Expectations of the Homo Sapien

So, after going through the proof copy of my novelette and making all the necessary changes (there really are errors that only jump out at you when you’re reading a physical copy and are desperately hoping that there won’t be any errors) and then checking the revised proof, I am proud to say that Expectations of the Homo Sapien is now available on Amazon, both as an ebook and in print.

For those of you interested in what it’s about, here’s the blurb:

Oh, for the suddenness of it all!

When Professor Marcellus Kingston is given the opportunity to travel around England giving lectures on evolution, he finds that not only are members of his audience objectionable, but they lead him to have several altercations, and also a run in with the constabulary.

Will he stay true to his task, or will he be overcome by it all and take his leave?

And, for a more in depth explanation, it’s basically a story written as the diary of a Victorian professor (originally it was a final project for my OU course in creative writing, and as I’m a big fan of Murdoch Mysteries and had also just read Dracula, I was really itching to write a piece that took place in Victorian times) and though he teaches geology, he actually has a keen interest in evolution.

Because the professor, Marcellus, tends to drift into other topics while lecturing to his students and frequently discusses evolution, the Master of Clare College, where he teaches as Fellow, picks up on this and decides that it might not be a bad thing for someone to travel around England and teach the lesser educated about what evolution really means. And that person should be Marcellus.

Of course, because of the controversy around the issue, especially during that era, Marcellus has some trouble controlling his audience. Hence the run in with the constabulary.

It’s not meant as a serious in-depth story (after all, it’s only 69 pages long), but my hope is that it is at least entertaining. Also, considering the amount of research I had to do for it, I though it was a bit sad just to leave it tucked away in a folder on my desktop without ever seeing the light of day. So technically, I am now published. Yay!

Short Stories

Ed’s Summer Leave and Inuyasha’s Confusion – Crossover Fan Fiction

‘Brother, are you sure you should be doing this? What if Winry finds out and refuses to fix your automail for six months like last time?’ I said, watching brother mark out the transmutation circle on the floor. His gold eyes were full of determination, ignoring the strands of hair falling in his face.

‘Relax, Al. She won’t find out, she’s busy fixing up the dog’s automail. It’ll keep her busy for sure. Besides, haven’t you ever wondered if there are other worlds beyond the gate of truth?’

I thought for a moment, my armour creaking slightly. ‘Maybe once. I had a vision of my body, it was looking through the gate at the countryside. I thought it might have been here in Amestris, but the people were dressed in strange clothing.’

Brother looked at me, his eyes narrowed. ‘You never told me about that,’ he said.

‘It was a long time ago, right after you sealed my soul to this armour.’

Brother looked away. He sighed and shook his head. ‘Well, there’s no use talking about it now. The circle’s finished.’ He knelt down and put his hands on it, causing it to activate. The blue sparks of his alchemy rippled across the surface like a swift storm.

Suddenly, the room went dim. I felt uneasy, and I could just make out brother’s breath steaming into the air.

‘Brother—’ I began.

The door burst open. ‘Ed, what are you up to now?’ Winry shouted, brandishing her spanner, but before she could throw it at him, long, black hands came out of the circle and grabbed us. I heard Winry shriek, then everything went dark.


‘Kagome, where are you going? Kagome—’

‘Inuyasha, sit!’

A loud crash brought me to my senses, and I came around to see a boy a few years older than brother, face down in the dirt. He was dressed all in red, with long silver hair and what looked like…dog ears!

‘You didn’t have to do that, Kagome!’ he said, getting up angrily. He stopped and looked at me. ‘What’s this heap of armour doing here, anyway?’

He kicked at me and I jumped up. ‘Hey!’ I said, staring at him.

‘A person?’ His eyes narrowed and he sniffed at me. ‘Wait, you don’t smell human at all. You’re one of Naraku’s spies, aren’t you?’ He pulled out his sword and levelled it at me.

Just then, heavy footsteps sounded behind me and brother appeared, jumping over my head and kicking the dog-eared boy in the face. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, aiming that sword at him?’ brother shouted, transmuting his automail arm so that it now had a blade.

The dog-eared boy stood up, growling. ‘Why you! I should be the one asking the questions, you little pipsqueak!’

I saw brother tense up, ready to insult him back, but then a girl with dark hair came around the corner with Winry.

‘Ed, Al! I’m so glad you’re okay!’ Winry said.

At the same time, the dark-haired girl said, ‘Sit, boy,’.

The beads around the dog-eared boy’s neck glowed and forced him towards the ground with another loud crash.

‘Sorry,’ the girl said. ‘Winry told me how you guys got here. We—’

‘Kagome, don’t be fooled by them. The one in the armour isn’t human,’ the dog-eared boy’s muffled voice came from the ground.

‘It’s okay, Inuyasha, I know. They’re not from this world.’

She led us to their camp, filling the dog-eared boy, Inuyasha, in on our situation. He and brother took opposite seats, staring each other down.

‘Sheesh, Kagome, you really believe all that?’ Inuyasha said, scowling at us.

Brother looked as though he was about to reply, but he suddenly yelped and slapped his face. He looked down at his hand. In it was a tiny flea.

Inuyasha smirked. ‘Well, if it isn’t old man Myoga. If you’re here, then they can’t be dangerous.’

The flea hoped off of brother’s hand and onto Inuyasha’s shoulder. ‘Indeed, Master Inuyasha. I can attest that the small one’s blood tastes somewhat different to ordinary humans, but they possess no ill will as far as I can see.

‘See, Inuyasha?’ Kagome said. ‘All they want is help getting back to where they came from.’

‘We do?’ brother said, raising an eye at Winry.

‘We can’t stay here, Ed. Your summer leave is almost over and I’ve got to get back to Rush Valley and my clients. You were supposed to be spending time with granny and me, but instead you shut yourself away again!’

He sighed. ‘You’re right, I guess. Al, let’s draw up the circle and go home.’

He found a stick on the ground, and with my help, he marked the circle out in the dirt. Like before, it was a variation of the one for human transmutation, which was basically what he had to do to himself to open the gate again. He knelt down to activate it. Nothing happened.

‘I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘It’s like my alchemy isn’t powerful enough to open it, yet it worked fine when I transmuted my automail.’

Inuyasha got onto all fours and sniffed the circle vigorously.  ‘I don’t get how this stuff works or anything, but if you need more power, then maybe Kagome can help you,’ he said, sitting up to look at her.

‘You mean using a sacred arrow?’ she asked. ‘I can try.’

Picking up the bow and quiver of arrows stacked beside her pack, she nocked an arrow in place and aimed it at the transmutation circle. With a sharp exhale, she released the arrow. In a wave of pink light, it flew down and struck hit the circle’s centre. Brother whistled. Obviously, he had never seen anything like it either. Somehow, whatever the pink light was, it made me feel warm and calm inside. But the circle didn’t react at all.

‘That’s weird. I thought for sure that it would do something…maybe if I tried using a jewel shard…’ She pulled out a small bottle with shards of pink stone inside. She took one out and attached it to the head of an arrow. ‘Here goes nothing.’ She shot the circle again, and this time the reaction was instantaneous.

‘Get back!’ brother shouted to her and Inuyasha as the black hands erupted from the circle again.

I looked at them, barely managing to say ‘thank you’ before the hands wrapped around us and we were in darkness once more. The next thing I knew, we woke up in a heap in our own room.

‘Brother,’ I said excitedly. ‘That stone she put on the arrow—’

‘I know, Al. It was almost like a Philosopher’s stone. Do you think—’

‘Don’t you two ever stop?’ Winry shouted, tears running down her cheeks. ‘When I woke up in that strange world without you, I thought…I thought…’ She sniffed, unable to speak.

‘Brother, we made her cry again,’ I murmured.

‘Winry, I…I’ll make you dinner,’ he said softly.

‘What?’ she said, wiping her eyes.

‘I’ll…I’ll make you dinner!’

She smiled.


Book review: ‘My Japanese Husband Thinks I’m Crazy!’ by Grace Buchele Mineta

First off, this is a book of hand-drawn comics, as well as blog posts that act as a commentary to said comics. The author is the well known blogger and Youtuber, Texan in Tokyo, and as a fan of her channel, I asked for her books for Christmas and so received the first three as a gift (she actually has four books out, but the last one is only available on kindle at the moment, and I’m a lover of physical copies). This is a review of the first book she released.

So, onto the book itself:

As the title suggests, the heart of this book focuses on Grace’s experiences in Japan as a foreigner, and how she and her husband Ryosuke accommodate each others’ cultural differences. There are also great insights into daily life in Japan, such as learning how to separate the rubbish (or trash) appropriately (not just ‘recycling’ or ‘non-recycling’, but ‘burnable’, ‘non-burnable’, ‘plastics, cans and glass bottles’ and ‘PET bottles and paper’) and what to do if you miss the postman.

The comics are in black and white, and mostly depict humorous situations, while the commentary delves into some more serious topics, like dealing with negative comments on intercultural relationships, accepting the differences in beauty standards, and how to handle hate comments on social media.

There’s also lots of interesting facts about Japan, from correct etiquette on trains and in onsen (Japanese hot springs, where bathers go naked) to explanations of certain types of food.

Being mostly comics, this book is a quick read, but it’s very much an enjoyable one. Grace’s writing style is light and easy to read, and the comics genuinely made me laugh aloud. The pages are packed with wit and humour, and what I like most is that the vast majority of content is based off of things that actually happened to Grace and Ryosuke. It also left me feeling warm and happy about the future, simply because it’s such a nice read.

In conclusion, I’d have to say that if you have any interest in Japanese culture or wonder what an intercultural relationship is really like, pick up this book. You won’t be disappointed.


Leaf Litter (draft)

Leaves drift across the way,

sweeping up the memories of

evening walks, lazy afternoon strolls and

those crisp morning jogs to catch the train.


Swirling up into a tight ball,

they cascade around my body

to fall at my feet.

I absorb them, as if they are a

soft mulch begging to fertilize.


A hundred rays of winter sun

swarm down to dance in my hair,

as the warm, soft rain

of spring drips onto my nose,

showering me with growth.


The rush of euphoria rides up my spine,

causing a clucking laughter to escape

my lips, jostling about on the humid breeze

to mingle with dawn’s robust chorus.



Extracts/ Flash Fiction

Extract: The Origin Stone

I close my eyes, not quite brave enough to face my fate so directly, but then I felt a tug at the back of my mind, willing my senses back to me. It comes again, more desperate. It forces me to open my eyes, and as I do, it’s as though I’ve been drowning and have just come up for air.

I gasp, drinking in the energy that’s now coursing through my vessel body.

Giving up no longer seems like an option; but now the Djorgar is mere inches away. It raises its scaled arm, ready to tear through me.

I watch it come down, as though in slow motion, but the impact never comes. Instead, a wave of energy bursts from my mind, hitting the creature full on and forces it into the fire behind it. I watch as it’s incinerated, the fire increasing in heat so that it’s reduced to ashes in less than a moment.

Without any effort at all, I break the rope that binds me and sink to my knees, staring hard at the ground. That power wasn’t mine. It can’t have been; I hadn’t even had time to focus it.

Short Stories

The Poison Spreading


‘Mother, look at the river! All the fish are dead!’

Naida swallowed and emerged from the undergrowth to see her young son standing by the riverbank, looking out at the rushing water beyond. The river, which usually gushed blue and was filled with energetic silver fish, was now a dull mud colour. The fish were lifeless, their bodies carried by nothing but the river’s flow.

She had noticed the river’s decline in health two days ago, when dark stains appeared within its depths, and had warned everyone not to collect water from it unless they were desperate, hoping that by now any danger to them might have passed. But it hadn’t, and now their water stores were running dry, even with the help of the forest’s daily downpour. Something had to be done, for if there was something in the water powerful enough to kill all the fish, then how would her village stand a chance? She had to confront the Elder and force him to look beyond the needs of his sickly son, hard as that might be for him.

‘Stay away from it, Ren. It’s dangerous,’ she told her own son as he made to prod a stick at one of the dead fish floating by.

‘But I’m thirsty, mother, and my water skin is empty.’

‘Then you’ll just have to wait until we find some juicy fruit, or a leaf full of dew. That will quench your thirst.’

Ren pulled a face, but Naida ignored it. Still, she understood all too well how he felt. She herself had gone without water since noon the day before in order for him and his sister to drink, and had been sustaining herself on the small collection of fleshy fruit that they had stored away.

Gathering up their empty water pots, they made their way back to the village, treading the well known path through the undergrowth. Hearing the noise of the forest cheered Naida; the birds were calling spiritedly to each other, the primates were foraging up amongst the trees and the hum of insects filled the air, proof that not all life had been affected by the decline of the river. If there was one thing that Naida loved about the forest, it was that she was never alone there. There were always other creatures darting about, reminding here that it was home to so many.

Ren, however, had been introduced to the world outside the forest by travellers and was overcome by curiosity at the gadgets they possessed. For him, the forest which his mother loved so dearly seemed dull in comparison. Even so, he respected the life around him and helped his mother around the village, practicing their traditional ways.  Soon he would start learning how to hunt with his father, though Naida could hardly believe he was old enough already. It felt like it was only a few short months since he was a babe in arms, not years.

They reached the village an hour later, greeted by Naida’s daughter, Laka. She was a few years older than Ren and not nearly so fascinated with the outside world as he was. In fact, the thought made her nervous, for she knew that there would be so many sights to see and people about that she would not be able to take it all in.

‘Your water pots are empty again, mother?’ she asked, taking one from Naida and shaking it just to be sure.

‘The river is still ill. The fish are dead and the water is no longer clear. I must tell the Elder. He has to take note of it now.’

‘The river has worsened? What will we do?’ Laka said, despair in her voice.

Naida put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘The Elder will know what to do, so don’t alarm yourself about it,’ she said, much more confidently than she felt. ‘For now, help your brother gather more fruits so we may drink the juice, and ask the other children to do it for their own families. However, it would be unwise to tell them in detail just how bad the river has become until I have spoken with the Elder. There’s no need to cause a panic.’

Laka nodded and went off to find her friends, trailing her brother behind her. Naida inhaled deeply. It was late afternoon; the Elder was usually seeing to his son at that time and would not take kindly to being disturbed. Perhaps she would be allowed to wait in his hut until he returned.

She made her way to the middle of the village where the Elder’s hut was located. Nothing about it suggested that it belonged to him other than a small, delicate symbol carved above the entrance.  It was even the same size and shape as the rest of the huts.

Naida took a breath to call inside, but before she could do so, the Elder’s wife, Ayme, appeared in the doorway.  ‘Come in, Naida,’ she smiled warmly. ‘There’s no need to stand outside. You know that you are always welcome here.’

Naida smiled back at her and took up her invitation. It was cool inside and dry, at least compared to the dense humidity outside. Ayme brought her a small cup of berry juice, and they sat drinking it in silence for a moment.

‘My husband will be back shortly,’ Ayme said after a while. ‘These past few days have been difficult for him; our son’s condition is getting steadily worse. He fears that our only option is to take him to the outside for treatment there.’

‘But how would we pay for something like that? The outside is run with money; we can’t simply trade goods.’

The flap around the doorway opened and the Elder came in, looking more drawn and dishevelled that Naida had ever seen him before. ‘That is something we shall discuss if the need comes to pass.’ He took a swig of the juice that his wife offered him and sat down with them. ‘Now Naida, what is it I can do for you? It’s seems we spoke only recently.’

‘That was two days past, Elder. And I would not trouble you again if it wasn’t so urgent,’ she replied. ‘Elder, my son Ren and I were down by the river to collect water not long ago. Do you remember I told you something wasn’t right about it last time, and I advised everyone not to drink from it until it had cleared up? Well, this time, not only was the water discoloured, but it was murky and every fish we saw was dead.’

‘So it really is too dangerous to drink, then?’ Ayme said, her eyes wide. ‘This is very disturbing news.’

‘Now, now, let us not get ahead of ourselves. Do not forget, fish are far more sensitive creatures than we. What affects them may not affect us at all,’ the Elder said, scratching his beard musingly. ‘It may well be the case that some large animal has died further upstream and its remains are now polluting the water. I shall go myself and check. We should make no more assumptions until I return.’

Naida inclined her head and stood up, bowing to them both. For some reason, the Elder’s words did not comfort her as much as she had been hoping. It was true that animals did sometimes die near the water and pollute it as they rotted, but she had never seen the river look like that in all her years. He had been too quick to jump to such a conclusion, and even though he said he would inspect the cause himself, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something.

She remembered a few weeks back; the Elder had three outsiders visit him. He said after they left that they had merely been scientists, observing the natural world, but now she felt that he had been lying. But why would he? What was it that the Elder was trying to conceal from everyone?


After the sun had set and Laka and Ren were asleep, Naida went out into the village by herself.  Her husband was out hunting and wouldn’t be home for another three days, along with the rest of the hunting party. The wives of the other men in the party were all younger than Naida, and so she rarely met with them while their men were gone. Now, however, she passed them outside their huts. Despite the failing light, some still sat repairing clothes and weaving baskets, but all talked animatedly to each other.

She smiled a greeting at them and they nodded in reply, but she did not feel like stopping. Instead, she planned to go to the Elder’s hut again to ask if she may go with him when he was to inspect the river. When she got there, however, Ayme was alone inside, readying herself for sleep.

‘Naida, I did not expect to see you again so soon,’ she said, her eyes questioning.

‘Forgive me, Ayme, I did not mean to disturb your rest,’ Naida apologised.

The older woman smiled. ‘My dear, it is perfectly alright. You are obviously still troubled by something. Tell me, what is it?’

Naida sighed. ‘I am still concerned about the river. I was hoping that the Elder would let me go with him when he inspects it so we may both see it clearly and discover the cause.’

‘You suspect my husband may not be up to it?’ Ayme asked, pulling her blankets around her shoulders. The night had turned cold, and her body no longer kept warmth in as it used to.

‘It’s not that,’ Naida hesitated. ‘I feel as though he is disinterested in finding the true cause. He may be right in his suspicions, and I hope that he is…but I want to be sure. I have never seen the river like that in all my life, nor have I heard anyone tell of something like this happening before.’

Ayme pursed her lips. ‘I admit that I, too, feel as though he is not as concerned as he should be. However, he has been true to his word, for already he has gone to examine it.’

‘At night? But how will he see it properly? Even with a lighted torch it will be difficult. Did you not find that strange, Ayme?’ Naida said, shaking her head.

‘Yes, but perhaps it is his plan to follow the riverbank a good way up and wait until the first light to see its true state,’ she said, but deep lines had formed on her brow.

‘How long ago did he leave?’ Naida pressed.

Ayme thought for a moment. ‘Just a few minutes longer than you have been here. If you are swift, then you may be able to catch up to him.’

Naida put her hand on Ayme’s shoulder and thanked her, before leaving the hut as quickly as she could. She took one of the torches blazing by the storage hut and made her way down the path to the river.

She was even more cautious at night than she was in the day, because many creatures came out in the darkness; including some that could bring instant death to her if she were bitten or attacked. Fortunately, the torchlight made many of them scatter from her wake when she passed through, leaving her unscathed. Ahead of her, in the distance, she could just make out the light from another torch. It must be the Elder.

She was surprised that she had caught up to him so quickly, but then she remembered that his age had started to affect him these past few years and he was no longer the fast hunter that she had grown up watching.

He was now almost at the riverbank; it was just beyond the next clump of bushes to his right, but instead of turning towards it, he carried on. Where was he going? Curious, and more than a little suspicious, she decided to follow him. She dulled her torch so that the flames flickered as low as she could get them, pursuing him further and further until she was sure he must be lost. She herself had only been this way a few times before; it was not a good place for hunting or gathering foods, so the villagers tended not to go there.

Yet the Elder’s pace wasn’t hesitant, it was strong and confident. Ahead of him, she suddenly spied a bright light in front of him. Some of it was firelight, but the rest looked as though it was the strange electric lights used by people on the outside. What were they doing here? Had they come to make a settlement, or were they just a large group of travellers like the ones that visited the village? No, she thought, they were up to something else.

As she got closer, she saw that all of the trees in the area had been cut down, and enormous pits lay there instead; great chasms going so deep into the earth that looking at them was like looking into nothingness itself. Tents were scattered about around them, as well as huge metal structures- machines, she remembered they were called- that stood dormant on the site. The whole area glistened with moisture, despite the fact that it had not rained for hours. Sloped as the area was, she could see the run off spilling downwards,  in the direction of the river.

The Elder continued on, right into the heart of the light. Naida hid behind the surrounding bushes, watching as he neared a group of people sitting around a campfire. As they saw him approach, they called out behind them and another man appeared from one of the tents. His eyes darted to the Elder, and immediately his mouth broke into a wide grin, like a jaguar watching particularly easy prey before it attacked. He beckoned to a young boy by the fire, who scrambled up obediently to stand beside him.

‘Ah, Elder Cirilo,’ the boy said, translating the man’s rushed foreign words as he energetically took the Elder’s hand and shook it. ‘What may we do for you on this fine evening?’

‘You said that our village wouldn’t be harmed,’ the Elder said, sparing the man any niceties.

There was a pause as the boy explained what the Elder had said, but then the man’s reply came. ‘And I am true to my word, am I not? None of your villagers have been affected by our work here.’ The man gestured broadly around him, the smile still spread across his face.

‘But they could be,’ the Elder said. ‘Our river is polluted; the water is discoloured and the fish are all dead. Where are we supposed to fish, and what are we to drink from now?’

The grinning man frowned deeply. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. If the river is polluted, then it has nothing to do with us, I assure you,’ the boy replied for him, casting a wary glance at his master.

‘You lie. I know that you use strange potions to kill the plants and make the soil ready for your digging, and other such poisons in those foul things you have that cause explosions.’

The man’s frown turned to a scowl and, as he instructed the boy with what to say, it was clear that the tone of his voice had dropped all its pleasantness. The boy shrank back, but his master gripped him tightly on the shoulder and forced him to address the Elder. ‘I believe your son is terribly ill, is he not? Did we not promise to pay you a good sum of money to take him for treatment in the city in return for your silence?’

The Elder said nothing. Naida caught her breath, not wanting to believe what she’d just heard. Had these people really promised to pay the Elder for his silence? No, it couldn’t be. Even if his son was ill, the Elder wouldn’t accept money from such people…would he?

‘I want double,’ the Elder said finally. ‘Give me double what you offered and I’ll leave you alone.’

‘Done,’ the boy said bitterly after another brief instruction, lowering his gaze so that he wouldn’t have to look the Elder in the eyes. ‘But there will be no exceptions after this.’

Naida couldn’t stop herself. She ran out into the light, in full view of all the people sitting there. ‘Elder, you can’t do this! What about our village?’

‘And who is this pretty one?’ the boy said, though he was unwilling to use his master’s lecherous tone. ‘Hiding in the bushes, were we?’

‘Naida, you should not be here,’ the Elder said quietly. ‘Please go back to the village.’ He did not turn to her as he spoke, but instead chose to look blankly ahead of him.

‘I will not,’ Naida said. ‘Why are you letting these people keep you quiet with their paper money? Even if it is to save your son, how can you allow them to poison the river and risk the lives of our people?’

The Elder made no remark, as though her words had fallen on deaf ears.

‘We cannot let them do this. We could all die if we let this carry on…my children could die, Elder!’

‘Or you could move,’ the boy said for the grinning man, whose interest in Naida had turned to disgust now that tears were wetting her cheeks. ‘There are plenty of places to move your village; after all, the rainforest is rather large.’

‘No,’ the Elder snapped. ‘Our people have lived in this village for generations. We will not move.’ He looked up at Naida, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. He saw the anger in her eyes, and with it the sheer shock of his deception. He sighed, and turned back to the grinning man. ‘I have allowed you to manipulate me for too long. Why should my people have to suffer because of my selfishness? You can have your paper money back. I want you to leave, and take your machines and poisons with you!’

‘Then your son will surely die,’ the boy said, wincing as his master’s grip on his shoulder became more intense. ‘He needs treatment from the outside, treatment which a poor village such as yours can never hope to pay for.’

‘We will find another way,’ the Elder said. ‘Come, Naida, we shall return to the village.’

He turned sharply and wordlessly, and Naida followed him back through the forest to their home. When they reached it, the Elder called for a meeting amongst the adults. Naida had not said a word on the way back, and refused to speak when the other villagers asked what was going on, disgruntled at being called on so late into the night. That was the Elder’s task; his and his alone.

‘My sons and daughters,’ he began, addressing them all. ‘I know that the hunting party has yet to return, but I feel I must speak with you most urgently.’ He paused, trying to form his words. ‘I have been lying to you all.’

The people whispered in shock and Ayme fell weakly against the walls of the hut. Naida went to Ayme’s side and let the older woman lean on her shoulder.

‘Several weeks ago, some outsiders came to speak with me. I told you that they were people known as scientists that study the natural world. They were not. These people want to destroy part of the forest so that they can dig for minerals beneath the earth, to sell for their precious paper money. They told me that if I remained silent about their plans, then they would pay for my son to be treated by the healers on the outside. I am ashamed to admit that I accepted, and even today, when I found that their methods were polluting the river, I went to them not to ask them to leave, but to ask for more money for my son in return for my continued silence. They accepted and, if it hadn’t been for Naida, I would have left satisfied and risked all of your lives by doing so.’

The villagers were too stunned at his words to speak, staring at him in silence. When finally they registered what he had said, a great uproar broke out. The crowd shouted and jostled against each other in a wave of fury and betrayal. The Elder endured their insults, and so foul were they that Naida was astounded he did not protest even once.

Then a young woman sprinted into the crowd from the hut where the Elder’s son was housed, heading straight for Naida and Ayme. She whispered something to Ayme, and though Naida couldn’t hear it over the roar of the crowd, Ayme’s reaction gave the message away immediately.

She let out a cry of despair that silenced everyone, and as they turned to her, they knew just as Naida did that the only cause could be that her son was dead. It rang through the night, lasting only seconds, but to everyone present, feeling like an eternity.

With his face turning ashen, the Elder dropped to his knees. ‘It is over then,’ he said, his voice quiet at first, but becoming louder with each word. ‘These people who wish to poison our river and dig up the land now have no power over me. They cannot play to my weakness anymore. I will bury our son and grieve for him, but then I will fight. We will fight. I and a few others will journey to the outside and seek assistance from those who are knowledgeable on such matters. I will not lay down and let these people threaten our way of life anymore.’

He took a breath and went to Ayme’s side, his body trembling along with hers. ‘But now, on this night, I will say no more. Forgive me, but I must say goodbye to my son.’ They parted from the crowd and disappeared into the hut where their son’s body now lay, and for the rest of that night the only sound that was to be heard in the village was Ayme’s sobs.

Naida felt a sadness that was deeper than any she had experienced before. Though she did not want to admit it, she understood why the Elder had gambled their lives for that of his son’s. If it had been one of her own children, then she knew she would have been swayed just as easily. It was this, more than anything, that caused the guilt she now felt eating away at her. But nothing could be done now. Death had dealt its cold hand and freed the Elder from his turmoil, forcing him to move forwards.

She walked slowly back to her own hut, slipping through the doorway to see her son and daughter deep asleep, wrapped up under their blankets. She knelt down and put a hand on each of their heads, humming softly.

Chasing the outsiders from the forest and purifying the river would be no easy task, but if the villagers stood strong, they would do it. She was sure of it.



Extracts/ Flash Fiction

Fractals- the start of a story I came up with for a competition, but never finished.

Ivan stepped out of the taxi, handing some notes to the driver after fumbling in his wallet and looked up at the tall, towered building that was Waverick Institute for Boys.

It was like a miniature castle, with all the original stonework on show, far removed from the schools he had taught at in London. Gathering up his suitcases with a small gulp, he made his way over to the intricate metal gates, seeing an intercom on the side of the wall next to them and pressing it. He heard the intercom hiss, as though it had been a long time since it had been used, before a low, yet distinctly feminine voice spoke through it.

‘May I help you?’ the speaker asked.

Ivan cleared his throat. ‘Yes, my name is Ivan Cornersberg and I’m here to fill the position of English teacher,’ he replied, finding a quiver fill his throat that was beyond his control.

‘Ah, yes, I was told that you would be coming. Please stand back while I open the gates.’

Ivan did so, not a moment before the large gates began to open, squeaking slightly on their hinges. Once they were open enough for him to walk through, he picked up his suitcases once again and made his way down the long, serpentine pathway, edged almost to perfection with yellow stone slabs which separated it from the large area of lawn either side.

He reached the door of the main entrance, just as impressive as the gates had been, and used the cast iron knocker to knock three times. He heard the knock echo through the hall beyond and, after half a minute the door opened, revealing a butler dressed in a black tail coat and trousers, with a pocket watch chain hanging across one side of his waistcoat.

‘Good morning, sir,’ the butler said, standing aside to let Ivan in. ‘My name is Francis and the headmaster has bid me to welcome you to Waverick Institute for Boys. He informed me that I am to be of every possible service to you as long as you are employed here.’

‘Thank you,’ Ivan said, marvelling at the butler’s fine suit. Compared to that, he felt rather shabbily dressed in his tweed jacket and plain black trousers. He had never heard of a butler working in a school before, but then he was in the country. Perhaps that was the norm out here. ‘Where might I find the headmaster? I have an appointment with him in ten minutes.’

‘I’m afraid he is teaching at the moment, sir, but I shall take you to his office where you may wait until the bell rings for luncheon.’

The butler picked up his suitcases for him, his face twitching only slightly at the weight of them. He led Ivan down a straight, long hall, carpeted in a rich red that made the English teacher feel as though he was sinking slightly with every step he took. The butler turned sharply to the right just before they reached the end, down a smaller hall that Ivan wouldn’t have noticed by himself.

The headmaster’s office was at the end of it; a single door standing out proudly against the stonework of the walls. The butler took out a small, brass key and put it into the lock, hearing it click before withdrawing it. He opened the door and led Ivan inside, placing his bags next to a tall bookshelf filled with books on all sorts of topics. Ivan scanned some of their titles; An Astronomer’s Guide to the Northern Sky, From Broth to Brunch: Notes by Acclaimed Chefs on Popular Dishes, Military Tactics of the Past One Hundred Years, Popular Bedding Plants and How to Arrange Them. The headmaster obviously had a broad range of interests.

Standing behind him, the butler coughed, making him jump. Ivan had quite forgotten he was still there. ‘Please wait in here until the headmaster arrives. I’m afraid I must lock you in, however, for some of the boys have taken to sneaking in here lately and upsetting the headmaster’s desk,’ he said, his tone polite yet with a definite edge to it. ‘By your leave, sir, I shall depart.’

Ivan nodded to him. ‘Yes, thank you, I’ll be fine,’ he said, sitting down in a velvet covered armchair opposite the headmaster’s desk. The butler bowed low and left the room. Ivan heard the click of the lock as he was locked in, alone. He looked around, taking in the headmaster’s leather chair, and the desk in front of it, which was carved out of one solid piece of mahogany. There was a small box upon it, made of cherry wood and inlaid with what looked like ivory. Ivan hoped it wasn’t; with all the news of elephants disappearing from the wild due to poachers shooting them for their tusks, he felt it would be in rather poor taste. He was tempted to examine it to put his mind at rest if nothing else, but as he got up, he heard a key placed into the lock and swiftly sat back down again.

The door swung open and a short man with his face hidden from view by a large pile of books shuffled his way inside. One of the books toppled off, and Ivan stood up, just managing to catch it before it hit the floor.

‘Ah, thank you,’ the man said, not looking at him and putting the pile of books onto the desk. ‘I was hoping I could manage, but…’

He peered around the books, and his ruddy face broke into a smile. ‘Ah, Ivan. I wasn’t sure if you would be here yet; I’ve just been teaching one of the classes that you might be taking over. Lively one, that,’ he said, sitting down in the leather chair opposite Ivan, and then having to readjust the pile of books he had set down in order to see him properly.

Ivan looked at him, confused. ‘Didn’t the butler tell you I was here?’ he asked.

‘Butler?’ the headmaster said. ‘Oh, you mean Francis? He’s not really a butler, you know, he’s actually our caretaker. Bit of an odd one, dressing up like that and speaking in such a funny manner, but he’s good at his job and the boys take no notice of him, so we just decided to leave him to it.’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Ivan, sitting back in the armchair. He looked over at the headmaster. Though he hadn’t seen his brother-in-law properly since the incident, he thought he looked more overworked than usual. His face, although still quite broad, looked thinner than it had been and his hair line had receded back a lot. Still, Ivan knew that he had changed as well; no one could go through what he had over the past year and stay the same.

‘Now, down to business,’ the headmaster said, resting his hands on the desk in front of him and crossing his fingers. ‘I know you’ve had a lot of trouble finding work recently, and I’m sure…given the circumstances, it’s been hard living alone.

‘As I told you over the phone, Mr Summers, our previous English teacher, became ill just before the start of term and had to leave. Now, I’ve been teaching his class for the past few weeks since then, but with my work as headmaster, it’s proving to be very difficult to do both. I know you agreed to take the position when I called you, but I wanted to show you Waverick before you made your final decision. As you have no doubt already seen, this is no London school. Here at Waverick Institute for Boys, we take the needs of every student very seriously and so our classes are small, with ten students being the maximum in each class. How do you feel about this?’

‘Well, I’m sure it’ll take me a while to get used to it, but this may be the very thing I need,’ Ivan replied.

‘Glad to hear it,’ the headmaster said, smiling. ‘As we are a boarding school, I should tell you that only one or two of our students go home for the holidays, as most of their parents work overseas. I will warn you now that they can be a handful, though if you start with the right approach, they can be just as eager to learn as any. Are you still happy to take on the position after hearing this?’

Ivan nodded. ‘Of course I am. If I’m honest, Marcus, then just being out of London and being allowed to teach again is a weight off my shoulders.’ He sat for a moment, thinking. ‘I must ask you, though, do the students and other staff know about what happened?’

A small crease appeared on the headmaster’s brow. ‘Yes, they do, but I have told them all that I have the utmost confidence in you and had I any doubt about your innocence, then I would have been the first one to turn away from you.’

Ivan breathed a long sigh of relief. ‘Well, at least I don’t have to hide anything.’

‘Of course, that would be an intimidating situation for anyone to have to walk into,’ the headmaster said. He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a sheet of paper, headed at the top with a crest depicting an eagle with a rabbit in its talons; Waverick Institute’s crest. He pushed it in front of Ivan and handed him a pen. ‘Here is your official contract. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask.’

Ivan scanned the document quickly. It looked like a standard teacher’s contract, like any other he had signed. He took up the pen and scribbled his signature and the date at the bottom, before passing it back to the headmaster.

‘Excellent,’ the headmaster said, taking it and putting it back in his drawer. ‘I’ll just give Francis a ring so he can show you up to your room. Oh, I will ask you not to call me Marcus in front of the students, though. You must address me as headmaster. They tend to get cocky if they know your first name,’ he added, before picking up the receiver to an old fashioned rotary phone on a shelf behind him. Ivan smiled. He hadn’t seen one of those since his visits to his grandmother’s as a child.

As the headmaster turned away, Ivan took a moment to check his own phone, an old Nokia which had served him faithfully these past ten years. The signal bar at the top had disappeared; he ought to have known as much, he hadn’t seen any signal towers at all on his ride down there. He sighed, knowing that it was just one of the things he would have to get used to, but knew that there were benefits to it, too. After all, with no signal, he couldn’t receive any hate messages left by people he didn’t know that had somehow gotten hold of his number.

‘Francis will be with us in a moment,’ the headmaster said, putting down the receiver and turning back to him. ‘Want a drink while you wait?’ he asked, opening a cabinet to his side that was stocked full of brandy.

Ivan laughed. ‘I think it’s a little early in the day for me,’ he said, watching the headmaster pour himself a glass.

A moment later, there was a knock on the door and, at the headmaster’s command, Francis, the butler—or caretaker, whatever he was— came into the room and bowed to them both.

‘You summoned me, headmaster?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I did,’ the headmaster said, eyeing up Francis’ attire and shaking his head slightly. ‘Would you please show Ivan up to his room?’

‘If that is your wish, headmaster,’ Francis replied and, picking up Ivan’s suitcases once more, he strode out of the room. Ivan jumped up to follow him before he headed out of sight.

‘I’ll see you at dinner tonight, Ivan,’ the headmaster called to him, giving him a wave.

The next morning, dressing hurriedly after realising that he’d set his alarm clock half an hour later than he was supposed to, Ivan rushed out of his room and down the staircase taking him to the entrance hall. He looked across at the four corridors leading out of it, trying to remember which one led to the dining hall. Taking a guess, he chose the one leading left and followed it down.

Seeing the sturdy wooden door at the end, he sighed with relief. He had chosen correctly. He went in, wearing what he hoped was a friendly, yet authoritative expression as the crowd of students looked up at him from their breakfast plates. He had seen them briefly at dinner the previous night, but had retired early due to a sudden headache.

The other teachers, whom the headmaster had told him usually arrived at dinner half an hour later than himself and the students, due to the marking they always did after class, had not met him yet and so also watched him with curiosity as he made his way up to their table. He sat in the empty seat next to the headmaster and his secretary; the middle aged woman who had answered the intercom when he had first arrived.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he apologised to them all as he shuffled in his chair.

‘Not to worry,’ a man sitting opposite him said, with a finely trimmed beard and glasses. ‘I remember my first day here; I was so unprepared that I walked into a geography class and tried to teach them maths. It was only until I was half-way through my explanation of Pythagoras’s theorem that I realised that Miss Jenkins here was waiting patiently for me to stop talking so that she could teach her class.’ He nodded to the young woman next to Ivan and smiled at her.

‘I remember that,’ she said, also smiling. ‘But I believe the best award goes to Mr Heathers, at the end there. He teaches biology, and muddled up his explanation of reproduction so badly that the boys kept getting meiosis confused with mitosis and it took him the rest of the term to get them to relearn it correctly. Of course, that’s partly because his eyesight is so bad that he didn’t realise their mistake for a good few weeks.’

‘What’s this?’ Mr Heathers said from the end of the table. Ivan saw that he was an elderly man in his seventies, well past the age of any of the teachers he had known in London. ‘What’s all this talk of my toes?’

Miss Jenkins shook her head. ‘He’s also quite deaf,’ she said to Ivan despairingly.

They finished breakfast and the headmaster led Ivan to the English classroom. To his surprise, the students were already there, despite it being at least two minutes until the bell. He recognised a number of them from the breakfast hall.

‘Class, I am pleased to introduce you to your new English teacher, Mr Cornersberg. I assure you that he is much more knowledgeable than me on this subject, as I am sure you were all hoping.’

A boy at the back, with his tie done up roughly, sniggered. ‘We don’t mind, headmaster,’ he called out. ‘At least with you, we got away with messing up our usage of there, their, and they’re.’

The headmaster looked at Ivan with a pained expression. ‘Spelling and grammar have always been a weakness of mine,’ he admitted. ‘Now then, I suppose I should leave you to it?’

‘Thank you, headmaster,’ Ivan said, giving him a nod as he left the room. He turned to his class, feeling a nervousness that he hadn’t felt since his days as a teacher in training. ‘As the headmaster just informed you, my name is Mr Cornersberg. I’ll write that on the board for you so that you can write it correctly on your books.’

He turned to the blackboard and chalked his name on it, unused to using them now that most schools preferred white boards or computers with projections of the screen. Somehow, it felt nice to be using such basic equipment again, without all the fuss of technology.

‘Now,’ he said, rubbing the chalk from his fingers onto his black trousers without thinking. A few of the class smirked at the white prints now on them. ‘The headmaster has given me some notes left by your teacher from last year, Mr Summers, I believe. According to them, you have already done one piece of coursework analysing Far From The Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy, yet he feels that most of your pieces were not strong enough to include in your GCSE portfolios. Not to worry, though, as we’ll be working on a different piece of work that you might engage with slightly more. Tell me, has anyone heard of To Kill A Mocking Bird by Harper Lee?’

The class progressed smoothly and, as Ivan had suspected, the boys engaged with the book much more than the previous one they’d had to study. He had brought enough copies of it for them to have one each and by the end of the class, they had covered the whole of the first chapter and had time to analyse it, too.

As the bell rang for the second period, the class left and Ivan collected the copies of the book and stacked them on his desk, preparing another set for the year above them, this time Shakespeare’s Othello. He put a copy on each desk before returning to his own and counting the copies of To Kill A Mockingbird, making sure that no-one had walked off with one accidently.

As he picked up the top copy, a note slid out from under the cover. He looked at it curiously. There was a single word scrawled upon it in thick, capital letters.