rainy day, and how the narrative voice would much prefer to drink a cup of tea than catch a cold in the bitter rain. And we certainly don’t blame her. Kissing in the rain may not be for everyone. If you enjoyed Loulou’s work why not leave a like or a comment below? It’s very much appreciated!

Featured Image CC // Daniel Stark

 

by Colette

Together We Sleep

Written by Rivers of Tarmac

There’s a lot they don’t tell you about sleeping with someone. Not sex (although I’m sure there is plenty they don’t tell you about that, too) and not snuggling – just sleeping. Sleeping next to someone, with their arms wrapped around you and their body pressed against yours. They tell you all the good stuff – how intimate it is, how it feels like you belong there. And how safe and warm it makes you feel. They even tell you some of the bad stuff – the fights for blankets, the lack of bed space. But there’s a lot they don’t tell you.

They don’t tell you about those moments when your head is trapped in the crook of their elbow, which is sweaty, and you feel sticky and warm and a bit uncomfortable. They don’t tell you about elbows pressing into your back, or the rough scratch of stubble on your neck. Or how when they cough, you will feel it – warm and tickling – on your ear.

They don’t tell you how warm and damp and sweaty you will feel, with hot naked flesh pressed up against you and pressure in all the wrong places. They don’t tell you how your hips will ache from lying at an unnatural angle, that every time you shift your weight you will hear them sigh as you disturb them. They don’t tell you about limbs trapped beneath you, hands roaming awkwardly in search of a resting place, or arms that have nowhere to go. They don’t tell you about the vague sense of unease that comes from sharing all of this with another human being.

And yet, as I lay there – blankets awry, joints aching, limbs tangled, warm and uncomfortable, he whispered “I love you” into my ear. And I fell asleep smiling.

Together We Sleep was written as part of a sleepless night for Rivers of Tarmac, whilst lying next to her partner. In a stream-of-consciousness setting, these were the thoughts that ran through her head that night, rather than sheep counting. And we couldn’t agree more with her opinion. A dead arm, a dead shoulder, the sticky sweat. Yet despite all the bad points, the comfort of having that special someone next to you is just worth it. If you enjoyed Rivers of Tarmac’s work, you can view more short stories such as, ‘This is not an Eloquent Post‘ and ‘A Boy Who Fell In Love‘.

Featured Image CC // Art Brom

by Colette

Remembering War

Written by Rae-Chan

Bodies. There were bodies everywhere. They were strewn about the field like old, unwanted ragdolls. The gunfire was ringing in my ears, blending together with shouts in different languages and the screams filling my head, echoing endlessly.

I couldn’t see anymore, everything was a blur as the adrenaline took over and I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I didn’t feel the pain as a bullet grazed by leg. I didn’t see the bodies falling around me. I just ran.

My clothes were wet and cold as ice, clinging to my skin, caked with mud. I was shaking as I raised my gun. I couldn’t even tell who my enemies were anymore. I just shot at anything that moved. I saw one boy, barely a child, his eyes wide with fear. This wasn’t what war was supposed to be. This wasn’t a life of honour and respect; we were animals tearing at each others throats, and no one back home would give a damn how many of us came back in boxes.

The boy saw me. I watched his eyes grow wider as the bullet ripped through his body. He fell to the floor like all the others before him, not moving at all.

When I returned home, I could still see his face. It was etched into my mind; those terrified eyes, with large pupils, haunted my dreams. The scar from the bullet has long since healed but, even now in my old age, the screams echo in my head.

Remembering War was written on behalf of last summer’s Fiction Frenzy. While it didn’t win the coveted title, Rae-Chan’s haunting piece as fitted perfectly into our reflection theme for this month’s content. It may only be a short piece, but in that time she brings us in to the narrator’s terrifying dreams from PTSD. If you enjoyed Rae-Chan’s work, why not view her other works such as, ‘Ignite‘ and ‘Wings‘.  

Featured Image CC // Paul Gorbould

 

by Colette

Is It Wrong?

Written by Ashcloud

Is it wrong to be annoyed?
Is it ever justified?
She seems calm, cool, collected.
She is raging inside.

Is it wrong to be upset?
Is it a matter of circumstance?
She weeps over the smallest matter.
She is never seen when in this trance.

Is it wrong to be alone inside?
Is it easy to change this wrong?
She is always trying to let him in.
She has been alone for so long.

A lesson in reflection exudes from Ashcloud’s poem, where raw emotion is questioned through simple vocabulary. There are many small moments in our lives where we question others, but – more so – we question ourselves. It’s a haunting loneliness and, no doubt, we’ve all felt it. If you enjoyed Ashcloud’s work, feel free to view her other poems, including the heartfelt ‘A New Star is Born’ and ‘Sleepless Nights’.

Featured Image CC //  Artūrs Gedvillo

by Colette

Ending at the Start

Written by Rob

It seems a day like any other but there is something nagging me; something out of reach, out of sight. I’m uneasy but I can’t tell you why. My room is bright and airy; my bed is warm and comfortable. I’m fully awake, though still feeling tired.

That aroma: what’s that? I know I recognise it. Ah yes, it’s the smell of a hospital; mystery solved. I’m starting to nod off again when a thought assaults me: why does my room smell like a hospital? I prop myself up on my elbows and look around. Now I’m confused – this isn’t my room; this is a hospital. I take in the row of beds, the curtains, the tubes and cables, medical paraphernalia, clip-boards and charts. There’s a nurse looking at me, walking my way.

“Ah, you’re awake again Mr Daniels. How are you feeling this afternoon?” In a moment she’s at my side and rearranging my pillows in an authoritative manner. “Just lie back and take it easy.” She finishes with the pillows, picks up a clip-board, plucks a pen from her breast pocket and sits back beside my bed. “Now then Mr Daniels, what can you tell me about our conversation this morning?”

“Who are you?” I regret it as soon as I’ve said it. To be fair, it sounded rather rude. The nurse has a very friendly, if not jolly, face. I think she has confused me with someone else, though obviously she has my name right. Maybe there’s another Mr Daniels in another ward; it’s not an uncommon name after all.

“I’m Carrie Templeton. I am the consultant neurologist on your case. Do you remember speaking with me this morning?” Consultant neurologist is a phrase that jolts. I’m struggling to make sense of what she’s saying. Case? What case? I’m not a case! I was playing golf this morning, or was that yesterday? If it’s afternoon, why am I in bed?

Carrie continues, “Don’t worry. Everything is OK. We had the same conversation this morning, and yesterday, and every day last week. You suffered a small thrombotic stroke but it has caused damage to a region of your brain called the Hippocampus. You have a condition we call severe anterograde amnesia which means you are unable to create new memories. So every time you wake up, your memory carries on from where it was when you suffered the stroke at your golf club.”

“Yes, I remember playing golf. Is that good?” I ask, more in hope than conviction.

“Yes, that’s very good. Your long-term memory is working well. We’re going to try stem cell therapy to prompt repair to your Hippocampus. But in the interim, alas, we will have many conversations like this one. My colleagues or I have to tell you about your stroke three or four times each day. It is always news to you.”

“Is there an end in sight?”

“The prognosis is favourable. We’ve had some remarkable results with stem cells. I can’t make you any promises of course.”

“Oh, I think you could. I wouldn’t remember, would I?”

Carrie smiles. “Yes, very funny Mr. Daniels. That’s the third time you’ve cracked that one! Now try to get some rest and we’ll begin again in a few hours.”

Rob’s Half Hour Challenge was written on behalf of January’s theme, Beginnings, but we feel it fits perfectly in our themed content for March. It’s a little like Memento, without the ink and tattoos, but much more light-hearted with the wisecrack from Mr Daniels. We wouldn’t mind reading it again and again! If you enjoyed Rob’s piece, why not check out some of his other work, including ‘Coach‘ and ‘Last Breath‘.

Featured Image CC // Kiuko

by Colette

March Editorial – Upcoming Content finds Reflection is Good for the Soul

Hey Inkblotters!

I’m not sure if it’s the same for you, but each year March arrives I always feel a little swept off my feet. Generally, I put it down to upcoming events such as Mother’s Day (in Britain), Easter and how short February feels, even though it’s only two to three days shorter in comparison to other months. Maybe it’s the amount of birthdays I’m bombarded with from January to March, making me feel I’m buying countless purchases for a string of consecutive weeks. Adding Christmas, too, and it becomes a gift marathon. Perhaps that’s why March seems like the perfect month for a little reflection. We’re done with the New Year’s Resolutions – congratulations if you haven’t already broken them and, equally, if you’ve managed to actively complete them – and the long bout of wintry weather finally comes to an end.

So, with spring in the air, though it’s still quite chilly, March’s content falls under the theme of reflection through fictional characters, journals and poetry. Kicking off this month’s content, then, is HHC veteran writer Rob with “Ending at the Start” on the 5th. Later, we have some beautiful poetry from Ashcloud on the 10th, and tense short fiction from Rae-Chan on the 15th. There are, of course, more short tales and poetry to come on subsequent dates too, so keep an eye out for them.

But if you’re itching to find out March’s Half Hour Challenge theme, we hope you’ll be pleasantly surprised and inspired by Narcissism. In a world where selfie sticks can actually be purchased, society is addicted to its own self-obsession. Though the word “selfie” didn’t actually come into play until the last few years, our ancestors had already been taking self portraits as early as the late 1800s. To submit a HHC entry to us, simply send us an email to theinkwellwriting@gmail.com and follow the guidelines in our handy submissions page.

Enjoy the content, and have a great March.

– Colette, Inkblots Editor

Featured Image CC // Skipology

by Colette

Thoughts of Copious Beer

Written by Eruantien

I am who I am
No one else
My thoughts are my own
as are my emotions

To think she would feel the same as I
is arrogance indeed
For each has their own mind
not to be moved by any

some may shout and scream
when they think they are short-changed
but who am I to disagree with her heart

I can still be there for her
to be her friend is my reward
and enough that must be
for I dedicate myself to her

and her happiness
shall I give myself for.

Smack, bang in the middle of the friend zone, Eruantien’s poem certainly hits the mark. Unrequited love may be difficult at first, but we learn to move on and cope in our own time. Rejection is cruel, but it’s something we all must deal with, whether it be through love, work or friendships. Thoughts of Copious Beer concludes our love-themed content for this month, but if you’ve enjoyed Eruantien’s work make sure you check out his other work such as, ‘The Art of Swordplay‘ and ‘An Address to the Coconut‘. 

Featured Image CC // Zach Dischner

by Colette

Short Poetry Spotlight – Open Hearts, Sore Wounds

Written by Blue-Eyed Devil

Haiku XXX

Blinding, liquid light,
Steals and drinks luminescence,
Thirst never sated.

Written by Wasteland Explorer

I Feel

Have you ever tried to open your heart?
To someone whom you adore
But yet they walk all over you
and break you to the core.

Their callous, tearing, spiteful words
just cut you through and through.
Yet never even realize the hurt that they can do.

They walk along oblivious,
to what their feelings say.
And keep on crunching through your soul,
until you waste away.

These two splendid poems have been joined together as part of our Short Poetry Spotlight this month. Blue-Eyed Devil’s Haiku XXX – he’s written quite a number of these – gives us much food for thought, while new contributor Wasteland Explorer opens hearts to sore wounds, giving us the title of the piece. If you enjoyed their works, make sure to leave a like or comment below. You can also view more intriguing poems from our short poetry selection with Duality in the Beginning and Mattress & Graffiti.

Featured Image CC // Santos Gonzalez
by Colette

Lift Girl – Part 2

Written by Fantasy Girl

She must have left work slightly earlier than usual as I didn’t see her in the lift. But our cars were the only two left in the car park as I stepped from the double glass doors of reception – her red MR2 parked next to my silver Nissan just like every day. She was struggling to start the car as I approached, so I stuck my head through the open passenger window.

“Need a hand?” I asked with a slight smile on my face.

“My stupid bloody car won’t start!” she growled back through gritted teeth as she tried again.

“Which way are you heading? I could give you a lift home, get a mechanic to look over it tomorrow morning?”

“I’m heading back to Colchester, if you know the area, just off Tufnell way?” she seemed hopeful.

I lived about a ten minute walk away from the street she mentioned. “Jump in,” I said. “Let’s get you home.”

The journey home was quiet, pleasurable rather than awkward. We both enjoyed the peaceful silence after a stressful day at work.

“Which road is it?” I asked as we turned on to Tufnell way.

“This one just here,” she pointed to the road sign that said ‘Axel Way’. “But I’ll get out here. Thanks for the lift, I really appreciate it!” And before I could protest, she was out of the car and jogging down the road.

I had to go down the road to turn around anyway, so I drove down, and sped back up the street to the house she was approaching.

“Who the hell is he?” shouted the man who was waiting at the door for her – a partner, I presume. She didn’t answer. Was he on about me? “Who is he? You stupid slut!” He back-handed her across the face, and dragged her into the house by a handful of her hair. He slammed the door behind him, but it bounced back open.

I scrambled out of the car, not knowing quite what I was planning on doing, but knowing I should be doing something. I heard screaming as I approached the door, she was begging him to stop. He didn’t. I crouched down by the door for what seemed like a lifetime, listening to his rhythmic grunts, and her constant pleas for him to stop.

I was in hysterics by the time it finally ended. I had let him do that to her, and I could do nothing about it… I let him rape her, this girl that I barely knew, and it was because of… it was because of me!

I heard her sobs as he moved around the room. Then a gunshot, footsteps. The door swung open and he spat in my direction.

“Enjoy the show did you? She’s a screamer!”, he said, with a sadistic smile on his face. “Well,” he continued after a minute of silence, “you’re welcome to the slut now. A right lot of good she’s going to do you though.” And he walked off, without looking back.

I couldn’t bring myself to move until he was out of sight – I was frozen to the spot like a statue, but then I rushed in, and followed where I thought the commotion had come from. All I could see was blood, a lot of it, akin to a horror film I’d watched the other week.

Lamps, paper, and other household items were scattered all over the floor. There was smashed glass on the kitchen floor tiles and the curtains had been pulled down. And her naked body laid there, in a pool of blood on her cream carpet. The body of the girl I had seen every morning for the last three years, so helpless, so vulnerable. Until today, we had never truly spoken, just a polite ‘hello’ in the lift or a meek wave, on my part.

It was a gunshot to the heart that killed her. Her body was covered in bruises, some old, greening as they faded; some new, purples and blues blossoming like flowers on her ivory skin.

She didn’t even know my name, I thought as I fell to my knees and cradled her head in my lap. I’m the only person here, and it’s because of me that this happened. I should have invited her for coffee, I should have taken her to my place to look over finance plans for the company. She wouldn’t be here – she wouldn’t be like this if I had… – this would never have happened, and it’s all my fault.

“I’m sorry!” I cried, stroking her dark hair away from her beautiful face. “Shiv, I’m so sorry!” And then was when I felt a very faint pulse through her neck.

“Dan,” she whispered as her eyes fluttered open. “Thank you.” And she went limp – her breathing stopped.

I checked for her neck pulse again and confirmed what I already knew.

She was dead.

Fantasy Girl’s second and final part concludes Siobhan and Dan’s tragic story. It’s heartbreaking, and we can’t help but feel a little stab of pain when she mentions his name at the end. Oh dear, better pass us some tissues! If you enjoyed the finale of Lift Girl, make sure you check out the first part which we published last month for the complete package. 

Featured Image CC // Peter Almay

by Colette

The Game – Part 2

Written by Dice

The Game is never really won. The man may think he has succeeded if he and the woman are currently ‘dating’, or ‘going out.’ This is when the opponents are together in such a way that, traditionally, the battle is now concentrated to the two players. Opponents may also be ‘going steady’, ‘engaged’, or even ‘married’, these occur later in the battle; it is a time when the quiet moments are the most numbing, but the battles are fought even harder.

When opponents are together, other opposition is generally silenced when they are informed of the player’s situation with another. There are, however, times when an outside opponent does enter the ring. This is considered as bad form and bad gamesmanship but – in actuality – gives the Game a whole new level. And it’s also becoming an increasing trend in the modern Game.

Battles become more complex during the ‘together’ period, usually more so for the man. The man must now be on guard for a ‘question move.’ As such, this can be a cruel move but is very common. It’s the woman’s way of twisting words so that the man must think on his feet to avoid defeat. Delaying tactics are available but they do not buy a lot of time.

An example of when a question move can occur is when the woman is trying on clothes and inquiring the man’s opinion. Generally the questions can be innocent and calm, such as ‘What do you think of this dress?’ This example is a relatively easy answer, where the man must, in all cases, give positive yet constructive feedback. These are also opportunities for the man to gain bonus points, with comments such as: ‘This one [ie: the dress] goes with your beautiful eyes.’ A comment that would sound ‘cheesy’ to the man, of course, but one that women will love and may concede points in the Game further down the line. This move can also end the question move before it becomes too dangerous.

A question move that turns dangerous can have serious consequences on the man, particularly if he is not alert. If the couple have spent a long day shopping together, for example, the man may become mentally tired which could cause him to be caught off guard. Variations of the question: ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ must always be answered with a firm ‘No.’ A reply that can in any way be linked to: ‘Yes’ is a textbook error on the man’s behalf.

The move and counter sounds trivial to avoid, but a woman can be craftier in applying this move. Continuing on the same theme, a man must be at the top of his form if faced with the ‘Does my bum look bigger in this dress, or the last dress?’ Note the negative state this question takes. The obvious reply would be ‘the last dress’ but this move is a mistake. In fact, it implies that her bum looks big in the current dress and even bigger in the previous dress. No, a man has to be smart and chose his words wisely; his reply must ensure the woman that her bum looks big in neither dress and that he has given an opinion on the current dress. A very well constructed move will result in both the woman being satisfied in the answer, and the woman choosing the dress that the man preferred.

As Valentine’s Day is now well and truly over, Dice’s second part of The Game might just make men question what women really want. No, not the Mel Gibson film, or the one with Colin Firth and Amanda Bynes, either, but one of the man’s own choosing. That niggle of a question, “Does my bum look big in this?” is probably one that only women can answer themselves. Besides, us women prefer to go shopping either alone or with our girl friends, we only drag men along when we don’t want to pay! If you enjoyed Dice’s piece, why not check out the first part of The Game, which we published last month. 

Featured Image CC // Charles Rodstrom