Somebody gave me some speech recognition software last week which I thought would take the strain out of writing. Any ideas I had of me sprawled out leisurely on the settee dictating into a microphone while my bestseller appeared magically on screen soon gave way to the reality. It's crap. (Not my bestseller hopefully, just the software.)
'Folate long is a closed ports on hire villanelles,
Swollen sore throat most grand slams.'
That's the first couple of lines of Wordsworths 'The Daffodils' - as if you needed telling - as per the software. Now if you could get software to decipher the gibberish that comes out when you use it, you'd be on to a winner. Time to phone Bletchley Park.
Watching the Chilean Miner saga unfold a few months ago I was delighted when they all emerged safely at the end thanks to human determination and engineering excellence. If you recall from my last blog, top secret files made by myself back in the 70s have recently been released under the Freedom of Information Act. I mention the miners here , because back in 1974 I designed a machine which has the potential to assist in such dramas.
So, for the first time on display, I give you the blueprints of The Case Core Tapper.
A machine capable of drilling almost to the earth's core on a 9v battery. Tell that to some people and they wouldn't believe you. (I actually made this and soldered a screw onto the arm of a motor out of battery operated fan, burning a hole in my bedspread in the process. Mother was not impressed). More Top Secret stuff next time.
Anyway, enough nostalgia. Here's an excerpt from my short story 'Skin Deep' from the collection 'Trinity - Three Tales of Unease' available on the Amazon Kindle Store.
SKIN DEEP
The day had been horrendous. I was beginning to realise what a poisoned chalice the promotion had been. Stuck in a no-man’s land between staff and management, I was starting to feel like a rag doll being tossed from one petulant child to another, fielding daily complaints about lack of production from my superiors and moans about too big a workload from those who were now under my charge. No wonder nobody else had wanted the job. No one in their right mind would have touched the supervisor’s position.
Which, of course, said a lot for me.
I unlocked my front door and headed straight for the kitchen and the fridge, throwing my soaking wet coat on the floor en route. I flicked the top off the beer bottle, walked into the living room and flung myself down in the armchair so hard that it moved slightly along the scuffed wooden floor.
Outside the rain was still pouring down in what was turning out to be a wild night, the drops hitting my living room window at an angle, like the slashes of a frenzied knife. I took a few deep gulps of the beer straight from the bottle, enjoying the familiar cooling sensation as it passed down my throat, thanking God that the late shift was over.
I sat there for a couple of minutes, listening to the sound of the rain lashing against the side of the apartment building and slowly felt the craving for a cigarette begin to build up within my body. I fought it for all of thirty seconds. I was giving up once again, and this time I was doing pretty well but right now nothing else was going to take the bitter taste of the day away – not even the beer.
I had stopped taking cigarettes to work with me in my attempt to quit – new smoking regulations made it practically impossible to light up there anyway – but I still kept half a packet at home for emergencies. This was one.
I drained the bottle and walked to the drawer where I kept them but as soon as I opened it I knew that the packet wasn’t going to be there. I’d suddenly remembered that I’d had a similar ‘emergency’ last week and had forgotten to replace the empty packet. I swore loudly and slammed the drawer shut, cursing my increasingly unreliable memory.
Then a tiny glimmer of hope shot through my nicotine-starved irritation. I looked at my watch – 10.53pm.
Fortunately the store at the corner of the street didn’t close until 11.00. Even more fortunately I knew the guy who worked there.
I picked up the phone and located the store’s number on the speed dial. This wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened. The ringing tone seemed to go on for an interminable amount of time. I was afraid it was just about to click onto the answer phone when I heard the familiar voice.
“Late Store. Andy speaking.”
“Andy, it’s Nick from up the road.” A moment’s pause then,
“Nick! Let me guess. Beer or cigarettes?”
I laughed. “Cigarettes. I’m really sorry, Andy. I’m on my way, honest. Just don’t lock up before I get there. I’m a desperate man.”
Andy sighed. “Go on, then. You’d better get a move on though. I was just getting ready to shut up shop. I want to get home myself. Might just catch the wife before she goes to bed for a change.”
“Cheers, Andy, you’re a mate. Be right there.”
The rain was pounding down even harder than before as I hurried along the deserted road to my destination. In the distance I could see the illuminated sign outside the shop proudly proclaiming its name. The light suddenly went off when I was still about fifty yards away but I wasn’t worried. If Andy said he’d be there, he’d be there.
I made it to the shop, my hair dripping wet and water running down my collar and glanced at my watch.
11.02.
Andy was waiting patiently behind the glass-fronted door. He had already turned the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ and had turned off most of the lights inside the shop in readiness for his departure. I was going to be his last customer on what had been a long day for both of us.
He grinned on the other side of the glass as I appeared then turned the latch on the door to let me in.
“You must be desperate, coming out on a night like this,” he said, shaking his head in mock sadness as he opened the door and I stepped in. “I can’t understand…”
His words were interrupted as I felt myself being pushed violently forward into the shop from behind. I staggered and almost fell but managed to keep my balance as I turned round to face my attacker.
A man had appeared in the shop doorway and was now pushing Andy towards me, propelling my acquaintance roughly back into the shop. In his right hand he held a gun which was pointing in our direction.
I said nothing as Andy stood next to me. We looked at the man as he came fully into the store, kicking the door closed behind him with his foot as he kept his gaze fixed on the two of us. I heard the latch click shut, locking the door to the outside world.
(Excerpt from 'Skin Deep' from 'Trinity - Three Tales of Unease' by David Heaton, available on the Amazon Kindle store @ £0.70. http://www.amazon.co.uk/TRINITY-Three-Tales-Unease-ebook/dp/B004RPMZNE )
Recent Comments