The man who was a hero stood before the corpses, his once-golden hair matted black to his scalp in thick and bloody knots, his skin tattooed with grime and criss-crossed by the scarred mementos of his many victories.
Looking at the apartment block made me feel colder than the wind did. It was a grim cube of concrete and steel, designed by a communist architect during an age that knew no joy, and the low winter sky leached the life from it like a sponge.
I've written the theme music to another imaginary 1980s film: The Roborg New York, 1997. The near future. When a living machine is sent back in time to kill the President's daughter the Pentagon has no choice but to release Major Rex Cobra from electroprison and give him back his laserfist. Half robot, half cyborg,… Continue reading Michael Ironside plays the chief of police again
Pestilence crossed his legs as the train rattled through Chancery Lane station. He'd been on the tube since South Ruislip and, apart from a 6-year-old girl who had wrinkled her nose and peered at him with saucer eyes, no-one had looked at him twice.
My online literary friend and sometime collaborator Tony Healey has written a long and detailed post about how he got a two-book deal with Thomas & Mercer and about how he wrote Hope's Peak, the first book in his Harper & Ida psychic thriller (I guess that'd be the genre) series.
He’d always lived next to the wall. It dominated the landscape, an abrupt barrier to hold back the fields and trees that flowed down from the distant purple mountains, a line that ran as far as the eye could see in either direction. It loomed, yet offered the comfort of protection as much as any uneasy sensation of captivity.
They discovered the first one in 2091, during the seismic lunar surveys. It was communicated to the lab at Mare Anguis 4, in that self-consciously ambiguous way that scientists have, as an 'anomaly' - an unexpected spike on the graph, an unusually sinuous line within the oscilloscope, a decimal place lurking too far to the left - which meant that they had got their predictions wrong.
Once, when I was younger, on a day when the sun was fat and clouds were piled up on the horizon like ice cream, I caught a shark. He was half as long as I was tall, with skin as harsh as sandpaper, and although his eyes were black and sad, he smiled at me as I scooped him into my boat.
Madame Sable was almost 150 years old when she died, though she looked no older than sixteen.
Introducing the new GHOSTICHORD™ from Spookmann - now YOU TOO can play like Rachmaninoff!