Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Spooky Season, Writing

Flashback – I Love You, Bye.

“I love you. Byeeeeeee.”

Lewis mouthed the final word along with Rose, her sweet smile fading to black as the video ended. His daughter sat transfixed beside him, her hand feeling blindly for the mouse to select the next video.

She, like every other young girl was obsessed with Rose and her videos. An entire generation of young women was transfixed, and while many parents couldn’t understand why, they did their best to accommodate their children’s love for the star. Lewis was prepared to go the extra mile, for his only child, Hannah.

“No more.” He muttered, patting her head gently and ignoring the small moan of disappointment from Hannah. “We’ll see plenty of her later.”

“Special meet up! Special meet up!” He smiled, watching his daughter bounce in the chair beside him, in sync with her chants of excitement.

The day had finally arrived when his daughter would meet her idol. It had been months in the making, and many hours of careful planning and hard work for Lewis, but it didn’t bother him. How could it? He wanted only happiness for his daughter, and he knew Rose could understand that.

“That’s right.” He stood from his chair, extending his hand to her. “And why do you get a special meet up?” He asked as she jumped down from the computer chair.

“Because I’m her favourite.” He nodded, leading her towards the basement, and unable to suppress a smile as he looked down at her bright eyes, sparkling with excitement.

He opened the door and could feel his daughter pulling at his sleeve, silently pleading for him to take her downstairs. He had teased her for weeks, warning that going to the basement would ruin her special surprise.

Rose had replaced Santa in ensuring good behaviour from his child, but he had seen her, sneaking a look down the stairs of the basement, hoping to catch a glimpse of her idol, but just like Santa, Rose would only appear on one very special day, before vanishing from sight, and being nothing more than a dream.

As they slowly descended the staircase, a small whimper could be heard, and while any normal child would be frightened, Hannah didn’t seem concerned.

As they reached the floor of the dimly lit basement, an upturned water bowl at the foot of the stairs was the only thing visible, until Lewis reached up and switched on the light, and Rose, dishevelled and exhausted was finally visible.

Rose wasn’t quite herself, she usually accessorised so well, but ropes around her wrists and ankles wasn’t quite the look she’d usually go for. As Hannah ran to her, screaming with excitement, Rose’s hoarse voice could barely be heard.

“Please let me go.”

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Dead Women Are Not Documentary Fodder

Pin me to your wall,

let me be your poster girl,

posted on lamp posts and Reddit threads,

with rhetoric and rumours.

Deconstruct my death,

before it’s even reported in full,

tell yourself you honour me with your curiosity,

tie me up in the tropes of true crime.

Dead girls never say no,



you can call me what you like.

You bother me with your curiosity,

digging into my dirt,

your nails, filthy with fragments of my privacy,

an old life,

that I will never step into again,

now covered in oily fingerprints,

drenched in shame and assumption,

knee deep in necro stalking,

until a more captivating corpse comes along.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Comic Sans

I saw that the tories had done an ad,

in comic sans,

and honestly,

I fucking lost it.

We are truly in the comic sans timeline.

I guess everything is funny,

classic Dom,

classic Boris,

classic cunts,

not giving a fuck,

that while they play games,

the pawns and pieces are begging for just one day,

just one day,

when the alleged grown ups,

outgrow their dungarees and dumb games,

and get to business.


It behoves me to tell poor Brenda,

that an election is apparently imminent,

because our politically impotent prime minister

has thrown his toys,

his majority,

and his brexit deal out of the pram.


Trump has finally learned to shut up,

silenced by the testimony,

at his impeachment enquiry,

but alas,

he’ll probably find his voice,

and his twitter password shortly.


Millions marched,

of all races and classes,

for the planet,

and a people’s vote.

Trains and veins were bursting,

with excitement and frustration,

as for a few seconds,

each person thought,

for their own reasons,

that maybe their voice was visible after all.


Some stuff probably happened in sport,

but I mean…

unless it comes from……….Rebekah Vardy’s account,

it’s irrelevant.


Director after director droned on and on,

about how Marvel films are shit,

screensplaining to the plebs

about what they should be swallowing at the cinema.


Franco is finally fucking off from The Valley Of The Fallen,

and hopefully what’s left of his corpse

will end up in a bin,

in an independent Catalonia.


Life is truly written in comic sans,

and we are bobbing along the banter timeline,

but every now and then,

more and more these days,

something happens,

that is scarier than anything Halloween could hand us.


Such as,

39 people,

seeking a better life,

saying goodbye,

and getting a cold reply,

from a nation that dares to call itself great.

“Where were their visas?”

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