Sunday, January 24, 2010

Christmas Fluff

I made this a while ago and forgot to post it. Well its off on its way to England now, for a dear friend of mine who is exceptionally inspiring and one of my partner's in crime when it comes to making all things creative. We made a rule once that we had to do at least one thing artsy a week, sadly we don't always keep to that rule but we do try!

I think I'd really like to make costume jewellery...

Golden Treasures

A Sunday spent on the floor crafting a necklace...

Monday, January 18, 2010

Just a Dog on a Chain

She wanted to stare at the sun, bright hot white that would sear her eyes, take away the vision displayed. But only the moon shone through slatted windows, casting shadows and making red stain glimmering thick black.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, Catch a tiger by the toe. If he hollers let him go, Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.
Kneeling down she eyed cold feet, so pale and still as she traced the empty veins and wished a noise of protest would fill the small space. Nothing came, only the whispering echo of a gun hanging like a ghost in the silence.

Clever tricks and pretty smiles, a mask to hide the lies. Silver barrel with a silver bullet. “Catch him, Kill him, monster, beast. Put him out of his misery.” Orders wrought without room for denial, she was simply a dog on a choke chain, pull too hard and end up strangled. She’d done as they asked, and now tears stung blood shot eyes as she witnessed the result of the rambling lies.

He hadn’t been evil. Golden eyes had been wild but not feral glowing above her, fingers tipped with claws gentle and not tearing. The lips on her’s didn’t bite or gnaw, they nipped and licked, drawing sighs that built to screams. A carnal sin, against the code, flesh and bone should have no persuasion on the soul.

It had ended with a slug through the brain, ending pleasure’s refrain. Skin splattered red washed and dried, clothes tugged on and weapon cleaned, all she had to do now was leave. In the leftover quiet she wanted to explain, “I’m sorry, I was told.” But there were no ears left to hear her voiceless plead. She was just following the leader and leading the unnatural to their deaths with innocent’s masquerading eyes, lamplight to flies.

Standing on shaky feet, screams building in the back of a hollow throat, wet cheeks a final farewell, she backed out and disappeared. A gunman on the loose, trigger finger quick to fire, rid the world of evil; sins tainting an unwilling heart black. But she was just a dog on a chain, master waiting to hear of her fame.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Winter Wedding

I've been married for five years now, as a bit of a celebration for that, I got together with a friend and took pictures in my wedding dress. Granted I revamped it a bit, added a belt, didn't wear the straps and used the veil as more of a shawl, but it was a good day. I wanted to take pictures in the snow on my actual wedding day but due to weather and time it was too dark and there was a lack of that white stuff! So here we go, five years later I get to do what I intended.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010


Ash. It floated on the air like snow, coating the city in smeared grey. He took a breath of his last cigarette, ignoring the stinging heat on his fingers as it burned too close to the filter, the smell of singed wool assaulting his nostrils. It was better than the stink of death and charred wood that lingered in the bitter cold air.

Dropping the glowing butt into the cracked stone, already missing its warm nicotine, he ground it under worn boots and pushed away from the wall, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder and trudging down the narrow streets. His knapsack was alarmingly light and he knew carrying it was useless but he clung to it anway. A fools mission, scouting, looking for survivors, in a city of dead. How long had it been since he’d seen the white fog of breath on another soul? Instead he saw white faces rotting, flaking dried brownred and gaping mouths no longer able to suck in air.

He wanted something to drink, smooth gold fire that would warm his heart and keep it beating in his chest. Life felt foreign, he felt akin to a mummy, wraped in clothes that clung to him like a shroud, encrusted in dirt, blood and sweat; days, weeks, months old. A second skin just as filthy as the flesh underneath it. How long had it been since he bathed?

How long had it been?

Since his radio crackled life, since he’d heard orders, since was sent to this forsaken city, since his food had run out? Time was meaningless in a world of gray, shaded mornings, cloudy skies fogged with soot, black starless nights. They’d long since forgotten him, cast him off as another victim of an experiment gone wrong just like his commrades. The rest of his platoon had died the first few weeks they’d been dropped off, some coughing until their lungs bled and spilled at their feet, vaccines rejected. Others putting a bullet through their skulls to silence the screaming that echoed night after night.

It was quiet now, eerily so, to the point where he sometimes aimed his rifle at the sky and let of a round, screaming murder with every bang, just to hear something. But even bullets only echoed hollowly before they too fell silent.

Eyes scanning the empty street he let out a gutteral half whimper half sigh before turning to find shelter for the night. Another day spent wandering on blistered aching feet, ready for a night spent staring through one eye at his knife in the light of his small fire, watching it flash and wondering how it would look drenched in red and glimmering. He’d try if he had the courage, but like a plant withered and brown under the baking sun of the desert, he clung to life for reasons unknown. He’d find someone, anyone, before he breathed his last, he didn’t want to greet death on his own. A vow spoken the morning he woke up to find himself half blind and the last alive.


Morbid half stories that spill into paragraphs on my computer screen. I have no idea where this is going. I just started to write it tonight and here it is.