Tomorrow is almost come

The good news is that my proof copy of Tomorrow is on its way - it's actually in the postal system. I managed to complete the upload on Sunday afternoon last and received the email advising me of dispatch yesterday morning.
Not a bad record. From blank paper to a printed book in what? one and a half days? Can't be bad.

So, while I'm waiting for that, I thought you might like to know that I am now working on The Biggie, the big one, the difficult one. I've been threatening to write this for some years, but have never felt strong or confident enough to do so - until now.

This is the story of my 'Little Accident', the incident which has caused me so much grief over the past 8 years. This will have the title 'I Couldn't Pay The Ferryman', a title which will not be changed as it is so much a part of the story.

I have begun by setting down the nightmares which plagued my sleeping hours and often my waking hours too. Once I have them out of the way, I feel that I will be able to write the rest of it, the corruption of my daily life and the dislocation of my family relationships. My social intercourse and interaction was wrecked too, and all this will be related in all its gruesome detail.

As a taster, I thought you might like to read this item from 'Ferryman', though if you are of a nervous disposition, you may want to think twice before going on from here.

Extract from forthcoming book "I Couldn't Pay the Ferryman" copyright by yours truly.



I’m laying still, strip lights above me. I look around me and see other lights, focussing on me, hurting my eyes. I see walls, white, empty walls. I see trolleys and tables with instruments and equipment on them. I cannot tell for what purpose they serve. I explore myself and find I’m naked under covers which are heavy and uncomfortable.

I have wires and tubes attached to me, apparently everywhere, I know not why. Looking around, I see other beds, occupied by people I do not know, suffering from I know not what disease or ailment. To my side I see the window which lets out to the world outside, now black with night, room lights reflected in the glass. Above my head, on the wall, is a large white board upon which are pinned notices and messages.
I tilt my head backwards and strain my eyes to see if there are any new messages about me, any new warnings and enforcements which apply to me. Scrawled in black pen are the large letters which I have seen every night. I have no need of reading them, as I know what they are.

“D N A”

Though they appear upside down, I know full well what they mean since my niece, who is a nosey bugger, found out that the letters are an acronym for “Do Not Anaesthetise” and the bastards are coming for me again, I can hear their bare feet as they slap along the tiled floor and I hear their excited voices as they come for me.

Here they are, dressed in green gowns with hoods covering their heads. The heads have no faces, only eyes, red, glowing eyes and red slits where their mouths should be.

They come to my bed and reach out for me on both sides. Only one way of escape - backwards, but my escape attempt is blocked by the wall and they grab me tightly, though I cannot understand how as they have no hands.

Their evil, stinking faces are close to mine as they hold me tight, carrying me to wherever it is they want to take me but where I do not want to go, cannot go. I must fight them. I must. I strike out, but to no avail, they are stronger than me.

They are calling my name, reassuring me, but I ignore them as I don’t believe them. I can’t believe a word they say. I cannot trust them now, not now. They already destroyed that trust.

They hold me tight and carry me into darkness, then again into light. There are coloured lights in the form of numbers, counting the bodies they have claimed. They are not having mine!
Tables and beds where other unfortunates lie. Maybe it is too late for them, but all the same I shout them to wake up.

I relax a moment, awaiting my chance.

I strike out again with my fists and I hear a cry of pain. Good. Now they know how I feel. Now’s my chance. Quickly, I move, I wriggle out of their hands, out of their grip. I slide and fall to the floor, taking one of them with me.

I see an open door and run through it as quickly as I can, falling and sliding down a chute, long and winding, tumbling me over and over, side to side. I’m caught up in billowing sheets and bedding. It’s a laundry chute and I land in the pile of wet, soggy, dirty laundry.

I’ve escaped them. I’m free.

But there is one of them waiting here, just in case. I hear my name being called.

Again I try to escape, but I’m so tired, so weary of fighting for my life that I must sleep, but I dare not; to succumb to that blessed state means I will never wake again for they will surely find me and will visit their evil deeds upon me again.

Light again. Bright light and my name from a distance, calling me. The voice seems familiar, too familiar but this cannot be. No one knows I’m in this place where doomed souls are taken.

There’s my name again. And again.

Arms hold me, soft comforting arms. Hands stroke my hair, soft words comfort me. I see colours.

I see a face, a real live face.

It’s Susan but how did she get here? She wasn’t here to help me before. Why not? Why did she not come when I called her name?

She speaks soft words of comfort.

Then I wake. I find myself on the bedroom floor, tangled in bedclothes, sodden with sweat, Susan on her knees in the space between the bed and the wall. She helps me up and sits me on one side while she strips what is left of the bed and remakes it with clean, dry sheets. And helps me change my pyjamas for dry ones, making sure that I have not opened the operation wound.

She helps me into bed and I gradually fall into a peaceful sleep until morning.

When I see her next morning, I ask her who’s beaten her up, as she has a black eye and bruises on her arms, chest and legs. She says I did it last night, but I think she’s lying to me. She tells me I had a nightmare.

I don’t believe her but the family does and I’m accused of wife beating, but I don’t understand. It wasn’t me.

I hope you liked it!

More news later.