A Lingering Knight

Her skin came alive as the smooth flesh all across her upper body erupted in goose bumps. Even though she was only wearing a nightie, she new it wasn’t the cold that was causing it. Because it was around this time that he normally returned from work, and they had been playing this game for over a decade. 

Lying on the bed, she refused to open her eyes. She knew that pretending to be asleep teased him to try harder. And as the goose bumps rippled further across her, she felt his fingers lovingly against her skin. They were cold.

As the sensation continued along her arm and up to her neck, she was reminded of the first time he had kissed her. The snow was fresh on the ground and the air as crisp as it felt in the room tonight. Her thoughts raced along with her pulsing heartbeat. She longed for his lips to meet with hers as they did then, and had done since. Now sensing him just millimetres from her face, her eyes opened softly to meet his warming gaze. But there was nothing to see, she was alone in the darkness.

The room was deadly black and the cold feeling lingered heavier now than ever. It encapsulated her body in fear. But after a few groggy seconds, the painfully undeniable truth set in once more. As it had every night since that fateful day 3 weeks ago, fear turned to a harrowing sorrow, and that sorrow to tearful woe.

Taking pride of place on her bedside table stood his picture; the customary black ribbon of passing attached across the upper right corner. She lay facing him, eyes locked on to his. And as time slowed to a standstill she eventually passed back to her dreams. It was not the first time she had awoken like this, and she prayed it would never be the last. 

One Cold Crime Scene: Hungry For Justice

The harsh crack of the door opening perfectly suited the deathly squint that she was pulling.  And after what seemed like hours surveying the scene, a ferocious rumble from beneath her gut broke the silence. Echoing across the room, it toppled the confidence of her colleagues as they shuffled quickly out of sight.

They were all too familiar with what would happen if they got between her and the investigation. The emotional wounds they bore from the mouthful they were given last time canvassed their sheepish faces. It stuck out more than any deep cutting scare could.

A thick and vast pink ooze caked the inside wall to her left, its explosive and heavy pattern proved that this was a crime of passion. It was clear that things had played out quickly. With one heavy strike, the criminal had been in and out. But in their apparent overzealousness to remove the victim, they had left plenty remnants behind for her to work with. It caused the air to stink of the suspect…or was that something else? Only now did it begin to seem so familiar to her.  

Dragging her finger slowly through what was left of the victim, she had a feeling she knew what was coming. She could practically taste it in the back of her mouth already.

“Strawberry”, she thought to herself as she licked her index clean. This was beginning to feel personal. “Everyone knows how much I like strawberry yogurt”.

And with her thoughts concluded and her mission cemented in the back of her mind, she withdrew from the fridge and offered a word of advice to anyone stupid enough to still be in her vicinity.

“No matter how long it takes”, she swore out loud. “I’ll find whoever kidnapped my lunch, and bring them to justice”. 

A Mother of a Fight

His mud soaked hands gripped the leather of his belt as he heard the words. They had struck him harder than the two stray shots that had found their mark in his flesh, earlier in the day. He was begging to be back in that simple gunfight now. Not this. This new perp would be harder to fell than any Indian.

A ripple from the edge of his fingers flowed all the way under his sweat-ridden shirt, through his vest and into his heart. It tipped his cowboy hat slowly towards the ground; the weight of this world was now upon his shoulders. But there were still options.

The nearest bush was no more than a few feet from them. It was a bramble; the prickles would be softer than the price he’d pay staying here. But then running from fear was not how he had earned his badge. He had a duty to the innocent. The same people that had now come out of hiding in response to the sudden break in the storm of bullets. And in doing so, they had made the choice for him.

With his head still hunched and his hat covering all but his lips, a smirk suddenly travelled across his face like lightening on a clear night. All the weight was swiftly lifted, and with it, his head. In one hand he held the remnants of a broken ice-cream cone. In the other a Colt .45, cocked. He pointed the barrel at my head.

“I knew this hour would come!” he howled. “You'll have to take me kicking and screaming, all the way home.” 

The Race For Life

It was over as soon as it had begun. And when it’s done, you are more thankful you survived than you are grateful for the ride. Then, the adrenaline finally kicks in. Where was this, you wonder, when you were hitting the limit along the last straight, slicing your way through turn after turn, with your ass in your hands and your hands in the hands of the gods.

It would have been nice to have felt it a little earlier, you think to yourself. And now, as your machine stands deadly still on the tarmac, a million thoughts rush at you; all of them racing through you head at a million miles an hour.

People tell you it’s when you are closest to death that you feel the most alive. But after an experience like that, you realize it’s when you feel most alive that you see how close death can be. That’s probably why it’s so addictive. After all, isn’t the fear of death arguably the biggest driver of life?

Looking back at the burnt rubber laid down from your run gives you an instant reminder of your achievement. It’s a war wound that you’ve just carved on the face of old uncle death. For this time, at least, you’ve won the fight against his ever-present persistence towards your life. But with time, these achievements will wash away, and another round will need to unfold.

You see it’s not for the thrill, the glory, or the fame, that you race. It’s to reassure yourself that you are still alive and in control. Because only once you come that close to death, do you realize how far from living your life you are.

EV DAY (Part 1)

I was there the day the Earth burned. 

It kicked off with a deafening bang. The Orbis Mark 4 escape pod had never been designed for a “softly, softly” approach to takeoff. But then the last thing you need at the end of the world is something soft, or cautious. It’s pretty much the first thing the drill instructors had taught us all those years ago. And it’s safe to say that after today, there was no way any of us were going to forget it. I’m just grateful that all my squad had made it. The last 12 left alive.

Exploding out of the launch tube, the true horror of the situation could now be appreciated. Through a few small viewing holes beneath our feet all we could do was watch hell on Earth finish off what was left of the defenses. As we accelerated away from our home planet we saw the true extent of the raging fire below. This was certainly no drill. The war between the Unknown had been fuming for almost a year now. And after Human population figures had reached a critical cessation level of 2 million, all outcries for help had gone unanswered, and the impending nature of the situation had finally sunk in to high command, the order to evacuate Earth had been given. Thank whatever God was left that trained soldiers like us, not innocent civilians, were the last ones left planet side.

As we sat there, everything seemed to slow down for a moment. Everyone in the cabin was still, restless in our own solitude. Below, the bright red torment taking over our beloved terra nova grew as we flew further and further away. Only the feeling of horror did not. I could see that lamentation on all our faces as we climbed into the clouds. And as they engulfed our displays, a similar fogging thought filled my head. It was wild with questions.

While my military side searched the far corners of my brain for tactical solutions, the civilian side tried to deal with the fear that was penetrating me from all angles. Shaking it off, my mind returned me to the contrastingly silent cabin. Everyone was in too much shock to say anything. My head sank again between my legs.

Slowly, the windows below us began to fog up. Frost crept in from every corner, choking off the chaos below. It was unstoppable. The higher we climbed from the war zone we were leaving behind, the more damned the situation had felt, the more unable we were to help. It was a perfect metaphor, leaving me little to do but sit back and contemplate my decisions.

I had chosen to give the order of retreat. It was my fault that the Earth had finally fallen into inhumane hands. And so I would make it my mission to return it. We were the final people with our feet firmly planet side and I, literally, the last man to be on Earth. What a legacy. And with that thought I couldn’t help but let out a small smile. Catching such an odd sense of emotion at a time of total devastation, one of my crewmen finally broke the deadly silence. From across the cabin, he yelled against the roaring engines “Something funny?”

“I was just thinking, having actually been the last men on Earth, it might help our chances next time we cross a decent bar.”

I could tell by his stone-cold stare that he didn’t share in the randomness of my thoughts. And then the cockpit went black.

Everything was now thrown into darkness. We had safely cleared the atmosphere, and escaped into space. The lonely, dark, endless and ultimate abyss of space. Safe was the wrong word. We were far from safety. We were simply out of the frying planet.

I looked back down at the viewing window one last time. It had all but been covered up by the frost. Space was cold. Damn cold. Nothing kept it out, as it filled the cockpit like a heavy, all encompassing mist. At this point I couldn’t tell if it was the sadness that had tiptoed into the hearts and minds of my crewmates, the dark endlessness of space that now lay before us, or just the fact that we had still not heard anything on the coms from the fleet. And with that, everything seemed to feel so final.

As we drifted away from our home world, everything was quiet. We all took a moment to let the feeling sink on. What was there to say anyway? We were there when our plant fell from human hands.

We were there the day the Earth burned.

365 SHORT STORIES PROJECT

LIFE BEGAN AT 23, BUT IT TOOK OFF AT 25

It's been far too long, so I won't bore you with too many words. Just yet. But read on for 365 reasons why you should check out my short story blog http://dunnwritecreative.blogspot.hk.

A SNEAK PEEK OF THE OLD ME REVEALS WHAT’S TO COME

Remember when it all began for me, back at the ripe old age of 23? If not, you can check out my back story in blogging here http://lba23.blogspot.hk/. For those of you that already know me, you might notice that things have changed around here. That's because 'here' (http://dunnwritecreative.blogspot.hk) is a completely new 'there' (http://lba23.blogspot.hk/). And with that new 'there', comes a completely new 'where'. As in "where are you going with this?", which I am sure you are asking yourself. Well, let me tell you.

BLOGGING BUILT THE BOY YOU SEE BEFORE YOU

I kicked off my career in copywriting thanks to my blog (http://lba23.blogspot.hk/2011/02/year-dot-plus-one.html). It got me in the door at OgilvyOne Hong Kong, helped me win my first Cannes Lions (http://lba23.blogspot.hk/2010/05/i-am-one-of-worl.html) and even helped me get close to a porn star (http://lba23.blogspot.hk/2011/03/closest-i-get-to-porn-star.html). In fact, the only thing it didn't do was keep me blogging.

365 SHORT STORIES TO STOP SILENT BLOGGING

I've decided that I should get back to it. And what better way than with a story-a-week to keep my creative juices flowing. Now, I’ll be honest, they won't all be brilliant, but I guarantee they will be short and sweet - something to enjoy as you take the bus to work, queue for a coffee or lie in bed trying to sleep at night. So be sure to check back soon or subscribe to my Facebook Page here (https://www.facebook.com/DunnWriteCreative) for the first of 365 short stories over more or less the next year.

It's going to be tough, and I bet you can’t believe I’ll accomplish it. That’s why there’s all the more reason to stay subscribed and in touch.

ENJOY!