Indigo Writes

>>Indigo >>Fiction (poetry if I'm feeling snazzy) >>Can maybe make you laugh

Worlds Apart

It’s been a while since I updated (again, boo) so thought I would give my blog some TLC. Wrote this last night listening to the smooth sounds of Norah Jones, I’m happy with the words and stuff so hope you guys like it!


I wanted to get down in words how I’m feeling so I sat beneath the stars on my own and lit a candle, thinking of a walk on a cloudy day with none other than your hand in mine – the thought was sweet and quenched my thirst briefly until the polar, true thought of never having known you swelled in my brain and again I’m alone beneath the stars with a flicker of fire as my only company.

I wanted to forget you so I drank a lot and danced all night and nearly had fun except every time I paused for a cigarette or adjusted my top’s strap which kept falling down I would think of you and wanted you to be there, until I remembered you can’t forget someone who never really existed in your world, and you can’t miss someone you never had only dreamed of having.

I wanted to kiss you so I dreamed about it every night because no one can see my dreams, they’re just for you, but it’s difficult to control dreams and I kept dreaming about falling over because my shoelaces turned into snakes that bit my ankles. The closest I got to having a dream about kissing you was when I had a midday nap on a Sunday and I dreamt that I kissed Mila Kunis and she has brown hair and you have brown hair so that’s kind of close I guess but anyway I quickly realised dreaming about kissing you will never be as good as what I imagine the real thing to be so that didn’t work.

I wanted to exist in your world, briefly, fleetingly, mysteriously but social media scares me and I think it scares you more because I can’t find you anywhere. It doesn’t matter though because even if I had the opportunity to make a pair of footsteps in your universe I wouldn’t be able to do it because my left foot is bigger than my right foot and it’s embarrassing and I don’t want you to discover that until you’re well and truly (hopefully unlikely maybe one day) falling in love with me.

I wanted to take back my heart so I decided to kiss a boy to see how it felt but when I got the chance I chickened out because what if I didn’t like it and what if the boy did and wanted to do it again? I’d rather just be on my own thank you plus kissing is gross unless you really like the person or they’re Mila Kunis so I may as well wait it out.

I wanted to feel connected to you so I looked at the moon every night for a few minutes and hoped that maybe across the world somewhere you were also looking at the moon and for a brief period of time we would have at least that in common.

I wanted to be with you but I knew it couldn’t happen, not without a lot of legwork, and doing all this shit has taken up a lot of time so I promise I’ll stop wanting things for the sake of wanting and I’ll meet you halfway – it’d be nice to see you when I get there. Maybe even grab a drink.

For a Moment

Ello all – it’s been an unbelievably long time since my last update so thought I would break the dry spell and post something. I wrote this a while ago and then updated it a bit for coursework and generally got lovely feedback for it so thought it would be appropriate to share. The task was to give something unusual a voice, so I chose wind/air. Cheers for anyone who takes the time to give it a read, I appreciate it as always!

She stood there, facing the abrasive sea as it pushed itself onto the cliff’s side, trying its hardest to whittle the stone down in order to expand its territory. Her toes were hanging off the precipice, testing how near the drop she was willing to get, imagining what complete and utter freedom would feel like – imagining what it would be like to be me. I watched her, mesmerised.

Her freckled face relished the waning warm touch of the sun as it disappeared in the distant horizon, saying its last goodbye. Her eyes shut as her mouth opened, with an ever so slight smile, to taste the salty tang of the ocean that hovered around her. I brushed her blonde hair as she looked out at the vast sea before her, wanting desperately to see what was beneath the mysterious, calm surface. The seagulls called out to each other as they soared through my skies. She breathed me in and out, in and out, relishing the breaths I lent her and the comforting smells I brought with me. For a moment, she was an earthly angel.

Her small frame was covered in a soft slip that stuck to her legs as I moved around her, trying to get her attention. She hummed to herself, a soft tune that I carried with me, wanting desperately for it to reach a nearby human’s ears. However, I could not muster the strength to deliver her message, to sing her song. For a moment, she was a weary traveller.

She continued to edge closer and closer to the drop in front of her; the closer she got, the harder I pulled. She was determined, and fought back with equal power. She wanted to test her endurance, her bravery. She needed to know how far she could push, how close she could get. For a moment, she was a lone soldier.

I could sense her trepidation, her silent fear, and futilely tried to caress her soft skin. Her smile had dropped from her mouth, her eyes had lost their sparkle, her skin could only feel cold. I wrapped her body protectively in my grip, wordlessly pleading with her to stop resisting. I knew she could not understand me, just as I couldn’t understand her, and yet I was unable to give up. For a moment, she was a scared girl.

She hovered, for a moment, as she said her last goodbye. Her eyes were elsewhere, entrenched in a distant memory that was no longer a good enough reason to stay, yet she knew this would be the last time she was able to think it. A lone tear trickled down her pale cheek – I brushed it away and allowed it to join the salty water beneath her. For a moment, she was an ancient soul who had never belonged to this decaying world.

She shut her eyes, hiding them from this undeserving universe, and took a step out onto nothing. For a moment, she was limitless.

For a moment, gravity no longer pushed her down but allowed her to fly. For a moment, she soared with the birds and raced alongside me, propelling me to blow stronger and stronger. But then, neither I nor gravity were on her side. Our laws wouldn’t allow us to be. She began to fall, a smile planted on her face, as she stretched her arms out and laced her fingers in mine. I was the elevating wind beneath her wings, and yet the devastating weight on her shoulders. All I could do was give her one, final moment of peace before her inevitable joining with the murderous sea I battled with. For a moment, she was mine – and then, finally, she belonged to none. She crashed into the sea, her body engulfed in its tempting and deadly grip, and, for one last moment, she was a force of nature to be reckoned with, before allowing herself to descend into nothing and become what she was destined to be: a distant memory floating alongside the wind; alongside me.

Dear Reader

Dear reader, this is a piece that I wrote for a mock exam in creative writing a month or so ago. I had about an hour and a half/2 hours and chose a prompt in which I was told to bring a character to life. My aim for this is, while talking entirely about another character, to actually bring the narrator himself to life even though he avoids all serious conversation and reflection on his own choices. And yes, I think he’s a dickhead (which is unfortunate because originally I just felt sorry for him but after learning more about him…well, you’ll see). As always, comments/feedback/idle chit chat is welcome.

I know for certain that I loved Monroe Silverman. When I say that to people who knew her, they always roll their eyes in that way that says, ‘Yeah, didn’t we all.’ But I really did. It wasn’t her smile – the one where she lowered her chin, turned her lips towards the sky and looked into your soul with her golden orbs. It wasn’t the way she wrinkled her nose and flared her nostrils just a tiny bit when you made a comment she didn’t like. It wasn’t the way her eyebrows furrowed when she was confused or the way she stretched her back after standing up. It wasn’t the way she walked – purposeful, but never leaving anyone behind. That is, of course, until she left me behind.

I loved her from the moment she turned up in my village and decided to stay – not for me, but to experiment with having a home, a safe place. She hated having shackles, so much so that she eventually sold her home and simply slept on people’s sofas – no one minded putting her up for the night; she was a breath of fresh air.

She could never stay in one place for too long. Often, she would just disappear without leaving a trace. When she eventually, but without fail, appeared on my doorstep with some wacky story, she would never reveal where she’d been. Sometimes she’d go so far away that I’d receive an odd postcard, just to let me know she was okay. But that was rare, and in reality I knew she only sent to me as a way of letting me know she would be gone for longer than usual; she hated that I worried. She hated that there was anyone in this world that cared about her enough to worry.

She had a cat called Cat. She’d never seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s, so was unaware of how similar their owner-feline relationship was; they weren’t each other’s, but they had no one else. Cat lived in my house more than anyone else’s, but I didn’t mind the unexpected pet – she was a reminder of Monroe.

When Monroe left on that fateful night, Cat remained; but Cat was never quite the same. She came to my house less and less often until, eventually, she stopped showing up at all. Cat was enough like Monroe that I knew she’d be okay, but I still worried.

Monroe didn’t let anyone depend on her, just as she didn’t allow herself to depend on anyone. That was our biggest flaw. That, and the fact that she never loved me. But she let me love her – and that was enough for me.

Until it wasn’t.

Until I asked her when she’d be ready to settle down, to start a life with someone – not me, but anyone. I told her I’d wait for her – I just needed to know there was something to wait for. I told her it was okay if she didn’t love me, if she never loved me, as long as she would, eventually, stay.

She left that night without saying goodbye. Part of me knew she would, the rational part. But the part that was desperately in unrequited love with a beautiful girl was shattered, and everyday after I had to shed part of who I had been – until all I had left was a shell. Once I’d reached this point, my lowest point – which is a whole other story – I slowly, carefully, had to build myself back up, piece by broken piece.

I never recovered from the loss of Monroe Silverman. I never tried to; I knew it would be impossible.

When I hear rain pitter-pattering to the ground, I think of her. When I smell strawberries, I think of her. When I taste the salty tang of the ocean, I think of her. When I see a couple holding hands, I think of her. When I touch the soft skin of a newborn babe, I think of her.

When I shut my eyes at night after making love to my wife, I think of her.

When I wake up in the morning to the delighted cries of my six-year-old daughter, I think of her.

When I sip my coffee whilst feeding my cat, I think of her.

And when I receive a postcard with no name signed, no return address, no writing, I miss her with my whole being; my skin, my muscles, my tissue, my organs, every fiber of hair, every fingernail and freckle, yearns for her.

On meeting up with an old friend from that village that I could no longer have a life in, I was asked, ‘How? How did you know? How can you be so sure you loved her?’ 

I smiled and shook my head, refusing to reply.

And that’s when it clicked. I knew it was true, genuine, heartbreaking love for the simple fact that I wasn’t just refusing to answer, but that there was no answer. There’s no reason, no explanation, no logical thought-process. She never wanted me to love her and yet here I am, madly, futilely, destructively in love with a ghost.

And that, dear reader, is how I know that I, Jake Miller, loved Monroe Silverman – the mystery, the enigma, the anomaly – with all my naïve and desperate heart.

Coach Journey

Not the most exciting name, I know. But yeah there are words and stuff that I wrote from my brain so it’d be cool if people read them.

The coach is decently comfortable – nothing special, but no one ever expects it to be. It smells a bit, but, again, not too bad – there’s air conditioning, thank God. The coach hums peacefully – it knows what it’s job is and continues to do it, only complaining when the turns are too sharp or the driver brakes slightly too hard – something he seems to do a lot, unfortunately. At least I don’t get travel sick…the look on that baby’s face says I could be in for a long journey, however. The dad doesn’t look like he’s prepared for the inevitable vomit – best keep an eye out for that.






The indicator keeps itself busy. The coach shudders as we turn. There’s a moment where it feels like we’re just going to keep going forward – straight into that building – and, for some reason in my irrational brain, I send out a pulse telling my arm to hold onto the seat in front of me – just in case we do, indeed, never make the turn. But we do. It’s okay. I roll my eyes at my mother-inflicted paranoia and we continue on our way; coach and passengers as one fairly well oiled machine.








Oh God. Baby had enough. I grab the nearest sick bag to me and practically throw it on Dad’s lap. He looks at me gratefully but I just look away – I hate sick. I wrinkle my nose. It’s just a baby, it can’t help it, I try to convince myself, everyone throws up sometimes. It doesn’t help. I still feel animosity towards the baby for having no concern for the others on the coach and towards the father for having a child that can’t even handle a fucking coach turning right.



Flick tick tick tick tick tick flick.

You’re being unreasonable. Stop. It’s a baby and a father. You have no quarrel with them. Control yourself, you don’t want to go down that road again.

I look out the window; we’re on a straight, open road for now – no more turns for a little while, just smooth sailing. Sit back, relax, shut your eyes. The baby’s calmed down now and is sleeping peacefully. I feel jealousy form in the pit of my stomach. Babies have it so easy; just wait until you get older, kid. One day you’ll be just like me.

God I hope not. Maybe the kid isn’t so bad after all – just doing what it can to live in a world with shut arms. Shit. I’m staring. Shit shit shit – Dad’s looking at me with a funny expression.

“Cute kid,” I mutter, before turning to face away. He doesn’t reply. I kind of deserved that.





The coach moves into the next lane. The baby sleeps peacefully. The dad skims through a newspaper. The driver flicks and ticks occasionally. The humming and shuddering sends me into a sleep.

Everything’s okay, I think to myself as my consciousness begins to leave me.







Hi this is a thing I wrote.

You wanted to go out and play that day, even though mum said not to. You couldn’t stop chattering on about sandcastles. I didn’t want you to pick on me so I agreed – I didn’t really want to play outside, it was raining and the sky was colourless; mum said a storm was coming. But you’re my older sister and I didn’t want to disappoint you. We snuck out the back door while mum was reading in the living room – she’d lit a fire in the fireplace and the whole room was crackling with warmth. The fire radiated on her face – she looked so beautiful, her golden hair shone. I wanted nothing more than to curl up next to her with one of her hot chocolates (the one with marshmallows and whipped cream and sprinkles). But we crept past her, trying to hold in our snorts of laughter – we felt so rebellious, we never snuck out.

We threw on our waterproofs and wellies, grabbed spades and buckets and slowly shut the door behind us, hoping mum didn’t hear the click.

“We did it!” You grinned. “I didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

“Stop calling me kid. Only dad calls me kid – you’re not old enough to call someone kid. You are a kid!I spat.

You rolled your baby-blue eyes. “Come on!”

You started running away from me – I hated it when you did that. You were faster than me and much lighter on your feet. It always made me feel so left behind. But I chased after you; it was my sisterly duty. You kept running; three minutes, five minutes, eight minutes. By the time we got to the beach my insides were burning and I couldn’t breathe – my head began swimming and I felt my eyes roll back. There were stars everywhere – I knew it was only afternoon, but I couldn’t tell if they were real or not. You saw me flailing but you didn’t stop running. You ran right into the water. Why did you do that? You knew I couldn’t keep up anymore – I could barely stand upright. I can’t come after you – stop, I want to go with you! Don’t leave me here, I’m scared.

By the time I caught my breath and could move my numb limbs, I could hear mum calling our names. I couldn’t see you anymore. There was sand scratching against my pink skin – it hurt so much. Mum said you were gone but I thought you were going to come back – you had to come back. I waited by that backdoor every day until we moved house. Mum would always start crying when she saw me sitting by that door. I didn’t understand why. I stopped waiting for you after that. That’s when I learnt that sometimes when people go away, they don’t ever come back.

I still pray everyday that it was a mistake, that you got lost. No one found your body on the shore and instead you ended up being taken in by a king and queen who were so kind and loving and beautiful you never wanted to return.

I hope you’re happy in your castle. Mine got torn down that day – mum never forgave herself; if she’d just looked up at the right time, she said, none of this would have happened. Dad didn’t blame her – but he started buying lots of bottles. Whatever was inside them smelled horrible and made me scrunch up my nose. One day, he offered me a sip – his breath was smothered by the liquid. Then mum and dad argued and he went away. He never came back, either. But mum said it was his choice – that he wasn’t happy – and that you didn’t get one.

It’s not just you I miss. I miss our home, our family, our world. It’s all gone now, and I’m all alone. Why did you have to run so fast?

I went to Amsterdam and all I got were these stupid puns

(Disclaimer: These puns were not actually written in Amsterdam.)

Okay so one of my dear friends, Teige, and I have been having a back-and-forth pun-off for a few hours now and I found some of them so funny that I felt the need to turn them into a post. We were talking about weed in general and how it affects people differently and before long we started firing out puns about smoking. These aren’t about anyone we know, we kind of just made up a character and went with the flow. Enjoy:

Teige: She needs to stop smoking. Have to put it ‘blunt’ly

Me: Maybe with her friend in a ‘joint’ effort?

Teige: I think she should just ‘draw’ the line and stop smoking

Me: She should ‘hash’ out a plan to stop

Teige: You’d think one of her ‘buds’ would tell her she has a smoking problem?

Me: Maybe we could app‘roach’ her about it

Teige: I don’t think it’d work, she’s got a bit of a ‘chip’ on her shoulder

Me: Yeah you’re right, I’m happy ‘to bacc o’ff

Teige: Hopefully she will have an e‘piff’any and stop

Me: We should get Ismail ‘Zoot’at to help

Teige: If she continues to smoke weed, she’s gonna seriously amster-damage her health

Me: If she smokes herself to death I hope she resins in peace

Teige: I hope she can TH-C the damage it’s done to her life

Me: Can-a-bisy girl like her really find the time to get the help she needs though?

…and then we trailed off and started talking about turning these into a rap song, because, you know, we’re just that nerdy. (Also credit to my friend Sam, who helped out by thinking up the ‘zoot’ pun and credit to Ismail for the use of his name)

There’s a hole in my stomach

This is a short film I’ve been working on for my film coursework. It’s what my teachers have dubbed a ‘feminist art house’ piece (a description I welcomed), even though I honestly didn’t have any clue what I was doing. Anyway, here it is. Hope you enjoy!

What time’s the bus come?

This is a flash fiction piece that I wrote a long time ago and has been lurking in the murky depths of my laptop’s endless folders and files very usefully labelled “sdfsd” so that I would continue to ignore it until I finally decided to clear up my stuff. And yes I stole that last line from Arctic Monkeys (though it doesn’t count as stealing if I admit it…more borrowing).

Ripped buttons. Lack of clothing. Hard mattress, soft pillows. Hungry lip-biting. Whispers of anything-but-sweet nothings. Fumbling in the dark. The lights turned off for fear of being greeted by an ugly face. Learning the curves of the person in front of you, ignoring the flaws and focusing on the fire. Fingertips on skin. Skin on skin. His skin on her skin. My skin on your skin. Blunt fingernails scratching at delicate backs. Follow the motions, dancing and swaying to the music entering deaf ears.

Sweat, sweat, sweat.

Done. Breathe. Detach from sticky limbs that don’t belong to you. Lights stay off. Awkward fumbling with numb hands and blind eyes. Search for clothes. Locate clothes. Hastily dress, ignore buttons.

“I’ll walk you out – what time’s the bus come?”

The Darkness

Hello friends/readers – this is a scifi story I wrote for my creative writing coursework and it quickly became my baby. I worked really really hard to create the right voice for Oliver (to be introduced) and honestly nearly all the words are there for a reason. I would really really seriously (yes I mean business) love some feedback/CONSTRUCTIVE criticism because I want the story to be the best it can be and I know my eyes alone won’t help it get there. Anyway so I used the song I Can Barely Breathe by Manchester Orchestra for all my inspiration and I would recommend it as good listening music to set the vibe. I was originally thinking because the story is set out in “entries” that I could post each one separately in hopes to boost Oliver’s story but I think I would prefer less people to read it but for the impact to hit harder…so I’m rambling and writing a long introduction because I’m really scared to post this story because it really did take a lot of work. I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for reading!

TLDR (too long didn’t read): this is a sci fi story and it took a long time to write please don’t be mean.

Before we came, they were selfish. Creatures who cared only for beauty and money. It was a laughable, miniscule existence – yet they seemed to think of themselves as gods. They tried to explore the stars as if there was nothing waiting just beyond their reach. But there was something there – we were there. Watching. Waiting. Laughing.

They called themselves a ‘civilization’. We thought of them as a joke. They spent their lives exchanging one thing for the next, trying to find the item that would make their lives happy, consuming until they faded. The worker bees sometimes donated their wealth or possessions to charity, and we watched as the queens – the high-profile, the elite, the world-recognised and the famous – only donated their time. We saw business conglomerates controlling people, and people controlling countries. We continued to observe as corruption spilled into their world, its presence just as strong as our own, and destroy everything it touched. And we raised our eyebrows when they all accepted it and ignorantly continued their futile lives, like ants all dedicating their lives to a queen without even realising it. We gazed and stared and gaped until we could no longer bear this absurd planet – its head had grown too big. We came down as one, and we brought devastation as one.

They called us ‘The Darkness’. We hadn’t been called that before. We were too advanced, too awe-inspiring and awful, too great, too absolute for them. We were incomprehensible to their puny brains.


When we came, they were eradicated. When we were done, we returned to our waiting place, out in deep space far beyond the nighttime of the sky. At some point, the entire galaxy will be aware of our might. We choose today to not be this day. For now, we are content to linger in our never-ending Darkness; watching, waiting, destroying.


Entry 1

I would never have been able to believe it until I saw it. I don’t think anyone was able to believe it; the claims were absurd, and many who saw it on the news thought it was a conspiracy and carried on with their lives – until they were killed. A mass of energy that seemed to come out of nowhere? It (they? I’m still unsure how to refer to them; ‘The Darkness’ had become a popular term. I thought it was too hopeful) came from deep space and managed to enter our orbit without anyone noticing.

Brian tried to warn me the day It came. He said something crazy had shown up on his screen – something he didn’t understand. Brian understood everything. I had a look at it and called Susan from the IT department. She said there was nothing wrong with the computer. I told Brian to keep an eye on it, that it was probably an anomaly and nothing to worry about. Brian came back twenty minutes later. The anomaly had grown bigger. I was having a bad day that day; I’d been arguing with Bella all morning and just wanted to sit at my desk, drink coffee and play solitaire on my computer – I was trying to beat my high score. I yelled at him. I told him to come back when the anomaly looked like it was going to destroy the world and then laughed cruelly as he stuttered and blushed. He left my office – I still remember this whole day so clearly (I remember every day too clearly). That’s when it happened.

There was a shudder, a slight tremor that ran through the world. My coffee fell off my table and I swore loudly. Brian knocked on my door. I swore loudly at Brian. He pointed at something. I looked out my window.

I shuddered, a slight tremor ran through my body. I was standing in the pool of coffee on the floor but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered at this point. It was too late. I remember laughing.


Brian died that day. Thousands of people did – but it’s Brian’s death that stuck with me. They say that only the guilty sleep in prison. I’m definitely in a prison; there’s no way to hide from The Darkness, they’ll take me when they want me. So all I can do is sleep at night and survive the days in a destroyed world.


Does that make me guilty?


My name is Oliver Truman. I’m 34. I have a wife. I have a home full of memories. I have a dog called Percy. I have a job and I make good money. But none of that means anything anymore. It doesn’t matter what my name is, how old I am. My personal life doesn’t matter. I’m sure my house has been looted and/or destroyed. Percy was lost within the first day – part of me likes to imagine him running free and wild and living the greatest life of a dog that ever lived. But I know it’s not true.

None of this matters. What I’m writing doesn’t matter. Who I am doesn’t matter. What I stand for doesn’t matter. My survival doesn’t even matter. If there’s one thing The Darkness taught us before it killed everyone, it’s humility. Not that humility matters at this point, either.


Entry 2

I don’t really know what use me writing this will have. None, really. No one will ever get the chance to read the ramblings of a man waiting for death, for Darkness. But it’s oddly soothing; unsettling, for sure. But soothing nonetheless. Maybe it’s just to make sure I don’t forget who I am? I guess until I die it’s important to remember who I was before the world went Dark.

Bella’s been ill for the last couple of days. I’ve been doing as much for her as I can, but other than sitting by her side and making sure her flannel stays cold there’s not much else for it. I hate feeling this useless. I asked Blackwall if I could go out with the ‘hunters’ (he seems to think we’re in some fantasy role-playing game) to try and find something to help Bella. He laughed in my face. Whoever let him be leader deserves what’s coming to them.

I don’t like or trust this group. I keep getting the feeling that everyone’s just waiting for something to snap. I might take Bella and leave. There’s an old woman I like here, too. She’s called Pop (I don’t know what’s with the names, apparently the end of the world is a good time to embrace who we really are). We call her that because she has these funny episodes and walks around in circles saying “pop!” over and over. It’s the only time she speaks. Maybe that’s why I like her?

We stumbled on this group after maybe three days of The Darkness. Quite literally, stumbled. We entered their camp without meaning to and they pretty much said join us and we’ll give you food or leave us and you get nothing. Suffice to say, we were hungry.


I still look up at the sky every few minutes or so. For some obscene reason, I keep hoping there’s something there to look at. But no, The Darkness remain. There’s probably no sky left whatsoever.


Entry 3

Okay, it’s time to leave. I overheard Blackwall saying the group needed to leave behind anyone holding us back – meaning Bella and Pop. Seriously, who is this guy?!

“You can’t just leave people behind!” I said. Maybe it’d be better to actually say it to him than just walk around murmuring it to myself. I know what he’d do, though. He’d laugh at me – like he always does.


Sky still non-existent.


Entry 4

Blackwall is missing. Him as well as two other ‘scouts’ (starting to kind of enjoy this RPG language).

They went to look for a new camp – the resources around us are starting to run low; we’ve pretty much picked the place clean. They left yesterday morning, and no one is allowed to stay out ‘overnight’ (not that night is any different to day anymore – for some reason time is the only human construct that still remains). According to Blackwall, nighttime is when The Darkness has most of its power.


How the fuck would he know?


Anyway, so he’s missing and everyone is all freaked out. I figure I should hang around for another day or two to make sure these people don’t start killing each other in their confusion. That’s how bad it is.


The earth is starting to die. Without any sunlight, the plants can’t photosynthesize. What happens when there’s no vegetation left? All the animals will starve to death. What happens then?


We starve to death.


Still no sky, just Darkness.


Entry 5

Okay, so three very strange things have happened. Whilst these three things are odd enough on their own, they all link together to form a triad of weirdness.

Blackwall’s body was found, along with the two others. The weird part? None of them had any eyes. There was no blood or gore as one would expect. Their eyes were simply not in their sockets anymore.

I threw up a lot.

The second strange thing was that I had a dream. This would not be strange if it weren’t for the third strange happening. After having this dream, I discussed it with the rest of the group. All at once, we realised since The Darkness came that none of us had had any dreams. Not a single person. Until now.

They’re starting to turn to me for answers I don’t have; they want to know why they’re taking our dreams along with our world. Why I’m able to dream. What to do, where to go. All I can give them is more questions.


Returning to my second strange point – the dream. It was not that exciting or scary. It didn’t leave me shaking and sweating in my tent. It did, however, lead me to our three dead members’ bodies. I was lying in my tent, just like in the real world, and I heard a rustle at the entrance. I unzipped it, and Bella (who’s doing much better now, thank you for remembering) asked me where I was going.

“Nowhere,” I told her.

Outside the tent were three pairs of eyes. Two brown pairs, and the dark grey eyes I recognised to be Blackwall’s. I followed these three sets of floating eyes. They led me to their owners, and then, their job done, levitated into The Darkness.

The whole thing was very matter-of-fact.


It got me thinking; people are scared, obviously. I’m scared, obviously. But no one seems as terrified as they should be. There’s chaos, I won’t pretend there’s not. But in the grand scheme of things, considering the shit storm that’s been going on, I would expect a lot more terror in people’s eyes.


Wait, eyes.


Eyes eyes eyes eyes eyes. Eyes everywhere.


Something weird is going on.
Still no sign of change in the sky. But ever since my dream, I’m sure every now and then I’ve seen two tiny, circular balls floating up and up and up.


Entry 6

I saw sunlight today. The others say I didn’t but I know it – there’s no other feeling. I was lying outside on a rug with my eyes shut and all of a sudden I felt that warm sliver on my cheek – you know the one – and it flushed half of my face into the purest joy one can ever find. I opened my eyes and there it was – between the swirling Darkness of doom and destruction; a single, tiny, miniscule, microscopic but oh-so-delicious ray of sunshine. Just one single ray.

Just one. But it was life.


I haven’t had anything to drink in two days.

Train Carriage

I wrote a thing about people on a train. It hasn’t got a title and I can’t think of anything appropriate other than “Train Carriage”; not very imaginative, I know. There’s a baby and a guy in a suit and a can of fanta and some other things. Enjoy.

He was just jabbering away on his phone, ignoring his kid completely. What an arsehole. The kid, a grubby little shit with food around its mouth wearing all blue – I assume to let everyone know that despite it clearly being a bit of a runt, in fact, he was a boy – just kept staring at me. Fuck knows why, I wasn’t very interesting. I tried to drown out the droning voice of the guy in a suit and the weird stares his baby was giving me. I shut my eyes, thinking of Emma and how soon I would see her. But then the kid dropped the dummy that had been keeping it quiet and all hell broke loose from its lungs. Fucking hell, definitely not a smoker.

“Sorry about the noise Steve, Junior’s crying.” A pause. “No, no – I can still talk.” Another pause. “Well, if Louise isn’t going to give the presentation then who the fuck will?” Pause. “I’m not fucking doing it, I’ve got my kid with me and I have to drop him at his mum’s.” Pause. “I did fucking tell you I wouldn’t be at this meeting – I’m a dad, Steve, I have fucking responsibilities.” Mr Suit leaned over and picked up the dummy that had been on the train carriage’s floor, dropped it onto the kid’s lap, and then continued to yammer down the phone.

I groaned internally. I drank the last of my Fanta, emptied half a packet of skittles into it and flipped the tab round so that they wouldn’t fall out. I leaned over my seat and looked at the kid. “Hey, hey kid.” It wasn’t hard to get his attention; he was clearly desperate for some. I started shaking around the can. “Look, it’s a rattle.” The kid gave a big grin and started laughing. I handed the can to him and sank back into my seat.

“One second Steve,” Mr Suit said, staring at me. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Funnily enough, I don’t enjoy listening to babies cry. It’s a rattle, and your kid isn’t balling his eyes out – you could thank me instead of swearing at me.” I rolled my eyes.

Mr Suit grabbed the can out of his son’s tiny hands and crushed it before throwing it on the floor.

The kid started crying again, and this time he meant business. Heads were turning, people started murmuring. And Mr Suit just carried on talking on his phone.