Trojan, continued…

Delirious, largely attributed to the copious amounts of salt ingested, and positively crispy, everywhere, I spied shelter from the whipping sand and ruthless sun, needless to say I invaded it. I’d like to say I conquered it at full gallop, striding in, chest puffed out in defiance all righteous and just – but the truth is a little less…epic. In reality I whimpered through the askew mouth, suspiciously accessible, on the lowest outcrop of viscous desert crag.
From this position I could see everything…miles and miles of endless sand, maybe something else, I couldn’t be certain- no, just more sand.
I had no idea how far I had travelled, or, from which direction. I could have been running in circles, probably was, she could have already passed me by now.
If Gift three was still out there – still alive, still hunting me – then she’s madder than a chicken in Kiev.
At the time I just assumed she had given up, or died, either one was more preferable than the truth. The truth, huh! What the fuck does that even mean?
The skin pulled across my back painfully, perfectly insinc with the shrinkage of my scrotum. (Did you forget I was naked?)
The cave was growing colder the further I explored it. Fortunately, large splits in the roof of the tunnel allowed shafts of light to cut across the darkness, ripping through the fabric of timeless rest, making it possible to see reasonably well. If I hadn’t been so wearisome, so naked, maybe I would have been alarmed by the fact no animals, or even the evidence of animals, dwelled within this serendipitous respite, as it were though, I continued, ignorant, into the cold depths.
Beams like sheets of golden shine sliced through, intermittently, perhaps even more frequent but still the tunnel grew darker and colder.
A squelching sound penetrated through the stillness deep within the shadow. I stopped, reacting mainly to the hairs on my arms and neck hackling. Suddenly the shadow shifted and a pale foot appeared on the dust coated rock. That was when I realised that the shadow wasn’t a shadow. My heart thumped painfully as I scrambled backwards, upwards, in the direction I had just come, never daring to take my eyes from the huge blackness that was unfurling before me.
It appeared to have been crouching over something, a body, a women. She wasn’t wearing much and a bloodied blade lay helpless besides her.
Smoke filled my mouth. It was fuming, like fire, and it had unfolded to its potential. I expected it to come at me but it didn’t. Instead something else happened, it spoke to me in a language forgotten by men, in letters that do not exist today.
In the interest of clarity I will translate, as literally as possible.
It said, ‘spawn of Shaitan. Given you come to punish, or live on me reward?’
I struggled to fully understand what had just happened. He used the name of my father, the true name, which cannot ever truly be translated, as with all things of that nature. I noticed now that it was afraid of me. I smiled, relaxing a little.
‘I need clothes.’ It was the first thing that came to mind, more of a thought really but before I could say another word the black monster had ripped open the space between us.
My breath caught in my throat as the air sucked through the tear like a vacuum. Then, suddenly as it happened, it stopped, and before me was a neatly folded pile of clothes. Exactly as I had imagined in fact. I picked up the white shirt and tried it on for size, the fit was perfect, of course it was! What else do you expect from a Genie, or at least that was what I figured.
The black monster’s ripped wings wrapped around itself for a moment before shaking, violently, then dissipating in wisps of smoke, revealing a perfectly healthy looking, Gift three.
She cocked her head to one side.
I laughed, maybe the drugs hadn’t worn off after all!
‘You need clothes too.’

To be continued…


What you don’t know about me, is, that under the sun, I burn easily. Factor fifty regularly and thoroughly applied, combined with also trying not to stay in direct sunlight for longer than an hour or so at a time is usually the prescribed method applied when one finds oneself in a country that is not as cold as dead men’s spit.
So, running for my life naked across the blistering sands of Iraq’s answer to the Badlands, was not going to end pretty, either way, for anyone involved.
Why was I naked, you ask?
Well, that was my first mistake, and by God it was a big one.
The Tyrant had sent down a Gift. Fortunately for Grim he had just stepped out to drop anchor. Lucky bastard.
Meanwhile the ‘Gifts’ waited at my door, tits winking at me unashamedly.
I felt the blood rush as I ushered them in and they proceeded to take off what little strips of silk they still possessed.
Grim literally couldn’t have picked a better time to go curl one out and my smile stretched from my mouth to my…ahhh, yeah, I was very excited.
The three Gifts went to work and after a tantric couple of seconds I was totally naked. Scars and dints bared for the whole world to see, or they soon would be.
‘Drink, for you Mister Game’ Gift one insisted in perfect broken English, whilst she began the finger walk up my bared leg.
I virtually gulped it down. The second my throat closed around the clear liquid was the exact moment I knew that the Tyrant had finally had enough of my insubordination.
I needed to act fast, I had just swallowed some pretty serious tranqs, probably overdosed in all honesty.
The Gifts had quickly dropped the act the minute my glass fell from my hand.

I spotted the silver salt shaker on the table between the second and third Gift. This was it, the heel of my hand drove down on top of the first Gift’s elbow and with a smile I heard her shriek as her arm bent the wrong way.
One down. The next two were ready for me.
Suddenly they both had small knives, probably very sharp too. God knows where they kept them hidden.
I knew I should try to avoid them at all costs but they seemed to be moving super fast or maybe I was slowing down. I think I started to dribble, as I had a sudden on rush of saliva. Only one thing for it, I decided as I spat at Gift number two. Good shot too as I took out her eyes. Then, snatching the salt up I turned tail and legged it, clumsily out of a series of suspiciously unlocked doors.
Next thing I knew my mouth was filled with salt and I was thoroughly retching up, still sprinting at full speed of course, naked – across an empty car park and off into the darkened desert beyond.
Gift three hot in pursuit.
To be continued…

Dead Men’s Secrets

You know, I never did learn how to move with the times, as they say. I just always will be a swashbuckler at heart, but I wasn’t really in the regaling mood, at that exact moment.
The Arabs before me were literally howling with laughter.
I knew that they were the lucky ones, they didn’t. And given the opportunity to ask them if they agreed with my conclusion, I’d say, they would definitely disagree with me. However, they were one of the few people to die whilst actually laughing their cocks off.
My long dagger swashed above their loose clothing, neatly removing their laughing heads in one, fluid, stroke.
Two shots thudded with the ring of finality, jolting painfully at my teeth. Surprised I looked down and fingered at the blooded holes in my chest and gut. Suddenly it wasn’t quite so easy to breathe.
I heard a scuffle and muted cracking behind me as I swaggered around, dagger at the ready. It was Grim, the dead Arab was unceremoniously being dropped like a sack of dead cats, his head facing the wrong way.
‘Why did you have to go and get shot, again?’
Grim was mad, I could tell because he wouldn’t look at me. ‘Well, you know? What doesn’t kill you…’
‘How many times do you think you can disappoint the Tyrant and just get away with it?’
I think the question was rhetorical, I shrugged and answered anyway, ‘well this makes four, so, ahhh, another five or six I reckon. Yeah…ahhh, something like that.’
‘I’m being serious Game! This isn’t England, unless you haven’t noticed? They might not know how to kill you but they will dig a big fucking hole and bury you alive. Trust me for once in your life, before we both end up regretting it.’
Grim wasn’t a man of many words and this, by his standards, was about as good as it gets. I knew he was right, of course, he always fucking is. The Tyrant was paying good money for the results we weren’t delivering, instead I just kept killing everybody. Dead men tell no secrets and secrets is what we were being paid to extract.
I lay down on the cluttered table, on top of the tattered Qu’rans, my blood infusing them, or so I like to believe, as Grim withdrew the nasty metal bullets with as much force as he could manage whilst still refusing to meet my eye.
‘Don’t worry,’ I grunted through the pain, ‘the next one we find I will, ahhh! – thanks – I will let you do your thing before we kill them.’
Finally he looked me in the eye. ‘You better. I like you Game, but I won’t die for you.’ The second bullet dropped to the tiled floor with a harsh clatter as he stood, wiped his hand on my leg and walked out of the room.

Trail of Blood: A Henry Game Fable

Henry Game:

Huh? What just happened?

Originally posted on The Bolton Review:

I thought I had seen it all. I was wrong. When you have lived long enough that you give up counting the exact number of years you’ve been breathing, and generally just round it down to the nearest decade, you too will believe that there is nothing ‘out there’ that can genuinely surprise you. This has been the way for almost 200 years, until the birth and revolution of the Internet…then I was surprised again. However, that was twenty or so years ago. I had begun to believe that maybe I had seen all there is. Every sick and bizarre occurrence this planet had to offer. That was until last night, the night that made Henry Game realise: Henry Game, eternal and damned to walk alone, has a long lost brother, an identical twin, apparently, also found in the well, those many years ago.

The Order of St Oswald’s, a…

View original 1,539 more words

Shit Flinger: A Poem…ha!

What can I write that has not already been done?
Which combination of letters can be strung together?
This is my message, so it better be good.
I’m fucking trapped within the alphabet, uselessly trying to climb out of it, Ripping my fingernails off from repeated failures again.
Desperate to be the same as then, way back when, I used to smile at everything, nothing pierced my amour and I vowed to recover stronger when I got hurt or I got dropped in the dirt,
Bruised and broken I was forced to grow roots.
Human nature is survival, eventually we abandon all religion, but there is always something to fight for or against in this restrictive prison.
They bind us to this vision but yet we’re blind. We believe the things they tell us are lies half the time. And at the other half their ignorance is their only redeeming quality, so promise me this: if you ever get to roll in the shit then make it stick and charge at the bastards, force them to taste it like you’ve been chosen, and this is your destiny.
You are the shit flinger.


Eventually, depressingly, I concluded that the Iron Mask had been successful, yet again, in driving an invasive enemy from the eroding shores of Britain.
How did I know this?
Well, they stopped hiring me, for a time that is, and at this exact moment I was still in it.
Years, perhaps even a decade, had passed since the last time I let someone get the better of me. The last real piece of sphincter diluting excitement to come my way. The memory of waking up covered in blood and piss still prickled at my misguided sense of immortality. And, unfortunately, whoever was behind those brilliantly sadistic games had ceased to keep in touch. Yes, I felt abandoned. But I knew, deep within the mausoleum of my conscious, that it was not over.
Had he successfully summoned the Elohim?
I thought not. I guessed that if he had we would all be fucked, wouldn’t we?
Wouldn’t we…?
Maybe he didn’t know how to complete the summoning?
Oh fuck it, who am I kidding? I just missed all the attention. Now I pretty much did nothing but pluck feathers. Shit loads of crazy was happening over in the States though. Wars that were that weren’t. Presidents getting shot and, apparently, they beat them to the moon…ahem!
I sat in the dark. I always sit in the dark. Those like me do. I picked up the crude photocopy, the same one I had been looking at for going on ten years, sighed and then let it swish to the littered floor. If ever I needed to…needed to kill someone, I mean a human, then this was it.
Chicken bones scattered around the floor of my abode, I had made quite the collection of sharpened femurs. Some things don’t change.
A creak outside alerted me to the presence of an unexpected visitor. Maybe God had been listening to my thoughts?
I gathered my finest fashioned chicken dagger and exited through the makeshift side door. I wanted to take my guest by surprise, just like I assumed they wanted.
No moon hung in the sky on this night and I lived far away from anything that resembled a street light, so yeah, it was fucking dark. That was why I didn’t see him, or at least that is what I tell myself.
Something grey flashed across me and rested against my bearded throat. A huge hand clamped down on my forehead and held me fast against a rock-like chest.
‘You have gotten soft, Game’
I laughed as I sent my elbow into his liver and spun away, chicken daggers ready. Then snapped them and let the fucking stupid things drop in to the grass between us. I knew he was right, but I never admitted it. Never would either.
Grim nursed his stomach and smiled widely, I could see that.
I managed a small smile too. Because Grim meant work and work meant killing and money and…everything. My smile grew wider and wider. So did his. Wordlessly, we walked back into my overgrown cabin.
Grim flicked on the light as he closed the door.
I guess it was time to step back into the light. I don’t know what day it was but to me it felt like fucking Christmas.

The Seventh EYE

Almost quarter of a dozen in,
find myself wondering,
Now the two worlds are crumbling,
glare back at my own reflection-seems
am the architect,
And the vection,
Hosting the weapon of death and
will bring Armageddon upon myself.
But, it’s required.
want a life, I’m fucking tired, and
Afraid of my own mobile phone.
Happiness comes at a price.
am fired. Now rest in…


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 420 other followers