Author’s note: For a few hours, the UK was bathed in the strangest yellow light. I tried my best to capture it, but it changed by the second. Amazing really.

Cometh the Rain (Part 2)

img-alternative-textI had thought nobody capable of such a relentless barrage of inspiration. He cajoled and reaffirmed, appraised and approved, all us little people grateful for his attentions. In time, we came to demand his praise as if he was some minor deity on an undeniable upward curve to God, who in his so doing would drag us with him to incredible new heights. All the while, the sun smiled down. All the while, it burnt us.
He showed us his blueprints written in elegant script and full of every conceivable detail. We smiled and cheered; I even bought him a drink. Not one of us understood them. Not one of us had a clue as to what the sum of the whole would accomplish. Yet our messiah was a humble man and claimed he did it all for mankind’s betterment, that one day we’d sit by new rivers together and raise a toast to nimbus skies. Who could argue with that kind of humility?
I was sold. We were sold. Never once did we question him.
To Be Continued…

Cometh the Rain (Part 1)

The sun hung like a golden bauble decorating a cerulean sky. Basking in the pleasures of its gleaming self, the celestial body shone and shone and shone regardless of our wishes, as if predicting what we below desired rather than asking the question. A constant Christmas, our personal star, our gift, blazed above with the beaming smile of a demented patron, and all we could do was accept its citrine self. We had no choice. Who could blot out the sun?At the sixth month of relentless sunshine, a certain someone, who for now shall remain nameless, made the cataclysmic decision to correct God’s supposed slight. He would reinstate the clouds and with it that precious resource the rain. Life would return to its blissful ways, Eden reborn. His message, more idealistic dream than practical proposal, inspired others to aid him in his task. I’m ashamed to say I was one of them even if my heart was not in it. “Cometh the rain,” he’d said. “Cometh the man.” Who knew what it meant if it meant anything at all? In truth, who cared?To Be Continued…



There is blood in the air and fear on the streets, the city reeks of it. I bathe in this feral disruption like all predators must; it does no good to show fear in the face of the enemy. Society pools about me in terror and tainted thoughts, I smile politely at each in turn. This is not how it should be. This is not right.
The sun tips a few more degrees to port unleashing its crimson juices upon the universe. I watch through darkened goggles whilst other eyes fry even enjoying the view. It is not often one witnesses one’s own demise and certainly not in slow motion.
Blood. It reminds me of blood pouring away from a once live host. Our sun is dead but just doesn’t know it. I am dead but just don’t know it.
Why cast my thoughts into a temporal bubble and set them loose on the oceans of time? Perhaps a warning? Perhaps a lie? You don’t know me. I could be mad? Then again, what if I’m not?
I fade away with a crimson smile. Goodbye, my friends. Goodbye.
The End.

Citrine Dreams

The day still held a sharp residue of summer, a citric tang. Memories of those early years picking lemons off the trees, how it felt like holding the sun, sneaking bites then wrinkling our faces, a flood of yellows past washed over me like an August storm. They were hot those yesterdays, so very hot.

Memories resurfaced of times forgotten. I could almost taste the sweat rolling down my face again. It used to tickle at my lips and then hang like a mountain climber scaling an overhang waiting for gravity to do its thing. Next came the choice: lick or shake? I always licked; it was a salty temptation.  

I was young, innocent, untouched by the dreams of others, instead, dwelling in my own. Life was good. Citrine was the colour of those dreams and I missed every one of them.

The Shade of Shadows

We stand in the shadow of a concrete god

A roaring, rampant, rumbling beast of vehicular worship

Where people pass at speeds to fear contained

By barriers of that selfsame indestructibility

Yet beneath the behemoth, where its shadow

Lightly tickles the chopping waters so filled with fish

And walkers wonder at what occurs unseen

Both above in the aether and below the waves

Somehow stuck in that world of semi-darkness

Neither part of one nor the other until the sun chooses

To adjust celestial alignments and warm their souls

Which by then, they won’t be wondering

Just seeking the shade of shadows again

50 Word Stories: The Pause

Flowers everywhere peeled back their petals to welcome the sun. Duly, that life giver obliged like a lemon bringing zest to the hillside. I watched it all whilst eating a sandwich, my trekking having started well before dawn. Yes, the summit was close, but sometimes you just had to pause.