dark witty fantasy thriller in verse - how to buy

Sunday Post blog page.
This Blog features further extracts from my thriller-in-verse “iDream  Ice-Cream  iScream”,
as well as other verse and prose snippets

If you missed last week’s “Tickety-boo” post, you can still read it here. Meanwhile,

Sunday Post 25th March - extract from

iDream   Ice-Cream   iScream

Edward Lear meets The Usual Suspects


He couldn’t say
Which day this thing had started
He’d always felt he was the last to know
The last to see
The flow of changes in his life
And then too late he’d say
So this is what it’s like


A child dragged kicking
Screaming out of the womb
Feet first
His world reversed
Worst day of his life

With insistence his father says
My son
It’s me you have to thank for your existence

And so it was he’d noticed
While walking in the meadow
Something slightly… wrong
His shadow seemed a shade too pale
Not as dense
Not so intense
As once it was
Or so it seemed to him

Fate has quirks
It hates to toe the line
It likes to jerk and twist and turn
And make a fist
Or give a hand
Or purse its lips and give a kiss to nurse a wound
Or kiss goodbye to hope

He thought at first it was the winter sun
Its rays diffused
But later
When he compared his own
With shadows cast by objects close at hand
He was perplexed…

A week of bleak grey days and rain would pass
Before the sun appeared again
The light
So clear and bright
The contrasts sharp
The shade he cast
A faded blurring on the ground
A jaded change of tone
A zone of grey

Infinitely blue
The sky reflects his sadness

He thought he heard a distant cry
A groan
An echoed moan

It was his own

It came from deep within
He felt unsteady
To take this strangeness in

That day he tried to write
To speak to distant friends
But what to say?
And anyway it was too late
The distance was too great to cross
The meanings lost in words
Each time he’d start
He’d end by saying
That wasn’t what I meant

The letters were unsent

Sleep is a gel
Dark and dense as death
A well of ink
Into which he slowly sinks

When he wakes
He breaks the surface
Fighting for his breath

At last the light of dawn

It found him chilled
Yet in a sweat
The cup of tea
Too sweet
But warm and wet
Brought some relief

But half-way through he tensed
In disbelief he saw
Or rather sensed
The surface of his skin had merged
Had melded with the cup held in his hands

They say
The Devil waits outside the door
In patient meditation
He cannot come into your home
Without your invitation

The Devil wears a mask
Of course
To match your hopes and fears
The Devil is your trusted friend

Until the truth appears

A wave of shock rocked him
Knocked him back
He’d somehow crossed the line
Lost the line defining who he was

He felt defiled
He took a scalding shower and scrubbed and scoured
Finding some relief in pain - albeit brief

He was at least on known terrain

When at last he dried himself
And wiped the steamy surface of the mirrored glass
He saw without surprise his skin was red and raw

And then he saw beyond
Or rather through his skin

Translucent form
Its silent heartbeat keeping time
Convulsive pumping
Thumping in his chest

This can’t be true
You are not me he said out loud
And even as he spoke
His image mouthed his words

A voice inside protests
This isn’t me
This isn’t who I am

He slammed his fist against the glass
It hardly seemed to shake
It didn’t break
It didn’t shatter
He slumped crumpled to the floor
He clutched his chest in pain
In fear
It isn’t fair
It isn’t fair

He thought he heard the mirror speak
Oblique reflection on his despair

Life isn’t fair?
Perhaps at last he comprehends
It’s time to leave his private hell
All’s well that ends

Visit the Blog Archive to see previous posts

I am also grateful to author Derek Haines for hosting a selection of my short stories on his blog, The Vandal:

short story Eye Test “iTest
short story Driving Licence “Driving Licence - Part i”    and    “Driving Licence - Part ii” short story Driving Licence
short story Weather “Weather

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