First of all, thanks to those of you that have contacted/chatted with me these past few days, its delightful and inspiring to talk about ‘creating’. My email is nestled within the ‘About’ page on here. This is a small fragment from a ‘Novel In Progress’ ”Shudder Past The Real” which can be found here: https://shudderpastthereal.wordpress.com/

The nausea hit like a slap by an ugly witch from an ancient morality tale, my fingers jerked OUT and hit the radio, hit the off button, hit the plastic and steel hard enough to sting, hit the wonderful noise and shoved it into silence.

I fell backward onto the double bed, and the sounds of the afternoon slipped in to fill the vacuum. 

I heard my mother in our kitchen, the clatter clutter of plates and pans, the creak of the cabinet door, the gentle stroking melody of wooden spoon against ceramic bowl, her slightly off key humming.

I heard the TV, the shuffle of soft murmurs, interwoven with short sharp bursts of laughter, the rhythm of carefully thought out one liners.

I heard the growl of a motor cycle far away, energetic, desperate as it waited for the lights to change so it could fling free.

I heard children, were they angry or were they playing at that strange form of innocent war?

I heard the tick-tock of the small clock on the dresser.

I even heard the sunlight swimming in tiny bits of dust, swimming downwards to hit the carpet and start its journey towards the passage.

I heard the queasiness slip over me, sighing slurping, wet. Then it sunk into my skin, flowed from my throat and mouth and throbbing head, down my throat BACKWARDS, yes retreating hateful, into my stomach and

Pow

It was gone.

And I saw, as if I was watching a badly recorded webcam capture, a man, a terribly thin man pause his kissing of a beautiful woman’s shoulder, and look towards me.

His surprise turned into a sly smile.

I noticed that they were naked, the woman was beautiful, she glowed, her skin almost golden, the man pale, rotten.

She wanted him though. Her hand searched for his, to guide it

Down.

He needed to have her, destroy her and he loved that I was there to watch.

I did not watch though, I turned, rolled so damn slow, off the bed to hit the floor, I must have screamed then, because the kitchen noise blinked out, and I vomited, groaned, vomited

It felt like drowning.

I called to my mother to save me. And then she was there.

I accepted the oncoming blur.