A Dark Hurricane

Well, asides from the wrestling bollocks, not a whole lot has changed recently. Looking for a new job pretty much and doing the rewrites on my book. Which is looking pretty cool, despite the fact I'm so self-deprecatingly negative about things that I create, I kinda like how it's turning out. At the moment it's title Hurricane Darkly, I guess you could call it a paranormal thriller? Perhaps I'm giving myself too much credit with the use of the word 'thriller'...In essence it's the story of a man's search for a purpose in life, after his life has actually ended. It's odd, yet I suppose I am, so it evens itself out no problem.






We recently got a new cat which is strange, as we've had Willow for years now and she's getting old. We got one from a home for animals that need a proper one, so she's quite young and is called Meercat, Meer for short, which is quite funny as our first cat was called Mia. And they actually look exactly the same, little bit of irony there I guess. She's always running around and playing with mid-air, it's fun to watch sometimes, but that bloody bell around her neck is ringing every second of the day. She also clawed me while I was sleeping the other morning. It's interesting to see her interact with Willow though, quite a contrast as Willow is so mellow and lazy, she never wants to play. I think she's feeling a bit off though, she's been sleeping in my room for the past week.

Hopefully they'll both settle into living together soon and it shouldn't be a problem, not that it's much of one now. Anyway I'll end this with an excerpt from my book, just because I can.

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Morning had broken. The gentle dawn sunshine slowly poured over the town. A young man was walking his faithful Yorkshire terrier down a particularly posh street. The houses that lined that road were huge and lavish. The man was enjoying the peaceful morning stroll until the silence was interrupted. He heard a hoarse and loud retch that was followed by some of the most shockingly unpleasant coughing he had ever heard. He hurried his pace and left the street quickly as the retching continued.

The source of the off-putting noise was another young man lying on the floor of a balcony, high up on the third floor of one of the big houses. The doors to the balcony were wide open and the young man turned onto his back, rolling inside the room, scrunching up his eyes. Jeff moaned helplessly.

It had been a horrible dream. Vivid and horrible. He felt hung-over as his head throbbed persistently. Deciding not to spend any more time lying in his own filth, Jeff pulled himself shakily to his feet. After a few seconds he realised he had no idea where he was. The room was very messy. The walls were all black and decorated sparingly with about thirty posters. They were all hand-drawn in black and white, portraying a beautiful woman in various different mysterious poses. Some were covered in cracked hearts, coloured in deep red.
What the hell? Jeff thought.

A lonely looking bed up against the wall was covered in what looked like blood. A small breeze blew in from the open balcony. Jeff shivered and pulled his arms up around himself. Immediately, he knew something was wrong. Very wrong. He felt thinner and upon examining his hands he saw how bony they were and unlike his own. With a jolt in his stomach he also saw that his left wrist was plastered in what looked to be dry blood.
Noticing a small bathroom in the corner of the room, he drunkenly staggered inside. Hardly daring to believe his crazy suspicion, Jeff looked in the mirror. He screamed and backed up against the wall in horror.

Frantically, he started feeling his face and pinching at the skin. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be, he thought in complete and utter desperation. For the face looking back at him was not his own. The face was thin and unkind. With pale skin that stuck out sickeningly against its greasy black hair that fell to the shoulders. Not to mention the eyes. They were cold and lifeless, sunken as if their owner hadn't slept in days. Jeff gulped disbelievingly, examining closely every aspect of the face that now seemed to be his. Flecks of spittle glistened on his dirty stubble.

This was simply too much for Jeff. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe he had gone crazy and this Jeff character had never existed. No. That was even more crazy and far-fetched. It felt too real to be a dream but what was going on? How could this be possible? He wasn't in his own body anymore, the idea is simply ridiculous! Who'd believe that?

He returned to the bedroom, trying to ignore how much he was shaking. For the first time he noticed a few bottles of pills on the floor by the light green puddle of vomit. Empty pill bottles. Again he looked at the dried blood on his wrist. He had obviously tried to kill himself last night. No, whoever this was obviously tried to kill themselves last night, not me, Jeff corrected himself angrily.

But had they succeeded? Everything started to mount up in Jeff's mind and it made him feel sick to his stomach. This was exactly the sort of thing that he could never believe in. He thought of Kate and it all became too much. He threw up again, moaning in discomfort at the burning sensation in his throat. When he was finished, he wiped his new mouth with the grubby black t-shirt he was wearing. It felt and tasted like someone had shit in his mouth.

Luke