Scratchings on the Page

Thoughts, Stories and Randomness from the mind of a writer


Short Stories


I like to experiment with writing. Possibly a little too much. I've written from every point of view (2nd person is fast becoming my favourite though-it makes me think more about who my characters are); I've written in past, present,... Continue Reading →


Writing Comprehension

I try not to sneer. I really do. And, most of the time, I succeed. I didn’t roll my eyes (much) in English, when I appeared to be one of two people who cottoned on straight away. I don’t make... Continue Reading →

Thick as Thieves

We are in pre-revolution Paris, watching a wide alleyway, with a brightly lit café at one end, lined with dark shops filled with mysterious instruments and books. There are only a few people there, none of them paying attention to... Continue Reading →

Graeae Part Six: Light

The earth is shaking. People are being tossed around like pebbles on a drum, but the screaming has stopped. The world is bathed in silence, as its people bear witness to the destruction forced upon it by the Sisters. They remain silent as volcanoes erupt in the far west, lighting up the world like a strange sunrise. The lava flows from it like liquid fire, but still no-one moves. You can’t even hear their breathing any-more, and in the midst of the destruction, there is a beautiful serenity to be felt. Peace has swept over the earth; the madly boiling rivers are the only things to move, as they start their journey upwards, and away from the frozen scene.

Graeae Part Five: Grey

First Deino strikes. A wave of dread hits the earth, causing the stars to tremble in the sky and their light to fade, bathing the world in grey. Plants start to die, and the oceans suddenly become calm. The birds in the sky turn black and stop singing, each one turning into a raven, an omen of death, wheeling above the world with no wind to support them. It is deadly calm.

Graeae Part Four: Alarm

Pemphredo is the bell that sounds in your head when mischief is afoot. She is the one who whispers in your ear that all is not right. She is both good and bad; the poison and the antidote; the right and the wrong. She has no followers, for who follows the one who will alert both themselves and their victims to the danger. Who wants to wield a double edged sword like her, when they can worship Horror or Dread, who’s intents are clear. Who worships someone who can abandon you, at the critical moment, to an unseen danger. So she is alone, and she is therefore bitter. Bitter towards her sisters; bitter towards the human race; bitter towards the gods who create her. Pemphredo is unseen, unheard, unknown; not worshiped, yet depended on by all.

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