First Time in Heaven

Today I’m pleased to host a piece of flash fiction from fellow Holmfirth Writer Vincent Johnson.

First Time in Heaven (or ‘All in Love is Fair’?)

“Your first time?” she quizzes. He frowns, nonplussed.

“In Heaven?” she qualifies.

“Oh… yeah…. arrived yesterday.” Dazzled, he scans the fizzing mezzanines, crammed with leather-queen torsos and transvestites gyrating to Dancing Queen. Strobes and disco mirror-ball shafts spear the kaleidoscope smoke, laced with poppers.

“Hello, I’m Fran…” she smiles pertly, extending a crimson-nailed hand.

He kisses her fingers, feigning courtesy, “Dom at your service…. Love the dress!”

“Thanks, darling…,” She lights two Players, proffering one, whispering suggestively, “…and ‘Dom’ by nature?”

He laughs wickedly, “Well now, looking for a good spanking are you, Fran?”

She arches her plucked eyebrows in mock shock, “Do I look like that sort of girl?” then narrows her eyes. “Is that a Yorkshire accent?”

Turns out they both grew up in Leeds and are now both escaping the macho straitjacket of northern pubs, flat caps, and working men’s clubs. They retreat to chat in a quieter, low-lit alcove.

“Love your eyes too,” says Dom, “They remind me of Cher…. and it’s weird but…. I feel like I know you already Fran.” They kiss, passionately and long. Then they talk at length of Yorkshire seaside outings, and picnics in the Dales.

“So you’re married then?” asks Dom half rhetorically.

“Kind of… but in name only, and my wife didn’t have a clue about my transvestite life. I used to go to secret drag acts at the Hope and Anchor in Leeds. It was risky then…. still is, but at least for a few hours I felt I could be myself. In the end I couldn’t stand the double life, and I was a crap dad and even worse as a husband. My wife was really unhappy too, and so I had to leave.”

Dom looks up from his beer, “You left your kids?”

Fran’s bloodshot eyes glisten as she dabs her mascara. “Yep, walked out. Left a letter explaining as best I could, and I still send money, but she doesn’t know where….”

“…You selfish bastard! What about your children?” Dom cuts in, indignantly, rising to his feet.

“Oh God…” Fran sobs, “I’m sorry I haven’t got time for this…” staring into the dark.

Dom looks down in dawning horror, “My dad, Frank walked out on us when I was 7-years old. I still remember that day, and how miserable we all were, how frightened. Mum said she couldn’t explain things, but everything was going to be all right, and one day we’d understand. For years we all thought he’d come back. And now here we are, and I know why I know your voice…. I’ve got to go.”

In shocking synchronous recognition, Frank reaches across the table, spilling their beer, frantically grabbing Dom’s forearm, “Oh God it’s you, it’s you…. I’m sorry, I’m sorry Dominic? I’m such a failure….” Recoiling, Dom tears himself away, wanting to expunge that lingering, fag-riddled kiss, and shuddering with tears. He is desperate to escape a thudding fear of abandonment, and Cher singing All in Love is Fair.

Visit this Blog

It’s time to put out one of my periodical invitations for guest pieces to host on this blog. I welcome poems, flash fiction or novel extracts (up to about 500 words). If you’d like to visit, please e-mail me on tim.e.taylor@talk21.com.

It’s always good to provide a picture that can accompany your piece (n.b. WordPress displays them as a banner, so wide is better than tall) – it could be one of you, a book cover, or something that fits the subject of your piece.

And feel free to say a few words about yourself – and, if you wish, your piece. I prefer to avoid overtly promotional posts, but if you’ve got a book out or an event coming up, by all means tell us about it. I tend to start the post with a very short introduction in my own words.

_{pic: Ramesh NG. Licensed under https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0}

Powerless

Today I’m delighted to post some extracts from Anne (Veronica) Steward’s new speculative dystopian novel, Powerless.

There will be a launch event for the novel at Denby Dale Community Library on Friday 23 February at 7.30 pm. There will also be a discussion on the theme ‘Speculative fiction – dystopian or utopian?’ The event is free and refreshments will be provided.

Powerless: excerpts.

In the hamlet…..

‘Rainbow Day’ was one of those gentle days of sun and soft breezes.

‘Astronomers were observing the huge solar storm 150 million kilometres away from Earth that had been raging for three days, and wondering at its power.’

It was just the weather for a barbecue in the back garden of Jenny and Rob’s lovingly converted barn halfway up the valley from the small, grey stone Yorkshire town. The surrounding hills were bright with shades of heather-purple, green and gold in the late summer sunshine, clouds making ever-changing patterns of light and shade as their shadows chased across fields, moors and dark stone walls.

Solar winds streaming constantly from the sun’s corona were joined by unimaginably huge ejections of plasma. The planet Earth lies in their path.

While in the city……..

The nasal, disembodied voice that seems endemic to all station information systems continued to ask people not to panic; that normal service would be restored at any time.
The lights flickered and failed.
So did the voice, in mid sentence.

While on the Mediterranean cruise…..

The passengers were enthralled by swirling trails of colour in the otherwise blue sky. It was spectacular; some even thought it was a sort of laser or firework display put on for their benefit. Almost everyone was on various decks, looking heavenward. In the engine room a sense of emergency was building by the second. The engines had been slowed electronically as the Straits were being neared. As the electric storm gathered strength, the braking devices faltered, failed, reinstalled and failed again

Anne says of the novel: 

This is a speculative story set, principally, but not exclusively, in a hilly corner
of West Yorkshire during a catastrophic failure of technology. Our
dependency on electronic devices has made us worryingly vulnerable, and I
have had fun exploring how we might, or might not, cope.
I admit to frightening myself.
Looking back to move forward could be key to survival.
Life is an unpredictable journey, but this is a path I hope we don’t ever have to
take.

Anne Steward, or Veronica Steward, was a teacher, bookseller, and a volunteer overseas. She has a deep love of the natural world and travel, and is incurably curious. She enjoys capturing moments in photographs, poetry and prose. Her two poetry collections are: ‘Casting for Words’ and ‘The Colour of Light’, the second of which was published by Maytree Press. Her work is displayed in Honley Station and appears in several anthologies and on plaques on the Marsden Memorial Trail.