Dear Diary #35


Dear Diary,

Summer is here but it doesn’t feel like it. Though that suits me just great. I love the wind and the cold. I’m getting tried hearing people complaining about the weather now through. I wonder what the weather will be like in London next week when I go? Probably hotter. It always has been when I’ve been the three times before. I still haven’t planned what I’m going to do, must sort all that out soon.

And then if my passport stuff goes okay, I’ll be off to Germany, which is still a terrifying thought. Andy will be there though and at the moment being with him is like so awesome that nothing can go wrong.

It’s a weird feeling to realise after being with so many wrong and bad boys that I’ve found a really good one now and luckily he’s been right by my side all along! Perhaps, I’m meet my Prince for real this time?

Oh, it’s too soon to tell! But last time I thought 5 years was long enough and look what happened there….

Anyway, plans to be made and things to do. Here’s hoping this month is good.


The Last Day

2016, concert, december 31

Kerry looked up from her book at the muted TV screen. A reporter, wrapped up warm clothes was talking to people in a large crowd. Despite the drizzle, everyone seemed happy to be there. The camera turned away and focused on the London Eye. The big white wheel stood out against the black sky and the city lights. Then the camera flashed back to the crowd.

Blowing her nose, Kerry balanced the open hardback on her knees then added the used tissue to the pile that was gathered around her. Coughing loudly, she settled back down on the sofa under her duvet. She read another page of her book, feeling totally distracted by the drama unfolding on the page.

The TV screen went dark and Kerry’s eyes glanced over at it. The big wheel was shown again and this time the camera stayed on it.

Kerry turned up the volume and put her book mark into the page she was on. A count down had started on the TV and people were shouting the numbers as a clock also flashed them up. Placing the book down, Kerry grabbed the small bottle of champagne. It was still cold from the fridge and there was a sheen of water around the the neck of the clear glass.

‘Zero!’ shouted the voices on the TV.

Big Ben began striking the midnight hour and London went into a frenzy.

Kerry cracked open the bottle, which wasn’t corked, but a screw top. The fizz give a little pop still and she poured it into her glass.

Fireworks suddenly went off, both on the TV and outside her apartment as music played and voices took up singing.

Kerry rose the glass in the air to give a little toast, then she sipped the champagne. It tasted acidic against her tongue. Taking a mouthful, she swallowed and placed the glass down. Her phone beeped with incoming texts. She picked it up and answered them all just as fast as they came in.

Swapping her phone out for the champagne, she took two mouthfuls then looked into the glass. The taste hadn’t improved and she’d only drunk half now. Her phone rang loudly. Kerry scrambled for it, knocking her book to the floor.

‘Hello?’ she answered it.

‘Hi. Feeling any better?’ her boyfriend’s voice came through.

‘A little,’ she replied as she sank back on to the cushions.

‘Happy New Year!’ he added.

Kerry giggled, ‘same to you.’

‘As soon as I get home we’ll celebrate properly.’

‘No. We don’t have to…’ Kerry said.

‘We’ll go out,’ he cut through her words, ‘a nice meal, a movie, drinks after. However you want to do it.’

‘No,’ Kerry said again, ‘I want to stay in. Let’s just sit on the sofa with a movie and popcorn.’

‘Well…if that’s what you want…’ he responded in a dropped tone.

‘Yes. I just want you. Us,’ Kerry explained.

‘Okay, I’ll try and get home as fast as I can then,’ her boyfriend added.

‘Good. I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too! I should go though…I can’t see the noticeboard from here.’

‘All right. Text me soon,’ Kerry spoke.

‘Sure. Night!’


Kerry hung up and looked at her phone screen. On the TV, the fireworks were coming to an end and the reporter had appeared again. From outside came the whizzing of a rocket and sound of a firework exploding into a frizzling noise.

Putting the phone on the coffee table, Kerry tossed the rest of her drink back then put the empty glass beside her phone. Picking up her book, she lay down again and opened the pages. A sneeze hit her before she could start reading and she had to dig out a new tissue. Growling, she lent back and wondered how the start to the New Year could get any worse.


art, brush, painting

He liked to draw, but only on walls. Early in the morning, before the city fully awoke, he set out with his tools. He walked the almost empty streets where yesterday’s newspaper rustled around lampposts and the air hummed with rotting fast food. Lights on top floors shone out, growing dim as the sun rose higher.

He found his ‘canvas’ on the inside wall of a pedestrian tunnel under a road. Setting his things down, he looked for the best spot to began as he ponder what he would paint today.

Postcard 18

Postcard, London, Big Ben, Phone Booth

Dear, L. I hope this message finds you well and alive. London or what is left, is in total ruin. Red smoke covers the sky all the time and if you don’t wear your gas mask the toxic air gets to you within minutes. I try to remember the good days when we were all together and happy, but they are fading fast from my mind. Life goes on in the camp, but it can’t even be called that, its a battle to survive everyday. I hope you are at peace whatever you are doing now. I pray for your safe return or else to see you on the other side. Love always, Boo.


Underground, Train Station, Train, Subway


Cole hated waiting for the train in the Underground. There was just something sinister and not quite right down here. He side stepped closer to a business man reading a newspaper. There was safety in numbers right? His eyes drifted to the tube tunnel and the dark areas surrounding it. Was that a flicker of a shadow? He stared hard at the spot, but saw nothing further.

He looked at the man’s newspaper and saw that raptor attacks had gone up by twenty-five percent over the last three months. A grainy black and white photo of a raptor was under the headline. He turned away, swallowing loudly. The man ruffled the newspaper and Cole felt eyes drifting to him. He turned, looking back into the shadows.

He wondered how true all the myths were and if monsters did now lurk in the darkness of the Underground. A train rattled in, stopping at break neck sped in front of them. The doors opened with a hiss, but as Cole got on he swore he saw a long tail flickering back into the shadows.




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Postcard #16


Time Rips

In 2049 they discovered time travel, only no one knew about it until the time rips started happening six years later. No one could pin down the date or time of when they first one happened, but the most well-known one happened on April 3rd 2055. Maybe if it hadn’t happened in the middle of London and been instead in a sleepy Cornwall village, then perhaps it would never have been believed.

The news reporters recorded that over three hundred people – workers, residents, visitors- witnessed a large black line appear in the middle of Trafalgar Square and it seemed to slow open sideways. At first only darkness could be seen in the rip, but then people began to see the Square as it was in 1900. Blurred figures started to take shape until they became solid. People thought it was a trick or a mistake; a large projection to mark some event, but it wasn’t.

A man dressed in a black suit made up of a long jacket, waist coat and white shirt tie and top hat, walked out and across the pavement. People moved out of the way and watched him, thinking he was nothing more than a hologram. That all changed when a single horse and carriage stepped out. The brown horse tossed its head, leather reins slapping against his sides and snorted on a nearby woman. The carriage driver pulled the horse to a stop and stared around in confusion.

A child touched the horse before his mother could move him away and his delighted cries that the horse was real, had everyone cluster around and reaching their hands out. People commented that the carriage felt cold and damp, that the horse was soft, warm and had a heartbeat. The driver at first tried to wave them away, but as hands touched his clothes, he fall silent and seemed to realize that he was no longer ‘home.’

Then with the rip getting bigger, more people and horses came through. The Square seemed to shiver and began to take on the appearance of the 1900’s. A car horn blared and people turned to see one of the first cars driving through. Then our people began to walk through and their accounts are so detailed and numerous that it would take too long to write here. They all do agree though that they felt like they were in 1900.

The time rip lasted for about five minutes and then slowly disappeared. Despite the rumours afterwards, no one was trapped in the wrong era and everyone seemed to get back to normal. However, the hope was that this would never happen again, or else someone would stand up and say it was a stunt, but instead, they admitted to the time travel and actually began to record all the reported time rips.

They tried stop the rips by slowing them down and restricting them, but the rips started to become too numerous, random and lasting different lengths of time. Thus, making them too hard to contain and everyone just started to accept them as a part of life. For example, you could take your dog to the park, but when you get there find yourself wondering through an 1800’s cotton mill with a busy army of people. You could also wake up one morning and go to stand at a window which looks out across the city, only to see yourself in the middle of a desert with camels roaming around.

Now five years later, the time rips have become a part of everyone’s life. Machines have been invented that can predicate the arrival of a rip and also what year it is linked too. Teaching children about history and giving tourists a deeper experience, has been made so much easier. Of course, there are those people that are against the time rips and believe that they aren’t as good as everyone believes they are. Also, that the numbers of people being trapped and transported in the rips is being hidden by the government to protect everyone.

Despite all my research, I’ve not been able to find any truth about this. Yes, there are reports of people being trapped in a time rip and some of them have yet to make it back. Perhaps, that’s why I can’t find any evidence of any lasting effects from this or maybe we wouldn’t till after a longer period of time.

New Year’s Eve

Rose always made a New Year’s resolution every year as the clocks struck midnight and shouting voices filled the air. As the numbers came from her mouth, her mind rushed with everything she wanted to do that year. This time around it been a simple resolution; loss weight and write her novel. Though she was sure those had been on her list last year too.

She felt her boyfriend clutch her hand tightly, their palms already damp. They were gathered around the TV just like everyone else at the party was, welcoming the New Year in with rest of the country. The last number and chime faded together then everyone erupted into song, even though most didn’t know all the words.

At the end, as the fireworks in London went off on the TV screen, everyone was kissing, hugging and shaking hands. Voices rose in wishing each other all the best and Rose felt swamped by all the bodies. Grabbing, her boyfriend’s hand, she tugged him out of the room and into the bathroom across the way.

‘Hey,’ he laughed, ‘slow down.’

Rose locked the door and turned to him with a shake of her head, ‘Don’t get any ideas. I just needed some space.’

The corners of his mouth dipped and Rose rolled her eyes. She stepped over and kissed him. Letting her lips linger, teasingly him before she broke away. He wrapped his arms around her, swaying them gently, though she suspected that was because he was drunk all ready.

‘Did you make your New Year resolution?’ he asked in a husky voice.

‘Yep. Loss more weight and write my novel. What was your’s?’

‘Aww, don’t do that,’ he said and grabbed her bum, ‘I’ll miss this.’

She laughed and pressed her hands to his cheeks, ‘I’m sure that’ll be fine. I just want my stomach flatter. What was your’s?’ she repeated.

‘This,’ he replied and kissed her deeply.

The Blood That Gives

He walks down the wet street, avoiding the dim light from the old fashion street lamps as he does so. He turns the corner and is confronted with London’s East End. The terraced houses stretch out on both sides, looming out of the dark April night. He stands on the street corner; hands in the pockets of his black drainpipe trousers, rubbing the side of his brown brogue shoe against the edge of the curb. His eyes come to rest on a mass of damp paper laying in the gutter; ‘East London Advertiser, Friday April 6th 1956. TEDDY BOY GANGS CAUSE TROUBLE IN THE EAST END.’

The sound of female laughter distracts him. He listens. His unhappy lips turn into a straight thoughtful line. He flips the high collar of his white shirt up and begins to walk down the road.  He passes a light blue Ford Prefect and stops to glance at himself in the wing mirror. He runs his hand over his chin; feeling nothing but smoothness and warmth. He notices the red blush covering his pale cheeks and is glad of it.  He checks his straight white teeth, pats down the top of his damp, slicked back, black hair and then gazes into his own dark blue eyes.

A sharp laugh cuts though his thoughts and he looks up towards the sound. He walks on, till he comes to stand at the end of the street. He lets the shadows cover him as he spies on the girls. There’s four them and they can’t be much older than himself. They sit in a circle, amongst the rubble remains of a bombed out house.

At a quick glance, he’d see them as boys and not girls, because the clothes they wear are similar to his; brown drainpipe trousers, crepe-sole shoes and black drape jackets. Of the two girls who face him; one wears a light coloured polar neck, with a thin blue scarf. She has short curly blond hair, a round face and a large smile.  The other girl wears a white shirt-open at the neck. She has shoulder length, brown curly hair, tied back in a ponytail and her face is long and thin.  It is this one that he likes.

‘Ma’ll kill me, I better get going,’ one of the girl’s voices calls out.

‘I’ll walk back with you,’ another answers.

He watches as the girls that have been sitting with their backs to him, stand up, say goodbye and leave. He lets a few seconds pass and then makes his way over. The other girls eye him suspiciously as he comes to the edge of the bombed out house. The one with the scarf around her neck takes a long drag of a cigarette and then says, ‘You got another?’

He’s glancing down, turning half a brick over with his shoe, when she speaks again. He looks up, nods his head and walks over to her, pulling the packet and match box from his pocket. He hands both to her, then sits down opposite them.

They study him now, puzzlement and questioning expressions on their faces.

‘You got a name?’

‘William,’ he lies, letting it slip off his tongue as if it is the truth.

She giggles, balances one of the cigarettes between her lips and says, ‘I’m Kath and this is Susan. Will you come and light this, William?’

He likes the way she pronounces the name, with the emphases on the ‘Will’ part. He gets up, takes the match and box from her and strikes it. He brings the light to the end of the cigarette and when it catches, he shakes the match out.

‘You got a girlfriend, William?’

‘No,’ he answers, letting the used match fall from his fingers. He slips the box back in his pocket and glances across at Susan. She is stubbing out her cigarette on the corner of a brick.

‘You want one?’ Kath asks.

He doesn’t reply, his eyes remain on Susan, who raises her own to his and stares at him hard, ‘What?’ she snaps.

‘Can I walk you home?’ he asks, shyly.

The girls laugh.

‘Alright then,’ Kath answers.

He steps forward and helps her stand up. He then holds on to her hand as he helps Susan to her feet. He drops their hands quickly and throws his arms around their necks, causing them to lose their balance and fall to the floor. He pins Susan under him, covering her mouth with his hand, as he twists Kath’s head to the side and buries his head in her throat. When he is done with Kath, he pushes off her and moves on top of Susan. He looks down into her shocked face. He is breathing deeply, his mouth open revealing his blood covered fangs. Droplets of Kath’s blood drip from his face and down on to Susan’s.

He grins. The hunger is still burning deep inside of him, it needs to be fed and he has chosen well tonight.

Suicide For My Soul

My suicide was an awakening. I expected to die, but instead only my soul did. I awoke on the bathroom floor, blood everywhere and not knowing what had happened. There was no chance to reflect as straight away a female voice give me instructs I had to obey. I tided up, washed, dressed and packed a rucksack. Stepping outside, I left home for what might have been the fifth time, only I could never go back.

The owner of the voice was waiting for me and she compelled me into another world that exists under ours’. I learnt a lot about death and life in that first month. My Giver kept reminding me how lucky I was that a vampire had answered my death call. Apparently, anything can come to you in those first moments afterwards. She often joked that she’d fought off a zombie and a demon for me.

Now six months later, I’m on my own and learning to love the world, as she calls it. If none of this had happened, then I wouldn’t have gotten my second chance at life. This realisation comes to me as I jostle for space getting on the Underground. I jam myself into the already packed space. Someone elbows me in the ribs and someone else steps on my toes. The doors hisses shut and the train whizzes off.

Nirvana plays loudly from my IPod and I’m comforted by the familiarity of it. A part of me wonders if it’s right to listen to the music of my last human months. My mental stability is better and I’m less emotional. Still, maybe I need to find some new music to suit this new life. The realisation won’t leave my thoughts. It gives raise to so many other questions demanding answers. Including; if I had known that my suicide would lead to this would I’ve still done it?

A bag catches my shoulder. The owner mutters an apology, but I don’t hear it. My raised arm starts to go numb. I let go of the strap and study the greyness of my skin. Scars crisscross the surface looking like cracks in porcelain. Was I really that fragile once? I pull down the sleeve of my hoodie and look around. No one else has noticed me. And why would they? London only contains two types of people the residents and the visitors. Either have time to deal with each other or anything else. They are too frantic trying to get from place to place, doing what they believe they need to do and keeping London ticking.

We stop at a station and people switch places with each other. I grip the strap and stand my ground. The doors shut and we are off again, plunging back into the noisy darkness. My stop is next, but actually, I enjoy the press of bodies against my own. It brings some warmth back into my skin and reminds me that my new form is alive.