Company Vehicles

This story is inspired on a true story.  

Peter loved photography.  For him, there was hardly any other hobby he would like to have, he could go to a nearby railway bridge and take photos of the passing trains.  Sometimes he went to a local body of water and take capture ducks and swans during the summer months.  

     Near where he lived was a small junction that from the main road to a nearby village in the countryside on the edge of Peter's home town.  One year, it was decided to make the junction bigger as the village was getting a new housing estate near by.  The road that the junction turned off to wasn't used as much as the main road, but it did lead to a main road just a shot distance away.  The section of the junction end of the minor road was closed and part of the main road was closed to one lane with traffic lights, many travellers soon found themselves trying different roads and streets in order to avoid traffic jams.  

     Peter meanwhile was starting to feel bored, the summer holidays had started and this year there was an extra week to the usual six and with the extra time for the summer tourists, Peter's parents were busy all day during the week, Peter's father worked at a large shop in town and Peter's mother worked as a chef in the restaurant next door to her husband's workplace.  Many of Peter's friends had gone on their own holidays too and soon Peter began to feel tired of seeing the few friends who had stayed almost everyday and he felt that his holiday was beginning to feel more like a school timetable in where he went and who he met.  

     One day, Peter's mother saw her son sitting by the window with a bored face looking out into the back garden.  

     "Are you alright son?" She asked.  

     "Not really."  Peter answered, shaking his head, still looking out of the window.  

     "Why not go out with your camera?" Peter's mother asked.  

     "Go out where?" He asked in return.  

     "Why not take photos of the road works at the junction?" 

     "I think that I will."  Peter said, now cheered up.  "Thanks Mum."  

     A few minutes later, Peter was walking towards the road works with his camera in it bag.  As he approached the junction where the roadworks were happening, Peter took out his camera and began to take photos, being careful and tried to be patience with any passing vehicles, he had heard of people who took photos with the vehicle's licence plates for fraud so he decided to avoid risking getting into trouble there.  

     He took photos of the traffic lights and of the signs telling of roadworks before he approached where the works were happening, and began taking photos of the machines.  It took a short while before some of the workers noticed Peter.  

     "Loom out lads, put on a smiling face."  One said, causing some to laugh.  

     "If you don't mind," Another worker said, "but I don't want a photo of me."  Another worker said to Peter. 

     "That's fine."  Peter said, and for the next while he would wait till the man had his back to him or while there was a machine between them before taking the photos.  

     "How did it go?" Peter's mother asked when he returned home later for tea.  

     For the next couple of weeks, Peter went round to the road works whether the weather was fine enough to go out.  He always had sure that he was on the safe side of the barriers on the footpath and would back away if a worker gave a friendly warning.  He took photos of the road digging machines, the diggers with long arms, the deep trench and some of the items that had been dug up such as a small shoe and a few empty glass bottles.  If one of the workers who didn't want a photo of them taken was in shot, Peter would wait till a machine hid them or if they had their back to him and the camera.  One of the biggest problems he had was the passing traffic as he didn't want to take photos of them getting into view, or give the passing drivers the impression that was trying to steal a snap of them.  

     One day, Peter went back round as usual.  The trench had been filled back in and the workers were busy preparing to use the equipment to compact the ground for the tarmac to laid at a later time.  A little distance away from where the work was going on Peter spotted a small vehicle and took a couple of photos.  A couple of workmen saw Peter, but didn't seem to mind as Peter was pointing his camera at them.  

     "Hoy, you!" Called a voice that caught Peter's attention.  "What are you doing?" 

     A small man that seemed to be as wide as he was tall in his high-vis jacket and trousers approached Peter, and his face was most unwelcoming.  

     "I'm taking photos of the roadworks."  Peter answered.  

     "Do you have permission?" The man asked, taking no interest.  

     "Nobody said anything about permission."  

     "If you don't have permission, then you shouldn't take photos with that camera.  Clear off!" The man ordered.  

     Peter felt like he had been punched in the face, the workmen meanwhile were keeping quiet as they looked on.  Peter felt he had little choice he put his camera back into his camera bag and walked away.  

     After walking a short distance he came to a junction that lead to his home one way and a park the other way.  Peter looked between the two junctions before he decided to go to the park and hope to find something to take a photo of that might cheer himself up.  At the park he found a pond with quacking ducks and swans floating graceful across the water and began to take photos of them for while before he decided to head for home.  

     When he got home, Peter told about the man.  "If the machines were driven by steam, I'd say that he was the evil cousin of the Fat Controller from Thomas the Tank Engine series."  He finished.  

     "He sounds like a rude man."  Peter's mother said as ironed a shirt.  

     "He does forget that everybody has a camera on their phones these days."  Peter's younger brother said as he texted on his phone.  

     "You're sure that was what the man said, that you couldn't take photos?" Peter's mother asked.  

     "Yes."  Peter nodded, he could see the man in his mind.  

     "Were you on the footpath?" 

     "Yes, I never stepped onto the road or too close to the safety barriers."  

     "Then that man was wrong, you can take photos from a public place, including the road-side footpath." Peter's mother said.  

     "So I didn't need permission?" Peter asked.  

     "Of course."  Peter's mother answered.  "You can tell me that man the next time you see him."  

     Peter felt annoyed at this piece of news, but he didn't return to the roadworks for at least week, and when he decided to return, he hoped that the man wasn't there even though his mother told him to tell the man about taking photos from a public place.  

     Peter never saw the man again, and he was thankful of that, and he was more careful of where he pointed his camera.  He would wait till the workmen either had their backs to him or out of view before taking photos.  

     The last fortnight of the roadworks was mostly the laying of the new road surface and the painting of the road markings.  By then, most of the large heavy machines were gone along with the workers, and the painters didn't seem to notice Peter.  Peter didn't know what was the final day of the roadworks, but one day in the week after the painting of the road markings were done, he noticed the traffic cones and signs were gone.  The roadworks of the junction was done.  

     When Peter got and told his mother that he thought that the roadworks were done, she asked if she could see the pictures he took.  Peter agreed and later he showed them to the rest of his family and next day to some of his friends.  It was only after the pictures were shown that some realised that they didn't have much a picture of the junction before the roadworks.  

     "It must have been fun to watch the men at work."  One of Peter's friends said.  

     "Apart from the little man, it was."  Peter smiled.  

I hope that you've enjoyed my piece and I hope to write another piece soon.  Happy Readings.  

The Bridge

This piece was written as a homework for the writing class I go at Eden Court.  The title of the homework was The Bridge, which I wrote after seeing a photo of the Iron Bridge on a BBC webpage about the floods earlier this year.

The bridge spanned within the wide valley that has remained unchanged within living memory.  A simple arch from one side to the other wide enough for a single travelling cart with its rider, goods and leading horse.
     Standing out all black against the gorge that changes from green to golden yellow to bear brown trees with a blue roof high above where the white smile of a the moon looked down from with the shining bright sun beside it.  Beneath each point f the arch the red bricked base stood as the river flowed, maybe angered that some force has now outdone its natural work to create a barrier through the landscape as it has done for thousands of years.  All undone within a year.
     On both sides, all the working men in white shirts, dark trousers and black boots marvelled at their works as a single work; the brick makers, the brick layers, the firemen, the diggers, the riveters, the crane workers and the the workers of the iron works less than half a mile away.  From above, the men with smart suits and top hats marvelled below at what they had dreamt, planned and financed so that this bridge can rival all before it and will begin the new age of bridges across the world.  The newspapers are sure to talk and quote of and from thesis men, but one day future generations will begin the long road to remember those men in the working boots of their work.
     Who knows? Maybe they'll all pass over this manmade object as we are sure to do.  Are we ready to take that first step? The man in the top hat is now taking his across the bridge.

I hope that you've enjoyed my piece and come back for more.

50th Blog Post - Working on Projects

Here we are, the 50th Post of my Writing Blog.  Hard to believe that it's taken this long to get here.  

So far, all I have been doing during this lockdown has been clearing some weeds from my home garden and I have been looking over my projects and their notes.  I have been doing one project, that of June Arkwright, and so far I have written a fair piece of work, but I think that there's room for more work.  Hopefully, I will get back into posting again and soon.   

I hope that you all are doing well during this hard time.  

Hope to be back soon.  

Christmas in Poetry

Last month at the writing class at Eden Court, Peter our teacher gave us some exercises involving the Japanese style of poetry (Haiku).  These poems are written in three lines and by the number of syllables, not words, on each line, 5 on the first line, 7 on the second line and 5 on the last line.

Peter gave us time for two, but I managed to get one more written.

I thought that giving the time of year, I would like to post some of my haiku poems related to Christmas.

Winter
Snow will fall down soft
Long doze for mouse not Nick
He has gifts for us

Christmas
It comes once more now
Tonight we dream gifts many
Morn we open dreams

Holly
Holly is my name
Light I am to lift brightly
Winter is my time

But since there may be people who don't know or understand Haiku, I have written a short poem based on my Haiku pieces.

Snow is falling softly
Long wait is all but over
One more sleep nightly
Just one day before it's over

Tonight our dreams
Dance of St Nick and reindeer
He lays gifts as he hums
Thinking of the waiting children dear

Holly dreams of green holly
Perfect for the year's moment
Holly dreams of gifts making her jolly
Perfect for a piece of her childhood's moment

Morn has come quick as dream
Gifts open to long dreamt for joy
Day has gone quick as dream
But the gifts will last for the sake of joy

Long wait begins again
Long we wait for this joy again


I hope that you've enjoyed my little pieces, and that you have yourselves a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Building a Character

I have decided to do a post about creating a character after a discussion I was in at the writing group I go to at Eden Court and we have some time to spare at the end, and we were asked to give a piece of advice, and I gave a piece of advice of developing a character.

Inspiration for your character:-

The inspiration of your character can came from anywhere and everywhere.  Your character(s) can be inspired or based on real people you may know, or on somebody you don't know, or from another fictional character whenever it's another character you've created in an earlier piece and what to change or not.


Know your character:-

You can plan your characters right from the beginning, their background, family and the plans for them through out the story, even if you don't use all your ideas, because it's your characters who will make your story.  Dan Brown suggests in MasterClass, that you start making your characters by starting with your villain to make the force the hero is fighting against.


Don't know your character:-

Another way of developing your character is perhaps a way that isn't perhaps used that much; don't know your character, discover and develop your character as you write your story.  Don't worry, you can go back and change your character if you wish to do so.


Naming your character:-

I think that names are important for a character, not just to help identify and keep track of the character while writing them, but some names can give a hint of the character, such as their background, their job, and sometimes their true nature.  One fictional example is Jack Merrdiew in the novel Lord of the Flies, his surname more or less means "lord of the place", and he's the character becomes the true villain of the story, using the fear of the "beast" to his advantage.


I hope that you found this post interesting, for everyone can write and create wonderful characters for their stories.

I hope to be posting again soon.

A Poem for the June Solstice - End of the Longest Day

Earlier this month, I found another piece I did for the writing class at Eden Court.  The theme of the piece was "the longest day", and since it's the June Solstice, I thought that I write the piece for you all.

The herbs in bloom
     For it is Midsummer
There is no need for a broom
     That won't do on the day of Midsummer

The herbs are green
     Just as the sky is cloudless
Ready to be eaten
     Good for a salad no less

What are herbs names?
     I'm afraid that I don't know
I can give my friends names
     But that is for me, and me alone to know

The sun has risen on the longest day
But now the sun sets, ending the longest day

The words "longest day" isn't a refer to war film The Longest Day about the D-Day landings, which was 75 years this year.

I hope that you've enjoyed the piece and I hope to post again soon.

The Open Garage Door

I know that it's been a while since my last post, but I have been busy with some of my other projects trying to get them organised.  This is another writing homework piece I wrote last November under the title The Open Garage Door.  In this piece, the characters are animals.

The police car drove down the street with the cat at the wheel and his partner, a vixen, beside him.
     The street was a normal urban neighbourhood street with the same neighbouring houses in file on both sides.  The day was a school day so all the street's younglings were nowhere to be seen, either on the lawns, on the street, or at the nearby park.
     Gliding to a halt, the cat turned off the car's engines before he and his partner went over their notes  together.
     "Just another nosey neighbour stuff again."  The vixen, Constable Redtail, was saying.
     "We are still ordered to investigate."  Sergeant Tamson replied.
     "But it's the third complaint this month."
     "And it'll be the fourth if we don't do our job."
     "It will still be a fourth regardless."
     "Oh come on."  The cat ordered as he got out of the car and put on his cap.  The vixen followed suit before they began their approach to the house ahead of them.
     The sergeant knocked on the door, then knocked after a moment of waiting.  The constable took a look through the living room window, but saw and reported nothing.
     Then there was a sound of something crashing down onto the floor in the garage to the right of the front of the house.
     Dull of caution, the two police officers approached the garage door.  Tamson checked the garage door handle, and it turned easily, clearly unlocked.  He gave Redtail a knowing look, which was returned with a nod of the head.
     Moving swiftly, Tamson turned the handle and pulled upwards and he and his partner was standing under the open garage door looking inwards together at the sight  before their astonished eyes.

I hope that you've enjoyed my piece, and I hope post again soon.

45th Blog Post - First Hint of Gold

September is a week away and it's had to believe that the year has past so quickly.

One form of poetry is a called a sonnet, which is a fourteen line poem,and I thought I give a try to write one.  I got the inspiration of this sonnet after looking out of the window and seeing the leaves starting to turn gold.

Oh look out of your window
     The leaves green sway in the breeze
From high above they'll float to ground low
     To land gently on the wild flowers that makes us sneeze

The end of August comes
     And upon us the summer ending
The beginning of September comes
     With the autumn season just beginning

The summer waves of heat ends
     And for that forecast I am smiling
For now there's coolness in the winds
     Beyond that coolness, I see snow flakes coming

Reach your hand out for the Hint of Cold
     Look your eyes up above to trees to see the First Hint of Gold

I hope that you've enjoyed my sonnet.  Poetry is something I have a little go at, but I hope to do some more.

End of an Era

Another poem of Inverness College by Christopher Armstrong.

Here's a link to my previous poem of Inverness College.

It is the end of the course I have been doing this year, NC Media where we have made animation, taken and altered photos and images and have a great time.

I remember them
     Midmills and Longman
I started at Midmills
     I could walk between the two
I found peace
     At the library at Longman
I saw the end
     Of their eras
I saw a Princess
     Made into the Chancellor
As Highland Colleges
     Joined into one University
I enter the Era
     Of Beechwood new
One could view new college
     As a naval aircraft carrier (no jets, sorry)
Eights years I have studied
     But eight years, life has past by
Many students have come
     Many students have gone on
I have an understanding
     Of the levels and expectations of studies hard
Now it's my turn
     To leave and go on
I had entered Midmills
     As a young teenaged adult
I now leave Beechwood
     As a young man adult
Wish me luck for future
     For future I'm approaching
Now it's my turn to leave
     For it is now my End of an Era

I hope that you've enjoyed this post.  Hope you will come back for more.

Snowing at the Bus Stop

Happy New Year everyone.  Sorry it's been a while since my last post, but I've been busy with other commitments and with other writing projects.

I got the inspiration for last last week with waiting for the bus into town, and last week was snowing here at Inverness (I guess about 2 inches).  I hope that you'll enjoy this piece.  

Darkness of night cometh
     White clouds signal the weather cometh
The road is white
     Save for the black tyre lanes
Falling snow whitens them again
     Till the next car darkens them again
Ah the poor snow
     Start over again
Your wrappings keep you warm
     The winter wind keeps your face freezing
You listen for the bus
     You hear wind and passing cars
You stand like a statue
     The snow floats down
Old footprints faded
     New footprints fading
Nobody outside
     Just you outside
You see the bus cometh
     You loosen your wrappings
So you can get your money
     But the pocket proves hard to work with
Snow fun to walk in
     Slippery to stop in
You get on and pay
     Plenty of seats to pick
You take your seat
     Your bus journey begins

I hope that you've enjoyed the piece and will come back for more.  I hope that I might be able to get back and post more writing pieces for you to read.

Golden Leaves

The end of September is approaching, and we've had the Autumn Equinox just last Friday.  Learning this and seeing the leaves start to turn golden gave me the inspiration for this piece.

The Golden Leaves
     That is always the first sign
Today the sky is clear
     Tomorrow the sky is grey
Today the day is sunny
     Tomorrow the day is raining
Yesterday was June's Solstice
     Tomorrow will be December's
People talk of their lives' autumns
     I wish we autumn hints of oncoming end
I wish autumn is taken by her beauty
     I see autumn as Nature's display of herself
Look at the great towering trees
     Nature is painting them golden once again
The leaves will snow brown upon our gardens
     The leaves will be raked, be swept and be sent
From our gardens tidy
     To become part of the ground again
They may be slow at first
     But there will be a flood of them
If you don't know what I mean
     Then look out your window and look
For they're coming again
     Look out for the Golden Leaves.

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece.

Description by Cliches

This piece was another writing homework I was asked to do involving as many cliches as possible.  I had to look up what cliches there are.  See how many cliches there are in this piece.  I hope that you'll enjoy this piece.

Henrietta entered the room, approached and past nearly very man she spied, but they failed to spy her in return.  Finally, she spied a group of three men of about mid-thirties and she approached them and burst into describing herself in a loud voice that all fell silent in the room.
     "I'm as bright as a button.  I'm dressed in my favourite pink dress as it matches the pink rosin my combed hair.  It makes my waist as thin as a tyre.  My face has the whitest makeup that matches my white teeth when I smile my red lips that match the cherries from the cherry orchard next to my rose garden, where I got the rose in my hair, which is as fair as a glowing summer sun.  I'm light as a feather that makes me wish to dance with any man who falls in love with my beauty and wishes to dance with me.  Would any of you three wish to dance me? How would you like describe me? I'm as bright a button."
     How fast she said all of it, I must confess, I don't know.  But according to a grandfather clock on the far side, she said it all in twenty-five seconds.  I could have barely say it all in an hour.
     The first man of the three, a man that looked like he was full of beef, spoke, "I can describe your face."
     "Can you?" Henrietta asked, full of excitement, "Please do."
     "You have a face that would scare a dog out of a butcher shop."  Came the answer before the dance hall burst into laughter.
     Henrietta turned to the second man, "What about you?" She asked, hopeful for a better answer.
     The second man, who had beefy arms to match the first man's beefy chest, answered simply, "You have a face like a bag of spanners."  The dance hall burst into laughter again, they were enjoying this.
     "And I can describe your face in a third way."  Popped up the third man, "You have a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp."
     The dance hall laughed again, this was too much.
     "That's it!" Henrietta spoke up, "I'm telling the butcher, the car engineer and the police commissioner about this."
     "That's easy for you."  The third man replied.
     "How?"
     "I'm the butcher."  Answered the first man.
     "I'm the car engineer."  The second man went on.
     "And I'm the police commissioner."  The third man finished.
     "But then I'm complaining to you."
     "Yes."  Came the three voiced answer.
     "And if I may add," the butcher went on, "The sight before me is as ugly as a hat full of holes."
     "And," the car engineer jumped in, "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
     "And finally," the police commissioner spoke up, "I've heard complaints that you're all fur coat and no knickers."
     "I have never been so insulted in my life!" Henrietta declared before she turned heel and stormed out of the laughing dance hall, its guests happy that they will have a Henrietta-free dance night.
     After all, everyone's a critic.

Here's a link to a website with a list of cliches.

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece.  I hope to post again soon.

40th Blog Post - Happy Valentine's Day

It'e Valentine's Day.

Here are links to some of my posts, I think could be related to Valentine's Day.

For Glasses, here three boys hope to be picked by a girl to go on a date, while Edward's new glasses causes problems for him.
For Open Heart, a piece describing a girl called Grace.
For Many Summer Have Passed, for a piece involving a train driver when he's arranged to to have a picnic.

Happy Valentine's Day.

I hope to post again soon.

Many Summers Have Passed

I wrote this piece a homework for the writing class I attend.  The task was choose our favourite song, then choose a line for the theme or or the title of the story.  This piece involves the character Chris, a train driver, who I have posted about before, and I hope to expand this piece into a full story.  The title comes from a line of the song Fields of Gold, originally by Sting in 1993, here's a link to music video of the song.  However, it was the version sung by Lisa Kelly when she was part of the Irish group, Celtic Woman, that got me hooked to the song.  I hope that you'll enjoy this piece.

"I'm coming."  Chris told Helen as she lead him into to the barley field.  She was looking very excited.  

     "We don't want to be late."  She kept saying.  

     "Who is 'we'?" The train driver asked before noticing Freya waiting for them with a picnic displayed across the ground.  Both girls smiled as Chris marvelled the sight.  

     A red and white checker cloth, a wicker basket, plates, knifes and forks with sliced bread, butter, jam, cheese, biscuits and bottles of pop.  

     "What's the occasion?" Chris asked the girls.  

     "We thought you'd like picnic."  Helen answered, still smiling.  

     Chris looked at them closely.  

     "When you say 'we', I'm guessing that Hayley knows of this too.  Where is she?" 

     "She's coming."  Freya answered.  "There she is."  She pointed to the gate Chris and Helen had just come from and the three looked towards it.  Chris recognised Freya's twin sister and her companion, it was Jennifer, who was wearing a long red country dress to match her long brown hair.  Both she and Chris looked at each other as she approached the small gathering.  

     "What's going on here?" Jenny asked, eyeing the three girls watchfully.  

     "We've made this picnic for you."  Helen explained, "We thought you would like to have a peaceful time to yourselves."  

     The two adults looked at the girls and at themselves, both of them unable to stop smiling.  

     "And we thank you very much."  Jenny replied with a nod of the head.  

     "See you later."  The young ladies said before they walked away very joyful.  Chris was sure he heard them chuckle.  

     "They are priceless."  Jenny spoke as she sat down on the picnic cloth before she was joined by Chris who said, 

     "I suppose that's why they're so loveable."  

     "Do you remember when we first met?" 

     "I do, it was at that very field gate we passed through coming here.  I had just been to an inheritance hearing of a distant family member, where Io got this pocket watch," here he drew out his said watch and held it, "Father hoped for a title of some sort but he got a small fortune instead.  I was afraid of what my friends would think of me.  But Danny came and found me here and talked me round.  We were just leaving when I saw you pass by."  

     "I had an argument with my father about his marriage to my stepmother."  Jenny spoke, "I couldn't see any reason for  what made him divorce my mother so he could remarry.  Coming to these fields helped me clear my head.  When I saw you with Danny, I wondered if you two were the infamous Chris and Danny, and yet, I couldn't believe it when I found out that you were."  

     The two adults looked out at the field in the valley beyond.  

     "Many summers have passed since those summer days."  Jenny went on.  "Life has changed so much.  You and Danny at Phaford Bridge, you and Helen, and we were engaged."  

     Chris looked at Jenny.  

     "Were engaged?" 

     She looked at him.  

     "Well, you changed so much.  You're a survivor and now an adopted father to Helen.  How can I match that?" 

     "I can think of one way." 

     "How?" 

     Chris shrugged as he answered, "Well, first not let this picnic Helen and your half-sisters prepared for us go to waste.  Second, pick a date.  And third, see our children run in this field as the sun goes down."  

     Jenny's smile widened.  "I'd love that."  

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece.  I hope to post again soon.

The Open Heart

Here's another piece I did for the writing class I've attended.  One homework was of the theme "The Open Heart".  I hope that you'll enjoy this piece.

The open heart of Grace is unbelievable.
     Go to her with very bad day, thought and troubled heart and she can lighten up the day and make your heart all the less troubled.  The only daughter of Henry and Emily, Grace made them feel totally blessed having a fair haired girl with such an open heart that caused everyone around her to fall in love with her for her kindness to them.  Everyone loves the open heart of Grace.

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece.  I hope to post again soon.

Davidina's Questions

Here's another piece of Davidina, who I've posted about before two years ago.  Don't worry about the name, I found the name while looking through a list of names, and it got my attention, and I felt that it would make a good name.  This piece is set a while before previous post.  I hope you'll enjoy this piece.

Davidina sat beside her father Frederick Boak in what felt like their hundredth hotel room of their world wide tour.  He was all for going to bed, but she wasn't to let him escape again.
     "father, tell me about mother."
     "Oh not again my dear."  Frederick groaned, "I'm tried."
     "Please father."
     "Why do you want to know?"
     "You don't talk about her.  All you've ever said is that you both were forced to separate, you love her and you hope she loves you back."
     "What more can I say?"
     "Her name, her family and why she isn't with us."
     "It's complicated my dear."
     "How is it? A simply love story, how more complicated can it be?"
     "You may not understand."
     "Why can'n I be the judge of that?"
     "Because I lived it, not you."  Frederick answered.  "You just got caught in the middle."
     "Father please tell me."
     "Why rake the past?"
     "The past is always raked up I've heard.  Please."
     Frederick sighed.  "Fine then, but promise not to tell anyone."
     "I promise father."

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece.  I hope to post again soon.

St. Ensay - Hunters on a Slope

I wrote this piece at the writing class I go to.  The subject that was mentioned int he class was location.  Having already written a piece I'm hoping to expand on a homework piece I did, I decided to work the pieces together.  The setting of this piece is on a fictional island in the Outer Hebrides, and in this piece, two men are hunting deer.

On the western slope of Ben Ensay of the Outer Hebrides island, St. Ensay, one can see the setting of the sun giving off a blood red glow to the sky.  The green grass lent back and forth with the sea breeze coming from the Atlantic along with the wild flowers.
     Douglas and Hugh walked along the contours of the slope, hunting rifles in their arms, coats fastened tightly and their heads tight in their hats.  They knew that it was time to return to their hunting lodge, but they haven't had a shot all day, their prey, a wild deer, either too far to shoot, or nowhere is sight.  Douglas is sure that the deers could be in the small forest further down the slope.  Hugh is equally sure that the deers are further up and round the slope.  One place they agreed that isn't an option is the ever mysterious research cite that has the security force of Fort Knox.  Nobody goes near that place.  And nobody comes out.
     "What a way to end first day of hunting season."  Douglas was saying, but speaking his thoughts out loud didn't improve his mood.
     "We've still got a week left."  Hugh replied, trying to sound encouraging, but even he didn't feel encouraged.
     "Where are the deer?"
     "Maybe we'll find them in the morning."
     "I won't sleep till I shoot one."  Douglas snapped.
     "Sorry."  Hugh could only say.
     "Where are the deer?" Douglas repeated.
     "Wait."  Hugh spoke softly.
     "What?"
     "Listen."
     They listened.  They heard it, the sound of an approaching animal; a deer.
     They readied their rifles and waited.  The sound grew louder.  They pressed their rifles up upon their shoulders.  Then they paused to think.
     A deer ran round the slope past them and they watched as it ran on, now down the slope.
     "I thought that deers run away from hunters, not towards and past them."  Douglas spoke.
     "I think it was frightened."  Hugh nodded towards the fleeing wild animal.
     "Frightened?" Douglas asked.  "Of what?"
     Then a sound caught their ears from where the deer had come from.  They raised their rifles again.
     "Who's there?" Douglas called out.
     No answer.
     "I said, who's there?"
     No answer.
     The hunters observed the slope against the darkening sky.  Then they heard it, gurgling hiss.
     "We know you're there.  We can hear you."  Douglas shouted as the final ray of daylight sank into the sea.  "Show yourself."
     Then they saw it.  "What the heck is that?" Douglas exclaimed before it darted towards him.  "Stop, or we will shoot!" Still it came.  "This is your final warning!" Same reaction.
     Two rifles spoke into the sunset.

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece.  I hope to post another piece soon.

35th Blog Post - Some Ongoing Projects

It's hard to believe that this is my 35th blog post.  I'm posting this post to let you know how my other projects are getting on.

The Battle of Svalbard story is proving a little tricky as my notes are all over the place and I have to go back and forth, trying to find the right place for the piece and notes.  But I hope to get on well, and get into not just the story, but the characters too.

I've set myself target dates for two stories which involve two train drivers, Chris and Danny, who I've posted about before.  One story is about a bridge disaster and the second is about building a new railway line.  Both are in the planning stage, and are coming on very well.  I'm hoping to start the stories themselves soon.

There are other ideas I'm toying with, but I'm going to take my time with them and see how they get on.

I hope to post again soon.

The Bottles' Messages

This piece is from a writing homework I did, and was for, yesterday.  The theme given was "Message in a Bottle".  Writing it was a little difficult as I had to find Danish surnames, and the ones in this piece were the easiest one I to do and say.  I apologise if the Danish surnames are incorrect in any way.

The Royal Danish Naval ship Triton could see the southern tip of the Faroe Islands about fifteen miles away.  Captain Anker was scanning the waters of the Norwegian Sea, and so far there has been nothing.
     "Ship spotted off the port bow about twenty miles."  Called the voice of the lookout Christiansen, a lieutenant.  Anger took a lookout the radar screen then through his binoculars.  Sure enough, it is a ship, a Caledonian MacBrayne ship.  But that ship is a ferry for the Outer Hebrides off the the Western coast of Scotland, and that is a quarter of a thousand miles south of here.  What is that ship doing?
     "Shall we call it sir?" Eriksen, a commander, asked.
     "Give it a try."  Anker replied and Eriksen left the bridge for the radio room.  "Helmsman, steer towards that ship."
     "Aye sir."  Came the reply before the Triton sped towards the ferry.
     Within the short distance, there was no reply either by radio or by morse light.
     "Prepare a boarding party."  Anker ordered.
     Within the last short distance, Eriksen boarded the boat with Hansen, Holst, Larsen, Sternberg and Abel, and steered the boat towards the silent ferry.
     "Look."  Abel called as he waved a hand for command to stop the boat.  It was then they saw them.  A line of glass whiskey bottles, pieces of rubber wrapped round them, but a piece of rope kept them near the ship's black hull.  Abel and Holst took a bottle each, opened them and withdrew a piece of rolled paper from each bottle.
     The papers were dirty, smelt of whiskey, stained of whiskey, ink and dark brown sports that looked like dry blood.  Slowly the two Danes unrolled the messages.
     "Stay away."  Abel's said.
     "Don't board."  Holst's said.
     "Clearly they don't want anyone to board the ship."  Eriksen spoke.
     "What do we do?" Hansen asked.
     "Take a quick look."  The commander answered and gently drew the boat closer to the black hull.  All eyes, worried and concerned, watched as the black wall loomed over them.
     "This is the Royal Danish Naval ship Triton, we call for you to make contact."  Eriksen announced on a loud speaker.  No reply.  "Prepare to be boarded."
     A rope ladder was thrown up and the small Danish crew climbed up the starboard bow hull, past the name MV Isle of St. Ensay, and placed their black boots upon the ship's deck.  Nobody in sight.
     "Let's find the bridge."  Eriksen spoke, "Larsen, wait here."
     "Yes sir."  Larsen acknowledged.
     The five Danes walked as silent as possible up to the bridge, guns at the ready, but still, there was nobody in sight.
     "It's the Mary Celeste."  Sternberg commented as they wondered around the empty bridge.  All silent and no sign of power.
     "What happened here?" Eriksen asked.
     At that moment, a gun spoke three times.

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece.  I'm hoping to expand this piece and explore where this piece comes from soon, and so far it's at the development stage.  I hope to post another piece soon.

Triangle

I wrote this piece going through one of my notebooks, and I hope that you will enjoy it.  This piece was writing homework for a writing class I attend, and the theme of this piece is triangle.

"What are you doing son?"
     "I'm drawing a triangle."
     "May I see?"
     "Here dad."
     "You said you're drawing a triangle?"
     "Yes dad."
     "And how many sides does a triangle have son?"
     "Three."
     "Then how come there's four?"
     "Because that's the line that halves the triangle dad."
     "Let me draw a triangle."
     "Dad, that's a circle with three straight sides."
     "Oh boy, why did I ask what my son is doing? I'm even sorry for your future maths teacher."
     "What's a maths teacher dad?"

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece.  I hope to post again soon.