5 Albums I Can’t Stop Listening To

Arcade Fire – The Suburbs

This album covers so much ground that it’s difficult to find a good starting point. It’s title track, The Suburbs, is a picture perfect indie-pop song with melancholic undertones. Month Of May is Arcade Fire’s take on old-school Garage Rock, while Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains) sounds almost Blondie-esque. The combination of musical styles manage to keep this 16-track behemoth fresh and interesting. All the while, Arcade Fire are spinning a beautifully crafted tale of immature rebellion vs comfortable banality.

Does It Offend You, Yeah? – Don’t say we didn’t warn you

A follow on from 2008′s You Have No Idea What You’re Getting Yourself Into, Don’t Say We Didn’t Warn You is a bit of a departure from the bands debut. Expect less indie, more electro. You’ll find no equivalent of Dawn Of The Dead or Being Bad Feels Pretty Good here. That said, DSWDWY can be summed up in one word: badass. Listen to John Hurt or The Monkeys Are Coming and I guarantee you’ll be walking down the street like Richard Ashcroft in Bittersweet Symphony. Saying that, this album is by no means 2 dimensional. Pull Out My Insides edges into sickly-sweet territory, thankfully it’s catchy riff and soaring chorus make it one of the stand-out songs. DSWDWY also excels in downright weirdness… listen to Wrestler, you’ll see what I mean. Despite the clash of different styles, DSWDWY works alarmingly well as a whole, combining the individuality of each track into a beautiful mess of playful anger.

Broken Bells – Broken Bells

Former frontman of The Shins, James Mercer, has outdone himself here. This is a debut with absolutely no pretensions. The self-titled album is an easygoing masterpiece – this is the kind of music suited to a cheeky cider in the sun. Standout tracks October, The High Road and The Ghost Inside all display Mercer’s fantastic songwriting technique to a higher degree than ever before.

The Strokes – Angles

The Strokes finally break their mould. Many fans will be initially disappointed, as this album is not as punchy as their previous efforts. Repeated listens will uncover a more thoughtful, mature take on the world. Machu Picchu, a catchy 80′s throwback with a difference, is a nice start to the album. Under Cover Of Darkness is the obligatory slice of indie-pop found on EVERY Strokes album; saying that, it’s pretty good for what it is. The standout track for me is Taken For A Fool. It’s simple, catchy and confident.

Tokyo Police Club – Champ

This is one of those little gems that are easily overlooked, most likely because it has few songs that would work as stand-alone singles. Despite this (or perhaps because of this) it functions perfectly as an album. The raspy vocals and often strange lyrics complement the intricate guitar very well (as heard in Favourite Colour, Wait Up (Boots Of Danger), etc). From my point of view, Bambi is the best song on Champ; you can’t beat a nice dose of  indie-electro weirdness.

Honourable mention: Wolf Parade – Expo 86

This album was in danger of becoming a too many cooks nightmare. Having two songwriters taking turns to write tracks on an album would usually be a recipe for disaster. Somehow, Wolf Parade manage to pull it off… perhaps it was all the tutoring from Modest Mouse‘s Isaac Brock in the early days? Anyway, I digress. Cloud Shadow On The Mountain is a rambling beast of a song; the soaring guitar and fast-paced drums work well with Boeckner‘s intense, nervous outbursts. My favourite song here is What Did My Lover Say? (It Always Had To Go This Way).

Monday (short story)

This is a short story I wrote while EXTREMELY hungover in the mighty Edinburgh. Let me know what you think

(This is based [very loosely] on my experience of 30/08)

Monday

He sat crouched in an Edinburgh pub, cradling his head. The hangover had reintroduced him to his unwelcome friend: apathy. He didn’t care about the intense headache; the food had been nothing more than a joyless necessity. Cigarette rolled in moments, muscle memory snapping into action. As he stepped out of the pub, searing rays hit his tired eyes. The mid-day sun was out in force. He stumbled on to the pavement as he sparked up. A large American man walked enthusiastically out of the crowd, straight into him.
“Watch where you’re going. Fucking tourist,” he growled.
As his eyes adjusted to the light, he walked meaningfully through Cowgate. As he arrived in Hunter’s Square, he realised he had no destination in mind. Pigeons playfully tossed a piece of bread around on the kerb. Noticing The Tron, he thought for a moment… Fuck it: pint.

He bought a pint of Foster’s and put Joy Division on the jukebox, making some meaningless banter with the barmaid. At least she seemed to enjoy it. He sat staring into space. The bar staff were busy preparing for the show that would take place later, except one barmaid. She stared at him: concerned? Disgusted? It didn’t really matter.
The pint tasted bitter as it swept past his chapped lips at an alarming rate.
“Cheer up mate,” a well-meaning regular said.

He looked down at his scuffed converse. How could he? She was gone. He had been off with her all weekend: the only one he could ever bring himself to love. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He had a habit of pushing people away when he needed them the most.

Bait (Working Title) Chapter 3

Only had time to do some light editing on this one so far. Let me know what you think and feel free to point out any mistakes I’ve made

The Islands

Dante awoke with a searing headache; clearly whiskey did not agree with him. The faint noise of metal objects colliding could be heard on the floor above. He peeled himself off the bench he was lying on and began to climb the main staircase. The castle interior looked far less daunting during daylight hours. Curious rays of light wandered through the dusty windows and banished all but the most evasive shadows. Dante stared at different aspects of the décor: ceremonial maces and the Highland coat of arms flanked a tourist information desk, creating a strange contrast. Although he was looking straight at these objects, he wasn’t concentrating on them at all, as he was still trying to piece together the mysterious events of the night before. As he opened the door to the dining room, it was clear that he had found the source of the weird noises. Treats was lying on her side, fiddling with the generator.

“Any luck?” Dante asked.

“No, the bearings are worn out. There’s no way I can get it to work unless we find replacements,” Treats replied. Dante noticed that she seemed a lot less attractive when she was disappointed. She seemed a little bit vacant without her usual enthusiasm.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dante said, “We can always find more, right?” Treats looked up at him with uncertainty.

“Not nearby. Most of the generators in town have been stolen or destroyed,” she mumbled. Fyfe stepped gingerly over a smashed bottle as he entered the room, massaging his temples.

“How’s the hangover guys? Mine is pretty intense. This is why I don’t drink whiskey,” he said.

“I know what you mean,” Dante grimaced, “The bearings in this generator are screwed. Any ideas where we could find some more?” Fyfe stopped to think for a moment.

“What about the industrial estate? There must be lots of generators there, plus it won’t have been hit hard by the looting, since it’s a bit of a trek.” Treats looked up excitedly. The optimistic spark in her eyes had returned.

“Good idea, let’s do it!” she proclaimed, “Get ready, I’ll find Duncan, then we can go.” With that, she hopped to her feet and trotted towards the stairs. Fyfe shook his head and let out a chuckle.

“I suppose we don’t have a say in this then,” he said.

It didn’t take Treats long to find Duncan; his disjointed snoring echoed through the large halls of the third floor. He was spread awkwardly on the stone steps leading up to one of the turrets.

“Duncan!” Treats shouted.

“Jesus, what?! More flesh-eating freaks?” He replied, matching her volume. Treats smiled deviously.

“No, silly. We’re going to the Longman to find some bearings. Are you coming?”

“The Longman? Good luck with that,” Duncan laughed, “Let me know if you make it past the 42 car pile-up and I might join you.”

“It’s blocked on both sides?” Treats whimpered, “Are you sure?”

“I’ve only seen it from this side. It would take too long to get in from the far side anyway,” he replied.

Dante and Fyfe walked towards the staircase, fully equipped with weapons and backpacks.

“You really know how to pick the best sleeping arrangements,” Fyfe smirked, “Are you two ready to go?” Treats shook her head vigorously.

“No, apparently we can’t get to the Estate, It’s blocked off.”

“What about the Aquadome?” Duncan offered, “I remember taking the kids there. It has a wave machine, surely there would be a generator involved?” His eyes softened with nostalgia.

“Good idea,” Fyfe said, “Clearly the booze hasn’t killed all of your brain cells yet.” Duncan shrugged as he gulped what was left of the whiskey.

“Hair of the dog; always a winner.”

The morning sun had just begun to rise as the group walked along the River Ness, towards the Islands. The clear water glistened as it headed lazily towards the sea. It was one of the few things unaffected by the sudden disaster. Dante was in a world of his own as the others talked.

“So how did you end up on the staircase?” Treats asked.

“I have no idea. I think I was trying to find a place to throw up after hearing Fyfe singing that patriotic shite,” Duncan replied.

“Flower of Scotland? It’s a classic!” Fyfe said. While the three of them laughed, Dante wondered how they could be so carefree. Every shred of normality had been torn from their lives; their families, their jobs… even their future. The world they knew had gone forever and they were suddenly forced to live a cruel, unfamiliar existence. Suck it up, he thought, all I can do is survive as long as possible.

Dante remained silent until they reached the familiar opening to the islands. Tall evergreen trees sheltered the small blocks of land from the rapidly ascending sun. After crossing the rusted suspension bridge, a chilling scream penetrated the thick woods. The group crept up to the border of trees which surrounded a small clearing in the centre of the island. An elderly lady stood in the centre, golden rays bouncing off her bone-white hair. Three creatures advanced on her from different sides. They wore similar clothes: muddied tracksuit bottoms, striped polo shirts and Burberry caps. The aged woman took a swipe at the closest assailant with her walking stick but this only served to anger the beasts. Treats stood up in an effort to help but Fyfe grabbed her arm.

“There’s nothing we can do. She’s already dead. There’s no point in risking our lives for nothing,” he said solemnly. Treat’s returned obediently to the floor, covering her eyes with her hands. Dante and Duncan couldn’t help but watch in horror as the cannibals reached their prey. Chunks of flesh flew through the air and landed on soil with a sickening squelch. Razor-sharp fingernails tore indiscriminately through the woman’s defenceless flesh. She swung her walking stick wildly, even as she crashed onto the rough terrain. Treats tried to rush towards the action but Fyfe restrained her. The elderly woman’s body went into shock as one of the foul attackers began to feast on her trembling forearm. The trauma caused by the immense blood loss made her vision swim wildly. The last image seen by her wide eyes was the snarling, contorted face of the largest creature. It’s ears pricked as it heard a noise in the distance. In one fluid movement it hopped to it’s feet and sprinted towards the second suspension bridge. The other cannibals quickly followed, leaving the woman to her last moment of unbearable pain. Dante put his arm around Treats as she sobbed uncontrollably.

“Fucking Neds,” Duncan snarled, “they haven’t changed a bit.”

Bait (working title) Chapter 2

Chapter 2 of the novel I’m working on. So far I’ve only had time to do light editing on this section. If you notice any errors or have some constructive criticism to offer, please let me know.

Dante awoke suddenly. The fresh light of day collided with his tired eyes. Sitting up, he noticed Duncan sitting on the end of the trailer, partly obscured by tiny plumes of smoke. For some reason, the sight of the lazily floating spirals illuminated by natural daylight comforted Dante. He sat down beside Duncan and subconsciously rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey, you’re finally up. You’re a pretty noisy sleeper kid,” Duncan said. He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and handed them to Dante.

“Thanks,” Dante said as he lit up, “Yeah, I had some pretty crazy dreams. Where are the others?”

“They’ve gone to scout out the Castle. Should be a fairly secure location as long as your bloodsucking friends haven’t started their rituals there already,” Duncan replied. Dante sighed as he realised it was often difficult to tell whether Duncan was joking or not. He decided it was best to change the subject.

“We were Goths, not vampires. Anyway, I meant to ask, how did you guys manage to avoid the infection?”

Duncan laughed at first, then a stern expression spread across his usually mocking face. He took a deep drag of his cigarette before flicking it towards the concrete.

“Well, I’m assuming you’ve worked out that it was the anti-cancer drugs that caused this shit storm. Treats isn’t registered on the government’s databases, you can ask her why yourself. Fyfe was living the isolated hillbilly life down by Dores. Bit of a societal outcast by the sounds of it. That’s why he wasn’t sucked in either.” Duncan abruptly stopped the conversation and lit another cigarette as he gazed around the ruined town centre.

“That makes sense. What about you?” Dante asked, deciding to push the question.

“Jesus, kid, do you ever stop with the questions? You’re as bad as the girl,” he snarled. Dante maintained eye contact with a piercing stare. After a few seconds, Duncan gave in.

“You look like you’re going to try to kiss me, goth boy. Alright, alright. I was working as chief psychologist at the hospital when the drug was issued.” Dante’s mouth hung open, shocked that a man such as this would have any interest in helping people.

“I know, wouldn’t think it to look at me now,” Duncan continued, “I spent years studying the Amygdala and it’s responses to threat. I knew how some of the compounds in the drug could potentially screw up brain functions. So I didn’t take it, simple as.” Dante’s shock instantly turned to anger.

“What the fuck? You knew this could have happened and you didn’t warn anyone?!” he spat.

“Calm yourself, kid. I’ve already had this from Treats. I did try, most of the higher ups seemed to think the benefits outweighed the potential risks. There was nothing else I could do. The drug was issued before I could find any concrete proof,” Duncan replied in a defeated tone.

Dante slumped against the trailer and began to roll his cigarette between his fingers. Before he could apologise, the sound of footsteps shattered the awkward silence. As the sound crept closer to the back of the truck, Dante gripped his sword so fiercely that the blood began to drain from his knuckles. Duncan carefully slipped off the back of the truck and raised his Halligan tool over his shoulder. A voice finally broke the tense deadlock.

“I’m glad to see you’re on your toes for once. I expected to see you drinking in the corner,” Fyfe smirked. Duncan let out a sigh of relief and placed the Halligan in the truck. He lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke in Fyfe’s face.

“Arsehole, you nearly gave me a heart attack. How’s the castle looking? Any freaks there?” He asked. Fyfe wafted the smoke away, much to Duncan’s amusement.

“None from what we could see, we’ve already moved the generator up there. We should be able to use it for hot water, if Treats can work her magic.”

“No problem, I’ll have it done within an hour of us moving in!” Treats exclaimed with a broad smile.

“I really don’t know where you get your enthusiasm from, kid. So we’re alright to move then?” Duncan replied.

“Sure. We might as well leave the mattresses here for now, they’ll slow us down too much. Best to avoid staying in the open for too long. Let’s start gathering everything up,” Fyfe nodded. A strange look suddenly came over Duncan’s face. Fyfe knew this look too well. It usually meant trouble.

“I’ve got an idea, you guys wait here!” Duncan said excitedly. He disappeared around the corner of the truck, towards the main stretch of the High Street. A few seconds later, the sound of an earth-shattering collision echoed through the otherwise eerily silent streets. Duncan returned with several hiker’s backpacks and a stupid grin on his face. Fyfe held his head in his hands.

“Would it kill you to use some discretion?!” Fyfe seethed, “Still, not the worst idea you’ve ever had. Let’s get everything loaded into these.” Treats delicately packed all of the food and water into one rucksack, while Duncan absent-mindedly threw the fuel, cigarettes and alcohol into another. Dante leaned against the back of the truck and watched. He still felt like an outsider but he was glad he had met other survivors.

“Right, that’s the last of it, we better get going. Easiest route is along the high street. Keep your weapons handy, those bastards can come out of nowhere,” Fyfe said as the last few items were packed.

The four survivors set out on the short walk to the castle. Fyfe scanned the environment for any signs of movement. Duncan was once again drinking heavily from a bottle of whiskey. Treats seemed to be in her own little world, the seemingly permanent smile still etched onto her ivory face. This was the first time Dante had seen the town centre during the daylight since the crisis began. It was a lot more disconcerting in the full light of day.  As they approached the end of the High Street, where the road split in two, Fyfe held his arm out to stop Duncan.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Duncan asked.

“Shh! Look over there,” Fyfe pointed towards the Town House. A lone figure was hunched over a corpse. Thick claret oozed onto the grimy pavement underneath, “We can sneak past it if we take the stairs from the car park. Better conserve our strength.” Suddenly, the figure spun around. Strands of flesh dangled from it’s slowly decaying teeth. Without a moment’s delay, he rushed across the empty road towards the survivors. Duncan calmly drained the bottle as Fyfe fumbled for his shotgun. Dante stood in front of Treats with his sword raised. As the creature was less than 10 paces from the group, Duncan hurled the empty bottle at it’s face. It exploded upon impact, sending thousands of tiny shards into the air. The creature stumbled backwards for a second, holding it’s disfigured face. It quickly regained it’s composure and stared fiercely at Duncan with empty eyes. It’s face had been punctured by several crooked shards of glass, many of which were deeply lodged in it’s flesh. Streams of blood cascaded over the creature’s rage-fuelled expression. Treats recoiled in fear as the creature let out a piercing howl and continued running towards the group. Fyfe managed to steady his shotgun and hit the creature in the legs with a powerful blast. One leg was torn off below the knee, while the other was twisted 360 degrees by the impact. The sickening sound of ligaments and bone snapping could still be heard, despite the intensity of the blast. The creature let out a long, tormented howl. It’s face was twisted with rage; The immense pain had only served to increase it’s anger. Duncan walked over and casually stamped on the creature’s head until it’s body went limp. Silence and a lifeless atmosphere crept into the street once more, as another bloodstain defiled the city’s streets.

“I thought you said the streets were clear?!” Duncan panted.

“They were earlier. You know how quickly these things can move,” Fyfe responded defensively, “Anyway, we’re all fine, let’s just get to the castle as quickly as possible.” The group hurried up the stone steps and along the ruined path. Dante became increasingly aware of how visible they were at this altitude. The overgrown lawns bordering the path could do little to hide the survivors from the hungry eyes of nearby predators. The castle’s grounds hadn’t changed much since the crisis began. The most noticeable difference was the lack of clueless tourists eagerly lapping up embellished history. The slope leading up from the main road was largely intact, with only a couple of abandoned cars destroying the illusion of tranquility. The castle seemed to mirror the fate of the city itself; a faded reminder of times that would never return. As the survivors approached the grand wooden doors, they noticed a couple of bodies crumpled on the doorstep. The old doors were smeared with dry blood and scratch marks. Clearly other survivors had attempted the same desperate tactic. A wave of ice-cold paranoia hit Dante as he heard footsteps in the distance.

“We need to get inside, now!” he said.

Fyfe had a puzzled look on his face. Before he could ask what was wrong, it became all too clear. Several sets of footsteps could be heard, violently pounding the ground as they neared the ancient building. Duncan hopped over the bodies and violently attacked the door with his Halligan tool. Fyfe stepped out from the cover of the door and raised his shotgun. He could see four cannibals. Without hesitation, he took the shot, which collided with the leading cannibal’s chest. Layers of shredded skin flew into the air like confetti at a morbid wedding. The seemingly invincible creature kept sprinting towards the group.

“I can’t stop them!” Fyfe shouted.

“Stop your whining, this won’t take a second,” Duncan replied. He forced the pick end of the tool between the two doors. After a few macho grunts and excessive sweating, the door snapped open. The group piled inside. Fyfe fired another shot at the rapidly descending creatures and flung himself into the doorway as Duncan and Dante heaved the heavy doors shut. Duncan forced his Halligan tool between the doors as Dante and Fyfe pushed a reception desk and tourist information stands against it. Treats stared wide-eyed at the door as the first thumps began. They intensified and were joined by shrill howling sounds. After one final scream, the thumping ceased. Duncan playfully popped the lid of a new bottle of Whiskey.

“Well, now that we’ve gotten rid of the gatecrashers, I suppose we should carry on with the house-warming party, eh?”

Bait (working title) Chapter 1

Note: This novel is still in its initial stage. I have lightly edited it but I would still consider it to be a first draft. If you see any errors, please leave a comment to let me know. Pasting into WordPress has made the format a little bit strange, please forgive that. Feedback is much appreciated Hope you enjoy!

Inverness Castle, Dusk.

Dante sprinted down the narrow alleyway. His feet pounded off the wet, black ground. Rain, sweat and mascara joined forces to impair his eyesight. The adrenaline was doing a poor job of hiding the blinding pain surging from the weeping gash in his side. None of this mattered; Dante knew that stopping for a rest was the same as slitting his own throat. Stumbling out of the end of the alley, he noticed a derelict petrol station. With his energy drained and no sign of his pursuers, he decided to find a hiding place. After quickly scanning the surrounding area with his dark eyes, he slumped against the petrol pumps. His trembling frame lacked the energy to grip his sword properly. It fell to the ground with the sickening noise of steel scraping concrete. Dante fought a losing battle against his rapidly closing eyelids and eventually passed out.

He was awoken by a savage grip around his thin neck. His eyes snapped open as his face twisted into an expression of raw terror. With his eyes still in REM he caught broken glances of a large man wearing a red plaid shirt and faded jeans. His face was as worn and creased as his clothes, instantly betraying his age. To his left stood a smaller man wearing a tracksuit which was covered in disgusting, crusted stains. His nose was a deep shade of scarlet and his eyes were glazed over. It seemed he was present in only the most physical sense of the word. Behind them, sparks flew as a frail looking girl messed around with some kind of generator. The smaller man leaned closer to Dante, as if inspecting him. The sides of his mouth curled in disgust as he spoke in a calm, gravelly tone.

“Jesus, It’s another one of those vampire freaks. They’re as bad as the cannibals. Better kill him before he causes any more trouble.”

As he spoke, the foul odour of stale whiskey swept over Dante. The man raised his weapon, which looked like the cruel love child of an axe and a hammer. Plaid shirt firmly lowered the weapon with his free hand.

“Not yet! He might be able to tell us something about the Deviants. Grab his sword; we’re taking him back to base.”

The smaller man sighed in disappointment and picked up the sword. Plaid shirt spoke once more, this time in a slower, relaxed tone, “Can we use the generator Treats?”

The girl (presumably Treats) replied,

“Yeah. It’s too heavy for me though, you’ll have to carry it.”

Plaid shirt released his grip on Dante and turned towards Treats. “No Problem,” he then glanced towards Dante and said, “Keep an eye on him, Duncan.” Dante was passing in and out of consciousness as Duncan roughly hauled him to his feet. Duncan had a sneering grin on his face; he was obviously enjoying Dante’s pain a great deal.

“Start walking Dracula,” Duncan commanded. He pulled Dante towards him with a jerk of his arm and whispered, “I can’t wait to get some information out of you. I really hope you don’t co-operate. Fun is pretty hard to come by these days.” Dante’s world began to spin. The lighting was becoming dimmer and brighter in sporadic, surreal patterns. He noticed that Treats was keeping a watchful eye over the exchange. Her forehead was furrowed with concern. Dante’s mouth curled into a crooked smile.

“What the hell do you have to smile about?!” Duncan spat. His outburst caused Dante’s smile to spread even further across his pale face.

“Just taking comfort in the thought that you’re all as screwed as I am.” The blow from Duncan’s skeletal fist was too quick for Dante to see. It collided with his chin, causing a nauseating crunch. He instantly blacked out.

Dante sluggishly stirred into consciousness. Before his sight kicked in, he could hear several different voices, becoming increasingly loud as he came to. His retinas slowly began to take in his surroundings. He was in the back of a truck. Three mattresses were squeezed against the far wall and several candles littered the floor. Treats, Duncan and Plaid Shirt were sat around him, engaged in discussion.

“It could be worse, at least we’re definitely the good guys!” Treats said optimistically.

“That is probably the faggiest thing I’ve ever heard,” Duncan retorted.

“It’s important to stay upbeat in this kind of situation,” She replied.

“Christ, how did we get stuck with this kid?” Duncan complained.

“At least she’s not as reckless as you,” said Plaid Shirt.

“Exactly. Thanks Fyfe!” said Treats, as her eyes lit up gratefully.

“Can’t we put a gag on her or something?” Duncan sighed.

“That’s a bit kinky,” Fyfe smirked.

“You guys act as if you’re not one bad decision away from being eaten alive,” said Dante, as his brain finally kicked into action.

“Hey, you’re awake! At least Goth kids never change. They still know how to suck the life out of a room,” said Duncan as he approached Dante and knelt down beside him. He took a long swig from a bottle of whiskey. He seemed to be contemplating the right question to ask.

“So, what’s your story kid? You don’t seem as screwed up as the other Deviants. How come we found you alone? We’ve only ever seen your type hunting in packs,” he asked, in a much kinder tone than usual.

Dante thought back on the events of the last 24 hours. Remembering it was painful but he realised he had no other choice if he wanted to stay alive.

“I’m Dante. I used to run with a group but they turned on me. I tried to stop them from doing something terrible. Guess they thought I had too much of a conscience to be trusted,” he replied thoughtfully, “They’ve reached the same stage of hysteria as the cannibals now.”

Duncan drank deeply from his bottle once more, seemingly deep in thought.

“Dante? Even for a goth, that’s pretty pathetic,” Duncan chuckled, “Hell, at least you know when to stop. I saw a bunch of those freaks torturing a couple in Raigmore, beside the Hospital. Had ‘em chained to a bus stop. One of them was setting the chick’s clothes on fire with an aerosol and lighter. You don’t even want to know what they did to the guy.” Treats squirmed uncomfortably on the mattress. Fyfe opened his mouth to speak but before he could, there was a loud knock on the side of the truck. The vibrations shook Dante’s slender arms.

“Damn, we’ll have to leave this until later. Can you fight kid?” Fyfe whispered.

“Sure,” Dante said eagerly, “But wouldn’t it be safer to stay in here?”

“No. Sounds like there’s only one of them out there. If we don’t kill it quickly, others will come,” Fyfe replied ominously. He handed the sword to Dante and opened the shutter as quietly as possible. Dante hopped silently onto the ground behind the truck. Fyfe lowered himself down afterwards, gesturing to Dante that he should take point. Peering around the corner, Dante could see nothing but the oppressive darkness which engulfed the battered grey truck. Fyfe had a puzzled look on his face but remained vigilant, slowly scanning the environment with his shotgun raised. Suddenly, there was movement near the cab of the truck. Dante could hear footsteps increasing in pace, but could see nothing. He raised his sword and began walking towards the sound. A face, completely twisted with rage and torment emerged from the sooty night. Dante reflexively slashed at the creature’s neck. Waves of crimson waste erupted from the ragged stump as the severed head hit the ground with a hollow thump. Fyfe recoiled as his eyes burned from droplets of blood hitting his retinas at high velocity.

“Christ’s sake, did you have to decapitate it?!” he whispered angrily.

“I… I didn’t exactly have a lot of time on my hands to think it through,” Dante stuttered defensively, “Let’s just head back in.” As Fyfe locked the truck’s shutter, Dante sat down on the mattress beside Treats. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop a nostalgic smile from creeping across his blood-stained face.

“Umm…why are you smiling, Dante?” Treats asked apprehensively as she passed him a towel. Dante turned to face her.

“Oh, sorry, it must look pretty creepy. That cannibal was my headmaster at high school. I never thought I’d get the chance to do that to him,” he joked. Fyfe paced the trailer nervously.

“Alright guys, we should probably get some sleep. We’re going to need to move camp tomorrow. There have been too many attacks in the past few days,” he said. As if on auto-pilot, Duncan began to extinguish the candles. As the last few flickered out, jagged shadows waltzed along the dented metal. Dante shared a mattress with Treats. As soon as he lay down, his exhausted body succumbed to sleep.

Dante’s rest was invaded by several uncomfortable dreams. Some of life before the crisis broke, some of what may have happened were he not so fortunate. The most pronounced was the memory of life just after the crisis had exploded in the sleepy Highland town. He remembered reading about the sudden, brutal attacks carried out by previously upstanding members of society in the local newspaper. Before long, the town centre was a desolate waste with a morbid carpet of corpses soaked with congealing blood. At the time the situation had reached fever pitch, Dante was at his friend Shade’s house. A few hours earlier, they had been looking at conspiracy theories on her outdated computer. The most popular theory involved the compulsory cancer suppressant that the government had issued 2 years before the outbreak.

“That doesn’t make any sense. How can this be good for the government?” Dante asked skeptically.

Shade ran her fingers through her jet black hair, apparently deep in thought. Her black lips formed a ridiculous pout as she responded, “Maybe they didn’t realise until it was too late. I remember those psychologists kept babbling about the possibility of brain damage. Haven’t you wondered why we aren’t turning into raging cannibals?” Dante was distracted by a scraping sound coming from the window. As he pulled the curtains back, he saw the headless figure of his headmaster, clawing furiously at the filthy glass.

This Short Story Got Me Banned From Helium…

This is a short story I wrote a couple of years ago but recently edited (very lightly). It’s main theme is revenge. Apparently Helium didn’t appreciate the subject matter and choice of language, hopefully I won’t have the same problem with WordPress!

Adrenaline rushed through my veins giving me a vital boost. Within 20 minutes, I had to reach Don Gattuso; otherwise I would never be able to settle the score. The night was damp and the smell of spring invaded my nostrils. A wave of despair took over as I realised I would soon lose the opportunity to appreciate the little things in life. I chanced a final mournful glance at the idyllic Sicilian coast, then stormed up the neat gravel path into the estate.

A brute of a man guarded the ornate doors of the Don’s mansion. He was using an outdated mobile phone, by the sound of it he was trying to convince some cheap whore to accompany him later that night. Usually a man of his stature and disposition would frighten me. I would not allow it to happen tonight. Without hesitation I pulled out my piece, a customised .44 revolver. I aimed my gun at the sleazy bastard’s head and fired suddenly. The sound of the miniature explosion comforted me for some reason. Deep-hued claret doused the once-exquisite doors, a signpost showing me that I was one step closer to my goal. I recovered the mobster’s Glock and carefully opened the doors. It was clear that the Don was expecting me. I would only have one chance.

The hall was almost too quiet. I was convinced that I could see shadows fleeting between the gigantic marble columns. I realised that it was probably my mind shutting down, just as the doctor had warned me. It was uncomfortable enough to put me off momentarily but my stubborn motivation finally took over. I slipped from column to column making sure to keep in the shadows. I could see two guards at the top of the stairs, armed to the teeth. I would have to wait until one of them left. After a few moments filled with paranoia and raw fear, the larger man ambled off, most likely headed to the toilet. I slinked up the shadowy stairs with precision and care that would put a ninja to shame. I slipped by the daydreaming henchman and arrived on the second floor. The décor was a lot more homely here, which disconcerted me. I had never thought of the Don as a human…never mind the type who owns battered old cabinets with clear sentimental value. I decided it wasn’t worth dwelling on and proceeded towards the Don’s quarters. As I hurried down the now-illuminated hallways, I heard the most heartbreaking sound. A gun’s safety had just been removed inches behind my head. I put my hands up as I was apprehended. Using the mirror hung on the opposite wall, I recognised the gargantuan Italian who had left for the toilet previously. He circled around me in an aggressive fashion then came to a stop in front of me.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man growled, flecks of spit hitting my solemn face as he spoke.

“Look, I’m going to die very soon, I just have one request.” I said in what I hoped was a convincing tone.

“Damn right you’re going to die soon. Well, you’re lucky I’m an honourable family man, you could’ve been caught by one of the other guys, they’d rip your face off just for kicks. What’s your request?”

I relaxed a little as I realised this man was clearly an idiot with something to prove.

“I’ve never been in a fight. I’d like to experience it at least once before I die. What do you say? I give you my word, you can kill me directly afterwards.”

I stared into his eyes intensely, hoping he bought it. If he didn’t I had no hope of reaching the Don.

8 minutes left.

“Are you crazy little man?! Fine…guard duty is stale tonight anyway. Let’s go.”

As soon as he started to put his gun away, I went straight for the jugular. The henchman caught on surprisingly quickly. Huge meaty hands grabbed my arms to prevent me from clawing his throat off. Unluckily for him, I had already put the pressure on with a savage grip. I was in a frenzy now, slashing chunks of throat off with my fingernails alone. Once the thick crimson waste had formed a substantial pool in the once-immaculate carpet, his body went limp and I got up. Looking at his empty shell of a corpse, I felt an itch of regret. This man had clearly worked hard to be at peak condition for fighting, yet he had been overpowered by a smaller man with an ounce of determination. I finally snapped out of it and kicked down the door to the Don’s office.

Here I was, face to face with Don Gattuso. Three minutes to exact my revenge. The office reeked of corruption and blood money. The Don glanced up from the book he was reading without a trace of surprise on his obese face. Fleshy folds created by a few too many Bolognese dishes mocked me effortlessly.

“Ahh well, if it isn’t Mr Gardner! To what do I owe the pleasure? I’ve been looking forward to meeting you ever since I worked with your son.”

I began to feel weak as I slowly raised my gun. I had to make the shot soon although my trembling hands would make it infinitely more difficult. I was close to losing my nerve, but I had little time, so I carried on with the plan I had meticulously formed in my head months before.

“Don’t mention my son again Gattuso! You should’ve been stuck on a spit roast a long time ago!”

Gattuso gave a leering smile as he retorted, “Oh, well, he was a lovely boy. Shame he fucked up on that last contract, he might still be alive. Now, let’s get down to it. Do you still have the strength to pull that trigger Mr Gardner, or is this going to be another wonderful anti-climax?”

Sweat was pouring down the grip, making the gun difficult to hold. I could hear guards making their way up the hall. This was not the death I had planned for him but it would have to do.

“I hope Satan rapes you when you arrive, it’s only deserving for a disgusting fucker like you!”

I pulled the trigger. Gattuso hit the floor. I was getting increasingly light-headed. Falling to the floor with a faint that was far from graceful. My final sight, the spray of claret and new piercing that would adorn Gattuso until he finally rotted away. My final thought was guilt, I had enjoyed his death far too much. I heard the muffled sounds of footsteps as the guards realised their loss, sounds of shouting that sounded as if they were coming from a distant party.

As my consciousness rapidly escaped me, I felt better than I had done in years. I knew I had few precious breaths left but I had managed to wipe out my last gnawing regret. My eyes started to force themselves shut and I felt no reason to struggle against them. My mouth twitched into a tainted smile as what would be my final gesture.

How Fear Affects Opportunities

Throughout my 20 years on this Earth and my 3 years at university, I have found only one lesson that is worth remembering. It’s common sense in it’s most brutal form; This inevitably means that 90% of the population will ignore it.

So what is this lesson that I believe to be the cornerstone of a fulfilling life? To take a risk on the things you want. As previously mentioned, this is so basic that it almost sounds like a joke. Despite this, you would be amazed if you noticed how many people don’t even attempt to reach their desires because the consequences could be crushing. I believe that one of the biggest fears in our current society is rejection. Tailing just behind is the fear of failure, also prevalent at a worrying level. However many people don’t realise that the only thing blocking them from their most self-actualising goals is irrational fear. In later years this will lead to regret, possibly the most irritating emotion, as there is literally nothing you can do to change an opportunity that you gave up on.

People have wondered how to get over their fear of rejection and failure for centuries. The answer is, once again, alarmingly simple. You just have to change your mindset so that these things no longer carry any significance. For example: if somebody gets rejected by a member of the opposite sex, they are likely to think that there is something wrong with themselves and will be less likely to enter the same scenario again (this comes from the psychological principle of conditioning). Instead of looking at it in this way, you have two far more constructive options.

1. Put it down to experience and take a different approach next time.
2. Take the “It’s their loss” approach. Also a very effective ego-saver.

In a similar vein to rejection, if an individual fails at a task, they are predisposed to believe that it is true to their own inadequacies. Not only is this an incredibly self-centred view, it is also fairly ignorant, as it doesn’t account for the many factors that are involved in every project. For example, imagine a person was to enter an art competition and placed last. They will most likely think it was their own lack of skill that made them lost and that they will never be good enough. This is a very one-sided view that is likely to lead to minor depression. Other ways to look at it are:

1. You have the raw skill but need a bit more practice before you reach competition level.
2. You produced a solid piece of art but faced fierce (and possibly more experienced) competition.

I think the easiest way to get around these fears is to weigh up each side of the argument in your own mind. Once you have prepared your mindset to deal with potential failure or rejection, consider the consequences…but not too heavily, or you may miss your chance! For example, if the thing you desire is going to screw up a good friendship, it’s alright to let it slide. If the possible negative consequences are insignificant or fixable then go for it! Take a chance. Our rather insignificant existence is far too short to worry about what has happened in the past or what may happen in the future. So the next time you see that intimidatingly beautiful girl at the bar, go and talk to her! If a promotion comes up that you’re slightly under-qualified for, take a chance on it anyway. Focus on this moment and this moment only. Take it from me, you’ll be surprised at how much more you get out of life.