#amwriting – E. De Sousa

Tony Blair: ‘Time to distinguish’ between people who have and haven’t had jab

Tony Blair: ‘Time to distinguish’ between people who have and haven’t had jab
— Read on amp.lbc.co.uk/news/tony-blair-time-to-distinguish-between-people-who-have-and-havent-had-jab/

THE CURE

I recently submitted my final paper for my degree in creative writing. It was a screenplay about a dystopian society set in 2025 where the pandemic of 2020 had separated society into two distinctive groups: the vaccinated and the anti-vaxers. What’s ironic in reading this article is the thread of truth captured in my script about how quickly society can restructure itself for the greater good and marginalise those who do not conform. In my dystopia, new ‘safe areas’ are cordoned off and restructured around towns, industrial areas and local neighbourhoods leaving the rest as the red zones where anti-vaxers must now reside. These ‘New Haven’ towns have a co-ordinated team of safety officers funded by the big pharma companies who, through their powerful position of providing these vaccines and offering back payments, pull the puppet strings strings of government officials. The purpose of these officers is to check Vax Passes given to the vaccinated and prevent anti-vaxers from invading New Haven.

The icing on my dystopian cake is the fact that government has allowed the big pharma group to data mine all the records of those vaccinated to find a carrier who might hold immunity to the new strains of the virus mutating and spreading, even though all these safety systems have been put in place.

They find the cure in a baby born of an anti-vaxed mother exposed to all the variants and a vaccinated father who has participated in vaccine trials. Of course, thanks to the blood records being freely accessible to the big pharma, the family have no choice but to go on the run to protect their child from becoming a lab rat.

Now obviously, I’m not saying all this would come true in reality, but take note: most of this script was written before these recent headlines were announced by government. Our NHS records will be sold if we don’t opt out before the end of June. Segregation of a marginalised group always starts with the rhetoric of ‘us and them’. Look at the hatred drummed up for immigrants to countries already so mixed (as proven in their own history and genes – a fact that they conveniently ignore).

It’s always interesting to see how fiction becomes reality in the height of man’s mania to survive.

Free writing – Lights Out

blogs

When the light goes out – not the light in the bathroom or the upstairs closet – no, the light in your eyes; that dim orb of humanity, the apex of my focus, my lighthouse. When that fades, will I be gone too? Will the memory of my touch, those living kisses we shared under the moonlight – will they go too? Never to be remembered. Never to be mentioned. Never?

Am I invisible without your existence? The closeness of living our shared life bears that question. We sat and ate, breathing in and out, side by side, bearing the highs and lows like waves billowing against the sandbanks till our efforts waned and the tide drew out. The carnage of our choices remain dented in the sand, only to be washed away by the next generation and the next, the endless cycle of invisibility.

Your eyes are closing now and I can feel my memories being sucked away, vacuumed into eternity where you will be without me. All the anger, the sulks and frustration fade in the drowning sun that once swam across your brown irises. As I say goodbye I know that a part of me has gone too. I’m halved. What remains is the nothingness that survived your demise. I’m afraid.

Tomorrow, the world will awaken refreshed and anew. I will still be here, missing you.

Snotty Norman and Spotty Sally Find Fame

blogs, Children, Uncategorized

Living through the pranks and big personalities at Arden White Primary School was pretty tough but starting secondary school and finding out secrets about your form tutor on your first day can be life threatening! Snotty Normal and Spotty Sally are thrown together as they uncover a secret that could expose the awful things teachers do to naughty students. Who can they trust to help them tell the truth about Evelyn Winsborough Academy?

Here’s a little snippet from my first draft:

The ear-piercing sound of the first period bell resounded across the school, instigating a stampede of footsteps to the next class. The new year 7’s tentatively got up and followed Mrs Whitby to the door. Organised chaos awaited them outside. Shoals of students swam by, blotting out the view of the quad and the fountain. One by one, the year 7’s disappeared into the fray, pushing towards their next class and hoping for a gap in the crowd to actually make it there. Signs pointed each newbie in the right direction and within three minutes, the quad was clear, the corridors empty and an eerie silence replaced the noise of just a few seconds before. Snotty Norman sniffled next to Spotty Sally; both looked confused and afraid. They had missed their chance. All the other students had listened to Mrs Whitby’s boring chat about where to go and what to do next. They had not.

The school looked overwhelmingly big and daunting. Where was Geography Class 7T? Without knowing it, without feeling it, Norman and Sally edged closer to each other, feeling the comfort of having someone else just as daft as the other. What were they going to do?

How to Inspire Words

Adult Fiction, blogs, Uncategorized

Have you ever been tempted to write a short narrative motivated by music? It is a wonderful exercise that produces different effects to the words, sometimes attaching a rhythm or patterning to the narrative.

In my endeavours to find ways to stimulate my writing, I try to choose music from different genres. It can inspire thoughts about characters or influence a scene that has been suffering from mental block. Sometimes, it’s just for fun to relieve tension and let the mind flow, unimpeded.

Today, I’d like to share with you a little piece written under the influence of Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy. I’ve chosen an extended version that allows me enough time to become accustomed to the melody and then to submerge my mind into the emotional senses aroused by the music. Suddenly, the music speaks and all I have to do is note the words flowing from its narrative.

So, here it is – my little piece written under the influence of Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy! Enjoy.

Soft, sensual lips slowly murmured my name. I felt the quiver resonating through my body, sending shivers down my spine, extending outwards to my toes and the butterflies dancing under my ribs. Shadows of laughter hinted at those lips, so delicious and inviting. Yet, something held me back. Was it the unanswered question lingering in my dry throat, hungry for the lips to sate me? Was it knowing that once I succumbed to such sweet temptation, there was no going back? Or the fact that our bodies were entwined when they weren’t supposed to touch? Oh, sweet torture.

Angry, I let go of those long fingers wrapped around my waist. They slipped away, taking the warmth of their touch with them. Desolation engulfed my now hollow frame. How could I be so stupid? Those lips had promised salvation; knights willing to slay the hunger growling inside me like an ugly beast pushing and shoving at my maligned heart. Helpless, I watched as they turned down their protuberant smile and sharp lines invaded smooth skin around them. A sadness I had caused shaped something once so beautiful and eager. So easy it would have been to say yes; so easy to quiet the doubts pecking at my temptation.

Alas, those sweet persuasions were now far away and focused on a new prey, a prey eager to take the trip to fantasia.

I watch as they meet, the enduring touch divulging a missing innocence that was never there to begin with, the embarrassing tartness of such haste and machination. My heart cries at the betrayal but my mind celebrates its fastidiousness – the victory of overcoming a certain desolation that would have cracked an already fragile heart, the hurt that might have been suffered after such sweet salvation.

No. I refuse to watch any longer. After all, it is my birthday and there will surely be more hidden promises of amuse bouche awaiting to entice my appetite for amour.

The Pink Mask

adult fiction, Uncategorized

Taster:

Crystal quivered as another sob escaped her swollen lips. How could such a simple plan go so wrong? She had followed her sister’s commands to the letter. Yet, somehow, somewhere along the line, what was supposed to be a silly prank had become real. Her sister was dead. Tangled, wild hair fell unchecked across her face as she turned to watch the paramedics load Harold’s unconscious body into the back of an awaiting ambulance.

She sighed. All this for revenge. Had she had the nerve, she would have stopped her sister in time; hindsight was a beautiful thing. After giving her statement to the police, she would be free to go, whereas poor Harold would be arrested for Melanie’s murder. Crystal gulped down a nervous giggle. Well, from another perspective, Melanie plan had worked!

With the body of her sister wrapped in black and tucked away in the back of another ambulance, the sirens wailed their despair as they pulled away from the crime scene.

The body of Melanie Kent wrapped in black, most becoming for any beautiful corpse, mused Crystal. The heavy footfall of a very large man dressed in a heavy trenchcoat caught her attention. His determined walk in her direction wiped the lingering smile off her pretty face.

“Detective Bob Jones, miss. I’d like to ask you a few questions about what occurred tonight.” Heavy brows and the hooded, focused stare scared her. She wrapped the patchwork blanket tighter around her body.

“I already answered the officer’s questions detective. What more do you want from me?”

Jones watched her. She was as slinky as a cat’s tail, curling her feline body into a protective stance at his scrutiny.

“Do you know the woman who was found in the bathtub?”

“N-no detective. As I told Officer Campbell, Harold and I were in the bedroom. I got up to go freshen up and found her there. I tried to pull her out but…” A lonely tear wet her cheek. “The blood. It was too much and my mind snapped. I screamed. Harold, he tried to help me but I knocked him aside and ran.” Her hand quivered as she cleared stray strands of hair from her eyes. “The next thing I remember is being wrapped up in this blanket and the police arriving.”

The detective watched Crystal picking at the blanket, as though trying to remove the lies woven within. He sighed. Life would be so simple if people told the truth the first time round.

Tag: #amwriting