Writing Update

Hi guys

How you all?

Well I stumbled a little on my writing - again.
Started doing the writing challenge Pauline gave us at the last CWG meeting I attended straight away and ain't done any for nearly 2 weeks.  The reason . . .
Research of course - I'm doing fan fiction for a change - writing something I'm not used to!

Also I am getting ready for a drunken weekend in Prague for my mate Rich 30th birthday so all energy going into that.  Talking of energy mine has been drained with the heatwave we are in.  In fact once I get home from work I feel shattered and too tired to write let alone gym - sob!

Anyway hoping to complete story for Friday before I go - if not will be on when I get back then it's into a slightly connected short story trilogy - inspired by Simon Peggs 3 flavoured Cornetto trilogy.

Enjoy the sun folks

Munch and the Silver Ball

Hi guys

Well I have just been on the Munch time site to see if I was shortlisted in the last 10 entrants and sadly I wasn't - sob.  The competition was to create a story for children of up to 900 words with Munch the cow as the main character.
See here for more information and the 10 runner up stories - http://www.munchtime.co.uk/

Here's my Story:

Munch and the Silver Ball by Neil Walker

Once upon a Munch time there was a cow called Munch who was happily chewing grass in her field.  The sun was shining,  the sky a cloudless blue.  The only shadow was from the castle higher up the hill.

Munch heard sobbing over the hedge.  She looked over into the park and saw Princess Annabel in her pretty pink dress with pink diamond crown sat on the swings looking sad.

“What’s wrong Princess?” asked Munch.

“I’ve lost my Mummy’s ball.”  wailed Princess Annabel. 

“It’s alright we will find it.  What does it look like?  Where did you see it last?”

“A big silver ball,” replied  Princess Annabel “It rolled down the hill all by itself.”

Munch took the Princess’s hand and they strolled out of the park and down the hill.  Soon they were by the woods.  Cyril the crow cawed loudly from the trees.  They looked up at him.  He flapped his black wings out.

“Cyril have you seen a silver ball go past here?” asked Munch.

“Caw, Caw, Yes shiny, very shiny.  Every time I went to catch it.  It moved away . . . caw”

“Where did it move to?”

“Caw caw, down the hill, very shiny.” replied Cyril.

They set off down the hill again with Cyril flying overhead.  After some distance they had got to the pond.  Princess Annabel was very upset now.

Munch squeezed her hand and smiled to her as she looked up. 

“It’s fine we will find your Mummy’s ball,” said Munch.

A frog croaked loudly nearby making Princess Annabel jump high.

“It’s alright it’s only Freddie Frog,” pointed Munch to a big fat green frog trying to keep itself on its Lilly pad.

 It failed.  Splash.

Freddie jumped out beside them.

“Have you seen a silver ball Freddie?” asked Munch.

Freddie nodded and hopped down the rest of the big hill.  Munch the cow and Princess Annabel followed with Cyril flying high above them.

After a short walk they had at last reached the bottom of the hill and a big green field.  There at long last was the silver ball.   It shone brightly in the sunlight as they moved towards it.

Also there was Alfie.   He was Princess Annabel’s friend and he too was trying to catch the ball.  Every time he went towards it, the silver ball moved.

“Hi Alfie you’ve found my Mummy’s ball,” shouted Princess Annabel.

“Hi,” puffed Alfie.  “I can’t catch it, please help.”

They all went to help and try catch it.  Munch tried to pick it up by her hoofs.  Princess Annabel by her hands.  Cyril the crow by his talons and Freddie by his long sticky tongue.

It always moved out the way.

“I think I have an idea,” said Munch taking off her red bag pack.  “What we need is team work.  Get the ball into my pack.”

Laying her bag pack open in front of her on the grass the others chased the ball.  Eventually closing in and forcing it to the bag pack.

The silver ball rolled in as Munch shut the bag pack quick.  They had done it.

“We need to return it to your Mummy,” said Munch.  “She may not be happy.”

Princess Annabel nodded as they made the long walk back up the hill towards the castle.

Alfie followed as Freddie hopped up the hill too.  Cyril again flew above them up to the castle.

They eventually reached the castle and went straight to the throne room where Princess Annabel’s Mummy was sat on the large gold throne looking worried.  She smiled as she saw them.

“Princess Annabel has something of yours,” said Munch.   She passed her bag to the Princess.

“I’m sorry Mummy I just wanted to play with it.  I promise I won’t take things again without asking.” Said Princess Annabel.

She opened the bag and gave her Mummy the silver ball.  The Queen sighed with relief.

“I will let you off this time but make sure you don’t break your promise.  Now everyone I would like you to meet a friend of mine.”

The Queen whispered something secret, something magic and the silver ball split open.

Out flew a small pink fairy.

“This is Lulu the fairy,” exclaimed the Queen.

“Hi everyone. Blimey my room needs tidying now,” said Lulu pointing to the open silver ball.

Everyone laughed.

Later on that evening Lulu used her magic to make a feast there were even stacks of grass for Munch the cow to chew, a fly trap for Freddie the frog to eat off and a four and twenty worm pie for Cyril to eat.

They all had a wonderful time.

The End.

Happy Hobbies

Everybody enjoys  having a hobby.  Having a hobby keeps people busy, gives them something to do and keeps people happy.

Clive was no different to any other person.  His hobby kept him occupied too and made him very happy.  Very happy indeed.  Ecstatic in fact, and Clive was busy with his hobby now.

His hobby made Clive feel  alive, he knew this and he felt his heart beating fast now, he felt his blood pumping faster around his veins.  He felt great.

Clive stood in the middle of the room, in a state of trance thinking back five years to when he accidently stumbled across his hobby.  To when he accidently stumbled upon his wife and best friend in bed together.  Rage took over, he saw red, that’s all he saw as he ran towards them.

Of course his wife was dead now, his best friend too.  They had helped him discover  his new, favourite hobby.  The hobby that made him happy.  Happier than any of the old hobbies he used to have, fishing,  golf and chess.  Although this hobby was also a game of sorts also.  To keep one step ahead, like chess.

The moonlight lit the room up a white ghostly glow and Clive smiled as he looked down at his elderly victims laying dead on the floor in front of him, strangled.  

They were a popular couple about town but  after the old man kept complaining about Clive’s trees blocking the sunlight into his garden, then Clive had to indulge in his favourite hobby again.

At the back of Clive’s mind something kept screaming out to him that what he was doing was wrong, so wrong.  But Clive couldn’t help himself and each time he carried out his hobby he wanted to do it again and again.  At last he found what made him truly happy.

In the dim moonlight Clive rubbed his leather gloved hands together, in mock gesture of what he had done to the old couple.  A photograph on the mantelpiece at the other side of the small bungalow living room caught his attention.  In the photograph were the couple, smiling, happy.  They were surrounded by two beautiful daughters on either side and three grandchildren sat in front of them.

One of the daughters he recognised.  She had joined in an heated discussion he had had with the recently deceased couple.  She looked so posh, so well to do, although she had come out with the worst profanities he had heard in his Forty Eight years.

Clive knew that what he had done wouldn’t make the family happy like he was now.  Quite the opposite.  There would be much anguish, upset, bitterness and anger within the family as well as confusion.  This made Clive grin widely to himself.  At last he had power.  Power to take life.  Power to decide who lived and who didn’t.  He had never felt that before.  

He had his ex-wife and best friend to thank for that.  At least she had done something for him in the fifteen years they had been together.  He thought back to the last image of his wife and her lover.  They were staring up unseeing at him at the bottom of a hole he had dug far into the middle of the woods.  He was sure they would never be found.  It also helped they were telling family and friends they were planning to run away together to Tenerife to start a bar and a new life. 

As ever Clive was the last to know.  It was just luck, for him at least, that he had got sacked that day from his mundane office job and so went home early.  Anger and frustration already building up inside him.

That would have been the end of the matter until he ran into his old boss.  The one who had sacked him on that fateful day.  She was now lying at the bottom of a canal, weighed down with a large boulder.  It was then he realised he was good at something, although not ethical but something that made him happy, that he enjoyed. 

He felt he was getting better at his hobby, as he was careful not to leave any DNA evidence lying around.  That was thanks in part to being forced to watch the CSI programmes he at first thought so boring but now became a manual to follow, by his ex-wife.

The present situation came back into his mind.  Clive carefully looked around the room using the glow of the moonlight as his torch.  He wore leather gloves, made sure he left no footprints and used the dark to make his escape.

After a few moments of looking around the small, comfortable living room Clive was satisfied he had left nothing.  He had carefully laid some furniture on the floor, a lamp, old ornaments which he hoped would look like a burglary which had been disturbed and the couple had been killed as they had interrupted being burgled.

Clive looked back down at the old couple.  He was happy with how it had all gone tonight and he felt the rush of euphoria as he had with the rest of his kills.

Clive crept slowly and carefully past his newest conquest and as he left the room he caught a glance of the photograph he had looked at earlier.

He looked at the daughter who had shouted at him weeks before with the couple and was even happier as he left the bungalow for he now knew his next prey.

Photographic Memories - again

Hi Boys and girls Well a bit quiet at moment - still writing the CWG challenge story - life got in the way so fell behind - good job there isn't a deadline!!! Anyway to give you new viewers something to read here's my WW2 story - Photographic Memories - Enjoy The man staggered to the rock, swivelled and slumped, slowly sliding down it. He sat there dazed and disorientated not knowing where he was and he couldn’t hear anything except a constant loud ringing noise. He was scared and cold. The young man patted his breast pocket and with shaking fingers pulled out a black and white photo. Examining it he stared lovingly at his family in the photo. His father was on the end standing tall and thin. Next to him was the mans 18 month son crawling, facing the camera looking as cute as can be in a baby romper suit with his long black hair over his face. He had a big radiant smile on his face. Finally in the photo was the man’s young wife with her long black hair swept to the side exposing her dark eyes and full lips. He missed his family dearly then realised his mother wasn’t there in the photo. She had died when he was a boy. This made him think back to his earliest memory of his mother. He was about 5 year’s old. He was sobbing holding up his knee as his mother washed a cut, smiling at him as she did so. He remembered her plump face with her rosy red cheeks and her curly black hair. “You’ll be fine Henry”, she reassured him, “There all better.” She said in her soothing soft voice. She kissed his knee and he felt better immediately. They both gave a little chuckle to each other. Returning to his present situation, Henry wished his mother was there with him right now reassuring him that everything would be alright in her soft soothing voice. Henry sighed as his thoughts went back in time again. This time to the last memory of his mother when he was 12. He was standing by her bed as her now pale thinner face looked up at him. The twinkle she once had in her eyes had gone and she coughed violently. “Love you.” She called over to him as his father ushered him out of the room. “Come on now Henry. Your mother needs her rest” advised Henry’s father. His father was tall and much broader back then and he seemed to fill most of the room. Henry reluctantly left his mother’s side and didn’t see her alive again. She had died of pneumonia. Henry noticed tears splattering onto the photo he was holding. Still shaking and with his ears still ringing he stared at his father. Age had not been kind to him as he was still tall but now his stout broad figure was thin and weak. His hair had almost totally gone. He had never been the same since mother’s death and had taken to drinking heavily. Henry then realised he had never been close to his father. When he was younger his father was away in the army so would only visit when he could. He even missed a few of Henry’s birthdays and Christmases. His father only really lived with them once he left the war. This was due to bad shrapnel wound to the leg. When his father was there they hardly spoke and there were quite a lot of silences. Although Henry loved his father he never really knew him and the only memories of him he could muster were ones where he was shouting and ordering him and his mother around. It must have been the military upbringing he had had. Thinking about it more clearly Henry realised he had always been fearful of his father. A sudden movement and shadow falling over Henry’s family photo awakened him to his present situation. Henry looked up at the source of the shadow and gasped. An English soldier from Henry’s regiment was stood in front of Henry. He was covered in blood, mud and sand and to Henry he looked to be shouting at him but Henry could hear no words only the constant ring in his ears. The man was as young as Henry and was pale and frightened. He had lost his helmet and his blond hair was matted to his head with sweat and mud. Henry noticed the soldier was holding something in his hand which was bloody and disfigured then realised it was the soldier’s foot which had been blown off by a mine. Henry looked at the man’s injured leg and saw blood gushing from a mangled stump which was just below the knee. The soldier limped closer to Henry with a mixture of shock and fear on his face. Suddenly a bullet hit the soldier in the forehead. There was just a tiny hole but the back of the soldiers head had been blown away. The soldier fell backwards and lifeless to the sand and mud. Henry retreated back to his family photo now intently staring at his wife. She was beautiful and he wondered if he would see her again. His memory went back to the town dance where he had met her. He was stood near the exit of the dance hall ready to leave after losing his friends. Then out the corner of his eye he saw her on the opposite side of the hall watching him. Henry noticed her hair first. It shimmered in the light and was black as night and long with curls. She reminded him of the actress Veronica Lake which he had seen on bill boards in town. She wore a short black velvet dress and considering the rationing it was in good condition. Henry wasn’t sure what he was wearing that night as he just remembered buying two ginger beers and walking across the floor to her. The trip he made as reached her made him embarrassed as he had nearly spilt the drinks over her, yet soon they were embraced and dancing to the music. They also talked about themselves long into the night. Her name was Elizabeth, she was 17 and her father had died in the war. Her mother was well off as she had inherited a small publishing business printing magazines and romance novels. Henry explained about his mother’s death and that he too was 17 and worked in the local tobacco factory. He also mentioned his father’s injury in the same war which had claimed Elizabeth’s father’s life. They both shared a long kiss at the end of the night. Three months later and Henry had married Elizabeth and they were living with Elizabeth’s mother. To them both it was a whirlwind fairy tale romance and they knew they loved each other dearly. A month after their marriage and Elizabeth fell pregnant. Henry remembered vividly the birth of his son as though it happened only yesterday. It was one of the best days of his live. “What shall we call him?” asked Elizabeth. “How about we name him after your father,” replied Henry. Elizabeth smiled up at him “That’s perfect. Welcome to the world Charlie. We love you.” She kissed the baby on the head. Henry realised just how much Charlie looked like his mother with his long black hair, strong cheek bones and rosy cheeks. He was perfect and Henry loved looking after him and playing games. Charlie was 11 months old when Henry was drafted into the army to join the war and was starting to walk. He pulled himself up and stumbled along the furniture to where his daddy was sitting. Henry had his head in his hands as he looked up at his son and smiled. He picked him up and sat him on his lap. “I can’t believe I will have to leave and fight in the war. It’s not fair. Everything in life is perfect.” He exclaimed looking up at Elizabeth. “We don’t want you to leave either. I’m scared for you but it’s the law. It’s compulsory.” Replied Elizabeth. Again tears splashed onto his family photo as Henry remembered hugging and kissing his wife and son goodbye and boarding the bus to his barracks. He watched them and waved and blew kisses as the bus slowly pulled out and speeded up down the road. Would he ever see them again he thought. There was suddenly a loud popping noise in Henry’s ears and they suddenly hurt. He felt himself coming round and shockingly was back in his present situation, sat behind a boulder on Sword beach on D Day. He kissed his photo and put it safely back into his top pocket. Unfortunately he could now hear everything going on around him. Everything was so loud, and in amongst the explosions and artillery gun fire he could make out the screams of his comrades shouting out in pain and anguish. He looked to his left to see a tank going slowly past him and could hear the ricochet of machine gun fire bouncing off the side. Not so far away were the bodies of fallen comrades who had either been shot or blown up and the sand was covered in blood and guts. The sight of what he saw was so powerful and disgusting it made Henry sick. He spat on the ground and glanced up to see the second wave of landing ships arrive. A couple of the landing ships hit mines and exploded sending bodies and metal flying out into the sea and at other soldiers. Some of the soldiers that came off the successful landing ships were gunned down as soon as they hit the sand. The sea had turned a dark crimson colour. Some soldiers that made it came running up towards Henry. A few were shouting orders and a few were firing their weapons at the German machine gunners. “Are you alright?” asked a tall lean soldier who had somehow managed to get to Henry within seconds. “Yes, Yes. I should be ok.” Replied Henry using the boulder to push himself up. The soldier picked up and passed Henry his rifle and Henry looked into his dark sparkly eyes. He looked like the sergeant who had given him his orders on the landing ship. “To victory, for England” was his last words to him before a mine had gone off near him and sent him stumbling to the boulder. He was lucky he hadn’t got shot. The soldier with Henry ran past him after he had seen that Henry was fine. Henry took in a few deep breathes as his heart pounded wildly in his chest. “This is it.” He thought. “I’ll go down fighting though”. Henry gently patted at his family photo in his breast pocket then ran around the boulder to face his enemy head on. He saw many small gun turrets and some Germans behind machine guns. As Henry ran towards them over the sand and the dead he fired at the nearest machine gunner and somehow managed to hit him. The German soldier fell back from his position. “That was lucky,” thought Henry as he carried on with gun fire whistling past him and explosions going off around him on the beach. Suddenly he was hit on his left arm and cried out in pain but he realised it was just a flesh wound and carried on. The adrenaline of the moment made him fearless and the pain subsided. As he got closer to his target the only thing that was in his mind were the words of his sergeant and the faces of his family. “To Victory, for England” “For Family.”.