Fantasy Map - Kingdom of Helmriche

I haven't updated my blog but I have been busy. Yesterday, I reached the 20,000 word target on my novel, The Stone Men of Raksaka. This is a First Class piece of work I did for my university course that I am now continuing into a trilogy.

While I won't post the story here, I'll leave you with another one of my maps.

For more maps of the Six Kingdoms, and specifically Adruhal, just click here.

Here are some Game of Thrones style House Sigils I also did involving the Province of Kardinia and the Six Kingdoms. 

If you do fancy reading more of The Stone Men of Raksaka write me a message and I'll send you a copy to read, and maybe you can give me some constructive criticisms. 

Until then, I better get back to writing! 

The Stone Men of Raksaka

This is my third piece of writing to receive a First - 79% in fact, and supposedly 80% is publishable. I had a good feeling about this piece before handing it in and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it too. It is almost an intervention or retelling of a piece I did for Fiction for Children, Royalteen. It's a more adult, less superficial version at least. I was reading Game of Thrones at the time and you may see some similarities between the two. So if you loved that, you'll love this.
It's only the first 2,500 words, but I am planning on finishing it as a novel and hopefully getting it published. I said I would write it this week but instead I've been watching Disney movies. It's an addiction.
Sci-Fi and Fantasy was my favourite module of this year and in hindsight I really wish I had done a fantasy for my dissertation. But what's done is done.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as did writing it.

The Stone Men of Raksaka

He piled sand upon his knee and watched as it skittered down his leg, catching in his dark hairs. Between his dry fingertips he crumbled more, creating a gritty mound. Sighing, Emin leaned back on his elbows, the sand tumbled back to earth. It was warm on his skin; the sun had yet to bake it to blistering heats. Staring far across the desert he was sure he could see the grasslands of Helmriche, but it was more likely to be a mirage.

He’d foolishly tried to walk there when he was younger. At sundown, he had snuck from the hut and started out across the Desert Lands. Even at night the desert could be a dangerous place. Dirt dogs tracked his every step and he had not been sparing with his water. He’d still been able to see the huts of Raksaka when he finally decided he had to turn back. He’d slunk back in as quiet as a whisper, but his baba had heard.

                ‘You want to go walking? Let’s see how far you can walk after this.’

                Emin ran a finger across one of the shiny white scars that laced his legs. He hadn’t walked for a week after the whipping; every time he’d tried the wounds would reopen.

He rolled over in the sand, savouring the peace. When the sun rose between the Eastern Lerrnayin Mountains, Raksaka would awaken. The women would be the first, tending to the skinny goats and the dry crops. Then the children would come from the mud huts, begging their maminka’s for food they didn’t have. The children would have to be satisfied with wheat and water.

The men would rarely leave their mud homes, preferring the coolness inside. His baba cursed the gods if he was ever called from his hut - even if it was a summons from the High Leader.

The Savasci had to be at the training yard an hour after sunup. Emin was expected to be there.

When he heard the bustling maminka’s and their squalling children Emin knew it was time to get ready. He looked back into the distance, over the Desert Lands, to Helmriche. It would always be a mirage.

* 

The Savasci hut was dry and dusty. The hot air and the stench of sweat suffocated Emin. His mouth felt like it was full of sand and he could only think of water and fresh air. He stood straight like the other boys, all wearing rough leather tunics, with notched swords at their hips; swords taken from the corpses of raiders. Emin was not the tallest, but he was the oldest at six-and-ten. He’d been in the Savasci for three years and knew what Chief Devrim was saying by heart.

                ‘They steal from us. Every day they steal a little more. First it was land, then our riches, crops, and animals. In the night they kill our men and rape our women. Everything they have is rightfully ours. We shall take it back.’

                It was the same each day. The Easterners of the Six Kingdoms were deceitful, thieving bastards that deserved to rot in the pits of Felaket for robbing the Raksaka’s of their land and birthright.

                Emin joined the boys as they raised their swords to the air. Some of the novices had to hold their sword with two hands to hold it steady. The Chief spoke in his booming voice.

                ‘Out of the sand come men of stone. These men are brave and strong. These men shall not be defeated. These men are the Savasci of Raksaka!’

Emin fought in the yard against Direnc. He was only small, aged two-and-ten, making him one of the youngest of the Savasci, and barely a challenge. Emin had been training with Direnc since the last turn of the moon, but his swordplay still lacked the Savasci passion. His long dark hair was tied back with a piece of knotted grass, a frown of concentration screwed up his face. Emin blocked the boy’s attacks easily with a flick of his sword. They were unlikely to ever claim back the East with only a handful of children. Especially as the men of Raksaka lay in the shade, sweat beading on their wrinkled faces, being served by their sandwives. They don’t deserve the Eastern lands anymore, Emin thought bitterly. With a sudden burst of anger Emin swung his sword hard at Direnc, who made a clumsy block, tripped over his feet, and landed heavily in the sand. Training with Direnc reminded him of his first suns with the Savasci. He had been worried about joining; he never wanted to kill anyone. He had thought that it might earn him Baba’s respect. Yet he’d been part of the group for three years and done nothing more than train with battered swords, and his baba still treated him with contempt. He was beginning to wonder where the honour in being Savasci lay.

                Sheathing his sword, Emin then gave a hand to Direnc. ‘You fought like a true stone man,’ Emin told him.

                ‘I felt more like a mud man,’ the boy replied, dusting off his tunic. ‘You are a true stone man, Emin. I heard Chief Devrim say so to Cetin.’ Direnc grinned.

                Emin pursed his lips; anything said to his baba was not a good thing.

                ‘Go train with Tarik,’ Emin ordered the boy. ‘I must speak to Chief Devrim.’

                Direnc chewed his lip, his eyes wide. ‘Did I say something wrong?’

Emin smiled. ‘A Savasci should never doubt.’

Direnc nodded eagerly. ‘Never doubt. Never fear. Never flee,’ he recited.

He ran to Tarik’s side calling out over his shoulder, ‘I’ll beat Tarik, and then you, Emin!’

 *

Emin couldn’t find the Chief that afternoon. He searched the Savasci huts, the yard, and down by the Kushca tree. When he asked Devrim’s sandwife about his whereabouts she shrugged and shook her head. Emin knew that it was too hopeful; why would Devrim share his business with a sandwife? Maybe the Chief was taking the watch. Many had heard the Dirt dogs howling at night, and torches had been spotted in the darkness.

As the sun dipped below the peaks of the Western Lerrnayin Mountains, Emin trudged back to the hut he shared with his baba. With any luck he would be asleep. The fat man was snoring loudly on his bed of straw, flies buzzing around his head. Every so often he would raise an arm and try to swat them away. Emin removed the sword from his hip, but was too tired to take off his leather tunic. With a yawn he collapsed onto his own straw bed. He briefly wondered why the Chief would talk to Baba before his eyes shut and darkness enveloped him.

Women’s screams woke him. Fire flickered shadows around the hut – a hundred demons of Felaket. Emin leapt to his feet, sword in hand. His baba snorted and rolled onto his back.

                ‘What’s going on,’ he slurred.

                Emin didn’t answer.

Never doubt, he thought to calm his racing heart.

He flung back the grass curtain that covered the doorway. Outside huts were on fire; people were running and screaming, flinging sand on the flames. In the chaos men in chainmail ransacked huts and grabbed women and young girls.

Never fear.

On his left, Emin saw a child crying for his maminka, watching as she was dragged away by a tall man, his armour glowing red in the firelight.

Never flee.

                Emin charged the man, but he was too quick. He shoved the woman away and unsheathed his own weapon. Their swords rang together in a clash of steel. Emin sidestepped a swift blow, then another. The man was taller and heavier, with much more protection than Emin. But that didn’t stop him. He took a deep breath and swung his sword low. His blade caught the attacker in the knee, in a gap in his armour. The man’s leg buckled, but he wasn’t seriously hurt. Emin wasted no time. He brought down the hilt of his sword on the back of his head. The man fell face down into the sand. The woman squeezed Emin’s hand before running to her child. They disappeared into the night.

                Emin had no rope to restrain the raider; he only hoped he would stay unconscious. He gave him another smack with his sword just in case. Hurrying to one of the burning huts, the heat leapt at Emin’s face, tears stung his eyes. Grabbing handfuls of sand he helped the others to put out the flames.

The fire was almost smothered when more screams filled the air. Emin grabbed his sword and ran. Down near the Kushca tree an intruder was fighting two Savasci at once. The boys’ old dull blades were no match for his longsword, but they battled on, parrying and blocking. Lying by the enemy’s feet was a small crumpled body. Long black hair covered the face of the child. Emin’s blood boiled. For the first time in his life he finally understood what the Chief had been saying. These Easterners did rob them of everything - even their children’s lives. With blood coursing through his veins, Emin lowered his sword and stormed the attacker, taking him by surprise. It was in those precious moments that Emin managed to plunge his sword into the man’s side. It tore through leather, skin, muscle alike, getting caught on the bones of his ribcage. He let out a gasp of scarlet spittle. The two young Savasci stared at Emin, their faces pale; one’s leg was drenched in dark gore from a gaping wound on his thigh. Emin’s heart pounded in his chest. His lungs burned with every breath. Adrenaline pumped through him. He kicked the fallen man before turning to the small body. Pushing the hair aside his heart stopped.

Little Direnc.

Emin dropped to his knees and cradled the boy’s head in his lap.

‘You are a true stone man.’

 *

Devrim, Baba, and the High Leader, Hakan, stood in front of him. He’d never met the High Leader before. He was one of the darker skinned men of the clan, with oiled black hair that hung around his shoulders. His face was beardless, uncommon in the Raksaka. Thick dark brows lowered over his narrowed eyes. A massive cudgel looked weightless in his strong hands. He rearranged his fingers round the leather grip causing the muscles in his arms to flex.

Devrim was talking animatedly while Hakan stared at Emin, his face hard. Baba had his huge arms crossed, scowling darkly, bearing his yellowing teeth.

                ‘I told Cetin four suns ago that Emin was one of the best Savasci and what happened at the raid only proves that,’ Devrim insisted.

                Hakan’s eyes roved over Emin, who tried not to squirm under his intense gaze. Was he one of the best Savasci? He hadn’t intended to kill that man, but he’d been so angry. The dead man plagued his dreams. Direnc haunted his nightmares.

                ‘Pah!’ Baba interrupted. ‘This boy is a runt. Not worth wasting your time on.’

                Emin had expected that, but Devrim seethed.

                ‘This runt killed an Eastern raider and allowed us to capture another, while you sat on your craven arse, hiding with the women.’ Devrim spat at Baba’s bare feet.

                Baba lunged at him, his clenched fist slamming into Devrim’s jaw. Hakan watched them fight, his lips pressed into a thin line.

                ‘Enough!’ He slammed his cudgel down on Baba’s back. The man buckled with an agonised cry. Emin knew it would take more than that to bring down his baba for good, though. Devrim shielded away from Hakan’s cruel cudgel. His lip was broken, and his left eye swollen shut. Blood dribbled down his chin. Hakan heaved the fallen man to his feet. Baba’s nose was bent and one of his teeth was missing. The High Leader leaned in close to Baba’s face.

                ‘Your boy is of the Savasci, a stone man,’ he said in a deathly quiet voice that Emin strained to hear, ‘and he is more of a man than you will ever be.’ He threw Baba back to the mud-packed floor.

Emin looked up at Hakan careful not to show his fear.

‘Emin, son of Cetin, because of your deeds three suns ago, on the night of the raid we have an Eastern solider as hostage. With some persuading he told us news of the Six Kingdoms.’ He pulled out a leather pouch from his jerkin and emptied the contents onto ground. ‘Six fingers for six kingdoms.’ His smile was wicked, and Emin saw his baba pale at the sight of the bloody digits. ‘The greedy king of Adruhal has arranged a marriage between his daughter and the prince of Minadril.’

Emin nodded, unsure why the betrothals of far off kingdoms were so important. His baba sat up and spat a glob of blood onto the dismembered fingers.

‘Who those thieving bastard-kings sell their whore-daughters to is no concern of ours. We should be sending our strongest swords to the boarders, to avenge our dead and take back our women.’

Hakan’s jaw clenched. ‘Devrim, take Cetin back to his hut. Make sure he stays there this time.’

Devrim yanked Baba off the ground, wary of the man’s fists. To Emin’s surprise, his baba let himself be dragged away. A dry zephyr fluttered through the grass curtain that hung across the doorway. Emin was aware that he was now alone with Hakan – and his cudgel. He stood straight, shoulders back, even though his hands trembled.

‘Cetin was always rash, as I’m sure you know.’ His eyes flickered over the scars on Emin’s legs. ‘But he was a strong Savasci in his youth. He grew too attached to his sandwife though, some woman he stole from Helmriche,’ he said in musing.

Emin eyes went wide; his lazy baba had been a Savasci and his mamika had been from Helmriche? He’d always been told she was a weakling woman from the Feros tribe.

Hakan noticed Emin’s confusion. ‘A tale for another day perhaps,’ he said, though his dark eyes glittered. ‘Emin, I have a task for you, one only fit for a true man of stone.’

Emin had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what the High Leader was about to say. Killing one man shouldn’t make him a stone man, yet he was the eldest Savasci and the best with a sword, rusty and notched as it was. But he never liked fighting, or ever truly believed in the Savasci way.

Hakan’s wicked smile was back. ‘I want you to go to Minadril. Infiltrate the castle. Become part of the royal guard. Befriend this little prince. Go with him to Adruhal to meet his bride-to-be. Then kill him.’

Emin finally spoke. ‘Kill him?’

‘Slit his throat from ear to ear,’ Hakan agreed. ‘Or kill the princess. Whichever one you kill, the blame will fall on the other. Minadril and Adruhal will be at arms soon enough. The other kingdoms will be quick to join sides. The Six Kingdoms will be in chaos.’

Emin’s heart pounded in his chest. They wanted him to kill a boy? He couldn’t do it. He would not. Savasci meant brave warrior not sneaking murderer, he thought. Hakan sensed his reluctance.

‘Never doubt, never fear, never flee, Emin. You will kill the Minadril prince, if not you’ll be left to Cetin’s mercy. I’m sure he would hate to have a son as gutless as he is. Or maybe, I’ll kill you myself.’ He hefted his cudgel onto his shoulder. ‘What will it be?’

‘I’ll do it, High Leader. I’ll start a war. For the Stone men of Raksaka.’

Hardwired - A Creative Vision of the Future

I recently received my final two grades of the year, and they're my best yet! When I pulled them out of the envelope and saw 74% and 78% a huge grin broke out across my face. Two Firsts! My mission for my final year of uni has been achieved - to get at least one First.
The amazing feeling still hasn't worn off yet, and it has really inspired me to write more. So next week, when my social life is a little less hectic, I am going to do some serious writing. Maybe I'll get a good chunk of a novel done. Here's hoping at least.

One of the pieces is a short story, untitled at the time of hand-in but I've now entitled it Hardwired. I was so nervous about this piece as the lecturer was incredibly picky about everything. I edited it over and over, then had my friends and sister read over it many times too. This assignment was for the Creative Visions module - looking at life in fifty years time. I was going to write the first chapter of Tainted Blood, but the lecturer tore it apart, so I ditched that idea. I figured in a slightly more down to Earth, more compact short story she would have less to question and complain about. My last Creative Visions piece Logged On got 64% with feedback saying the ending could have more of a twist, so I took their advice.

Anyway, less talk, more reading...

Hardwired

Life Beyond 2050

He stumbled through the door, the hallway lights turned on automatically.

‘Lights down,’ he slurred, shielding his bloodshot eyes from the glare.

They dimmed and he lowered his hand, leaning against the wall for support.

‘Jensen?’ Sylvee stood at the end of the hall. She looked like a ghost, shrouded in a long white dressing gown, her pale hair curled over her shoulders. There was no smile to greet him, no hugs, no kisses. Wobbling slightly in the spinning room, Jensen stood up straight.

‘Where've you been?’ Her voice was controlled.

‘Out,’ he said, trying to meet her cool stare.

‘Out where?’ Her tone never changing.

‘Just out,’ he growled as he pushed past her to their bedroom. She didn’t flinch; she only stood there, watching. Jensen wanted to apologise. He always did, yet the words never seemed to come.

The full beam of the lights in the bedroom burned his eyes and he ordered them off. The darkness was better; he could avoid Sylvee in the dark.

He fumbled with the zip of his overalls. He’d gone straight to Alfie’s from the wind farm, and they smelt of beer and illegal cigarettes. Tugging off his dirty clothing he called for the laundry chute. A hatch opened in the wall and he dumped his clothes down the tube. He had crawled under the starched covers when Sylvee came in. Neither of them spoke as she shed her gown and climbed into bed next to him. She lay on her back staring up at the ceiling, whilst he curled up on his side facing away from her.

Even in the darkness the room was still spinning and Jensen breathed deeply to calm his churning stomach. He was regretting spending so many credits on what tasted like heavily watered-down piss. A sudden turn in his gut made him desperate for the bathroom, but he could tell from Sylvee's breathing she was still awake. Rubbing his stomach, he urged it to settle. He couldn’t hold it any longer. Saliva flooded his mouth and his throat convulsed. Pushing back the covers he stumbled to the bathroom. Vomit choked him, and he couldn't order the lights on. Kneeling on the cool tiles, he threw up in the dark, hoping he aimed right. Soon his stomach was empty.

‘Flush,’ he ordered as he got to his feet. He took his time brushing his teeth and gargled multiple times. When he entered the bedroom again he could see Sylvee's eyes were still open wide, reflecting the dim light of the solar lamppost that seeped through the curtains.

Jensen sighed. ‘Go to sleep. Please.’

For a moment she didn’t move and he thought to repeat himself. Then she rolled on her side and closed her eyes. Jensen practically fell into bed, suddenly exhausted. Once again he promised himself he wouldn’t go out again. And once again he would think of her and the urge would be too strong.

*                         

When Jensen awoke the next morning, Sylvee’s side of the bed was empty. The curtains were open and warm sunlight spilled into the room. Grumbling, Jensen pulled his pillow over his face. He knew he’d have to get up eventually but the thought of his wife sitting in stony silence at the kitchen table made him want to tear his hair out.  With a yawn Jensen rolled out of bed to his feet. The wall next to his bed flashed brightly.

‘Eleven forty-two am. Sunday the eighth of April 2063. Dagenham weather: sunny spells with highs of twenty-four degrees. The main headlines today are-’ Jensen cut off the chirpy infovoice with a hasty swipe. Sylvee would know he was awake now.

He padded into the bathroom, making sure to lock the door behind him. Rummaging through the medicine cabinet, ignoring the Paroxetine, he grabbed a brightly coloured box. Hangover Ex! The New Morning After Pill was written across the front in bold letters. There was only one capsule left in the packet. Jensen swallowed it with a glass of water. Instantly his queasy stomach was gone and the sunlight no longer pierced his eyes. He still didn’t feel any better about facing Sylvee.

Once he’d showered and dressed he slouched into the kitchen. Sylvee sat at the table, her back straight and stiff. Her hands rested on the table, a full cup of tea sat in front of her. A film of milk covered the surface. She looked directly ahead, her gaze flickered slightly when he sat down next to her.

                ‘About last night,’ he started.

                ‘You’re a grown man; you’re free to do what you want.’

                It was not the answer he was expecting. He wanted anger, shouting, fighting.

                ‘No, I shouldn’t be free to do what I want. That’s not right.’ He slammed his fist down on the table.  She blinked at him.

                ‘If that’s what you say,’ she agreed with the smallest of nods.

                Suddenly, all the fight left him and his headache came back despite the pill. ‘It is what I say.’ Jensen stood up quickly and went over to the countertop. ‘Coffee, black.’ His voice seemed too loud in the silence of the room. There was a whirring in the walls and a cup of steaming coffee was revealed behind a hatch. This is more warmth than I’ll get from her, he thought as he cradled the cup in his hands. Jensen watched her as he drank. Whatever she was feeling, if she could even feel, she hid it well; her face was expressionless. 

                ‘Go, do something with yourself,’ he found himself saying.

She looked at him then. ‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. Fluff the pillows. Read a book. Take a walk. Do whatever, just stop sitting there.’

She nodded, got up from her chair, and left the room. Jensen hadn’t meant to sound so rude; he just couldn’t control his temper around her anymore. He put his half empty coffee cup carefully on the counter, resisting the urge to smash it against the wall. His thoughts turned back to her. Her gentle eyes and loving lips. Tonight he’d be with her again. He could never keep his promises.

The phone rang and Jensen hurried to answer it before Sylvee could.

‘I got it,’ he called out.

Looking at the screen he recognised the number straight away. He debated whether he should answer it or not then swiped his finger across the screen.

‘Hey, Jen,’ Matty’s cheerful face appeared on the monitor. ‘What night is it? It’s bowling night!’

Jensen could not share his enthusiasm. He picked up the handheld receiver. ‘I told you not to call me. What if Sylvee picked up?’ he hissed, looking over his should to check she wasn’t close.

‘I wouldn’t have told her anything,’ said Matty, his cheeriness gone. ‘I got you.’

‘I know you do. It’s just been a rough morning.’ Jensen massaged his temples.

‘Guess that means no bowling.’

‘Sorry, I can’t. I just keep thinking about her.’

‘Look, Jen, this is going to come out eventually, you can’t keep her a secret forever. You know I’m fine with it, but the others, well, they’re not as understanding about this sort of thing.’

‘You’d think people would be more open-minded these days,’ Jensen said grudgingly. Everything Matty said was true, but he didn’t want to think about it. Not now.

‘Well they’re not. Jensen, I don’t want you to get hurt again. I was there for you last time but I can’t keep doing it. You have to tell Sylvee the truth or get rid of her.’

‘I know. I love her so much though; I can’t just stop seeing her. It’s too painful.’

‘Life is painful. Let me know if you change your mind about bowling.’ There was a beep as Matty hung up.

Jensen placed the receiver back on the wall, ignoring the advert for a new upgraded phone that scrolled across the screen. Matty was right, he needed to tell Sylvee the truth and live with the consequences. He was being selfish and it wasn’t fair to anybody.

Jensen sat opposite Sylvee and watched her as she played with her food. His lupine steak was tasteless and every mouthful was an effort to chew. He thought about what Matty had said. He did need to end it, but he had to know he was doing the right thing.

‘Do you remember, a couple of years ago, when we had just started dating? I was trying to be cool and threw that bottle at the recycling bin but it completely missed. You picked it up, and as you walked over to me you said “Your awful aim will cost you hundreds of credits in litter fines one day.” Then you popped it over your shoulder and got it in the bin straight away.’

                ‘I don’t recall that. Was it important?’ Sylvee said as she pushed her peas around, the fork scraping on the plate.

                I fell in love with you that day. ‘No, nothing special, just a memory.’

                Silence hung between them. Jensen looked down at the remainder of his meal and grimaced. He got up suddenly and threw it into the compost chute. All food waste in the apartment complex went down chute to the compost heap, which was then spread on the surrounding gardens and parks. Sylvee had once lost an ill-fitting bracelet down there. She’d said it was a precious heirloom of her Grandma’s, so they’d spent the day digging through rotting vegetables. They’d shared a shower after too. But she probably didn’t remember that either.

                At the sound of the fork scraping on the plate again Jensen turned around. ‘Would you just eat the damned food.’

                Jensen watched her take the first bite but soon left, his head pounding.

*                         

He had wanted to go out that night, to drink and be with her again, even if it was for just a few hours. But he had work tomorrow and he already had two warnings for being late. Another would see him fired.

He had tried to sleep. In his dream an army of Sylvee’s chased him down a narrow corridor. The more he ran the slower he went. The corridor was endless. Each one of them screamed, ‘It’s your fault I’m like this!’ One eventually caught him. Her thin fingers bit into his flesh. He wanted to scream but no sound came out. ‘It’s all your fault!’ she shrieked as she tore off his face.

He woke up in a cold sweat, breathing harshly. He tried to remember the dream but it was already fading. No longer tired, he lay next to his wife, yet all he could think about was her. How she had felt lying next to him in bed. His arms wrapped around her, her soft body warm beneath his chest, feeling her heart beat in time with his.  The cold woman beside him was no more than a stranger.

When his alarm went off he leapt out of bed.

Beep. Beep. Beep. ‘Seven am. Monday the ninth-’ Jensen swiped a hand across the alarm screen shutting up the infovoice before it could wake his wife. He pulled on fresh grey overalls and headed out the door, careful not to make a sound.

*                         

The Dagenham wind farm was already bustling when Jensen arrived. The turbines needed plenty of maintenance checks if they were to supply the South East with enough energy. There were still plenty of people opposed to the idea of wind farms too; Jensen couldn’t believe how narrow-minded society could be.

                ‘Hey Jensen,’ Randal said as he scanned the schedule. ‘You’re on E-13 today.’

                ‘E-13? That’s on the other side of the estate.’

                ‘Yeah and we’re out of solar carts I’m afraid. Looks like you’re walking.’ Randal smiled crookedly.

                Jensen knew he shouldn’t be surprised; that was his luck. The hammering in his temples grew, and no amount of drugs would help. He needed the booze, and her. He grabbed his tools from Randal before setting off between the forests of turbines.

It was over an hour before he finally reached E-13. His head had pounded with every step. The turbine was over a hundred and twenty metres tall if you included the rotor. When he first started work there Jensen had nightmares that the entire wind farm had fallen over in a domino effect and crushed him, the rotors slicing his friends and family to pieces. A shudder washed over him as he looked at the slowly rotating blades. Just get this work done. Then you can drink and be with her, he thought as he unscrewed the work hatch. But Sylvee will still be there. His hand tightened around the screwdriver. His conversation with Matty ran through his head. He needed this to be over with. He put the screwdriver away and glanced at the other tools in the box, one especially caught his eye. He would end it tonight.

*                         

Unsurprisingly, Sylvee was sat at the kitchen table when Jensen got home from the farm. He had considered going straight to Alfie’s but he knew he had to deal with his wife first.

                Her blonde hair was perfectly curled as usual, her pale skin unblemished and smooth. The top she was wearing had been one of his favourites, low-cut and clingy, but now he felt nothing. Cold, blue eyes flickered over him as he walked behind her and ordered his coffee, but otherwise she didn’t move. She would have been perfect, he thought, but she just wasn’t her. As his coffee was being made, Jensen fingered the object in his pocket with a shaking hand.

                ‘Work was fine, thanks for asking,’ he said, hoping she didn’t hear the waver in his voice.

                ‘That’s good.’

                The coffee was done but Jensen didn’t pick it up. Instead he drew the tool from his overall’s pocket. Staring at the back of her head, the hammer suddenly felt too heavy in his hand and he was afraid he would drop it.

                ‘How was your day?’ he asked. If she would just say something, anything, that could change his mind.

                ‘It was fine, thank you for asking,’ she said, not even turning around.

                Jensen closed his eyes, shook his head. The hammer slipped in his sweaty palms. He raised his arm up. He thought back to all the days they had spent together, before this. They were carefree, they were happy, they were in love. But it could never be the same again.

                ‘Can you even say it?’ he whispered, a tiny bud of hope still growing inside him.

                ‘Say what?’

                ‘That you love me!’ he said in a sudden burst of passion.

                ‘I can say it, if that’s what you would like.’

                It’s not what I want, it’s what I need. ‘Say it.’

                ‘I love you-’

                He brought the hammer down heavily on the back of her skull. Jensen felt it collapse beneath the weight of the tool. Satisfaction sped through his body as he swung it down again, this time harder. Pieces of skull, circuits and wires scattered over the kitchen floor. Again and again he brought down the hammer until the back of her head was an electrical mess. The body slumped forward, all the stiffness gone. Jensen took a deep breath, the hammer slipped from his grasp with a loud thunk as it hit the linoleum. The sight of a synthetic flesh with blonde hair attatched made Jensen retch. Tears chocked him. The pain in his head almost blinded him. Slowly, he lifted the head off the table. Its eyes had reverted back to factory settings. Grey with no pupils. He let it drop. He wanted a drink, but even that wouldn’t bring her back now.

                ‘I’m sorry Sylvee. I should have let you go instead of clinging on. Now I’ve lost you twice.’

University Grades - The Final Semester

Once again I am posting my grades with links to the pieces so you can read them too.

Year 3 Semester 1
Advanced Fictional Writing: Re-Writing Rationale - 63%
Advanced Fictional Writing: Creative Piece Margaret Jones and the Weedy Dealer - 64%
Writing History Fiction: Essay Why Are the Tudors So Popular in Contemporary Historical Fiction? - 68%
Writing History Fiction: Creative Piece Toil and Trouble - 65%
Comic Books and Graphic Novels: Essay Is The Dark Knight Returns a Successful Novel? - 66%
Comic Books and Graphic Novels: Creative Piece Mr Impossible - 62%

Year 2 Semester 2
Fiction for Children: Creative Piece Royalteen - 66%
Fiction for Children: Presentation - 68%
Writing and the Environment: Creative Piece From Earth with Love - 57%
Writing and the Environment: Creative Piece Gaia's Final Revenge - 58%
Textual Intervention II: Essay All Works of Art Either Uphold the Status Quo or Challenge it - 67%
Textual Intervention II: Creative Piece Mark Desade's Misfortune of Curiosity - 65%

Creative Voice II: Critical Evaluation – 68%
Creative Voice II: Sketches - 67%

Year 2 Semester 1

Media Writing: 1500 Word Critique of Article – 67%

Media Writing: 2000 Word Article Holly's Happenings – 65%

Short Story: Parody Surrealhabilitation – 68%

Short Story: Creative Piece Stockholm – 64%

Textual Intervention: Creative Piece The Diary of Lucy Van Helsing – 72%

Textual Intervention: Rationale – 66%

Creating Short Screenplays: Film Script The German – 64%

Creating Short Screenplays: Essay Film Analysis of Valgaften: Election Night – 65%

Year 1 Semester 2

Creative Non-Fiction: Creative Piece My Doctor Who Experience – 66%

Creative Non-Fiction: Essay – 54%

Creative Voice I: Critical Evaluation – 60%

Creative Voice I: Creative Piece Delirium – 68%

Creativity II: Exhibition Piece Animations – 62%

Creativity II: Evaluation – 63%

Poetry and Poetic Expression: Creative Piece – 64%

Poetry and Poetic Expression: Rationale – 68%

Year 1 Semester 1

Language – Writing – Reading: Essay – 62%

Language – Writing – Reading: Portfolio of Writing Exercises – 53%

Fictional Writing: Creative Piece Obsession – 65%

Fictional Writing: Rationale – 63%

Creativity I: Presentation Evaluation on A Written Affair – 63%

Creativity I: Research Essay on Oscar Wilde – 68%

Script Writing: Essay on Rob Reiner's Misery – 64%

Script Writing: Pitch Presentation – 72%

I recently received my grades for last semester and while they are good I am disappointed with the comments I got. None of them were particularly constructive. They were like 'Good story, but I would have written it with this person as the protagonist'. Well, I didn't, so please mark my work by what I've written not how you would have written it.
This was especially annoying for my Margaret Jones and the Weedy Dealer piece as the marker wrote: 'What occurred to me on reading it again was it could make a great teen (young) book if only Margaret was at home/base camp and Andrew (something I can't read) was the protagonist - doing his mother's bidding because she was (something else I can't read)'.
It's annoying because he's missed the point of my piece entirely! Margaret is this eccentric botanist on the run from a drug lord, it's weird and funny. Having a teenage boy do it is so mundane.
I always used to think I was better at the creative pieces but strangely it appears I am actually better at the essays. I only have one semester left and I am going to try my hardest to get a First again. Hopefully in my ECP.

Collecting Grades = Bundle of Nerves

I actually completed my Writing and the Environment pieces. And I'm pretty pleased with them, hurray!

On the down side I have marked pieces to collect tomorrow...

Getting the grades for work is like a warped kind of Christmas. You know, you can't get to sleep and you're really excited about what awesome presents you may have gotten. That's what I'll be like tonight, lying in bed thinking of all the potential Firsts I may, or may not, get.

I have only got one First before (I got one in the first year too, but that year didn't count). The thing is, I knew that it was First material so I wasn't too surprised when I got 72%. It was The Diary of Lucy Van Helsing, and I felt pretty confident when I handed it in. I haven't really felt like that with any of my other pieces. I once thought my essay was good, but I have come to learn that my essays aren't as good as I think they are.

So, the marked pieces of work I have to collect tomorrow are my Sketches from Creative Voice, that's The Armani Assassin, The House at the End of the Road, Agricolaphobia, and Your Housemate Hitler. I'm feeling a little bit confident, though I have thought about how I could have made them much better, but too late for that!

I also have a presentation grade to collect. This presentation was about a children's book called Secrets, Lies, and My Sister Kate by Belinda Hollyer. I thought our presentation went all right but compared to everyone else's it seemed a little scripted and not super-duper acted. Other people had memorized their entire scripts, or re-enacted scenes, one even used a sock puppet! Personally, I don't think our group should be penalised for not being great actors. We're quiet people and that's how we like it.

The last piece I have to collect is Royalteen. I really liked this piece and I worked hard on all the extra bits, like back story and maps. I'm only worried because my lecturer, who is marking it, is very meticulous. She writes YAF and children's books so she knows what works and what doesn't. She also knows what she likes. So, I am a little worried that she'll find loads of things wrong with it or just not like it at all. She's really nice though, and she's my ECP supervisor for next year so hopefully I won't begrudge her too much if she marks me down.

For the rest of the day I am going to be rereading and doing some last minute editing to my last three creative pieces of my second year. I can't believe I will have finished my second year of university tomorrow! Crazy! Keep watching this space as I'll be posting them soon. 

University Grades

This is a pretty braggy post. I got my Critical Evaluation for Creative Voice back today, and I won't lie, I was worried about what mark I was going to get. My Evaluation last year was 60%, so I wasn't too hopeful this year. However, I got 68% yay! Anyway, my friend said that she kept a record of all the grades she has got and I thought I would, too. I don't want to seem like a show off posting them on here, but it means I can link them to the exact pieces of work so you can see what I wrote and what grade I got for it. Also, if you can't show off your grades what's the point of getting them?

Year 2 Semester 2 so far...

Creative Voice: Critical Evaluation – 68%

Year 2 Semester 1

Media Writing: 1500 Word Critique of Article – 67%

Media Writing: 2000 Word Article – 65%

Short Story: Parody – 68%

Short Story: Creative Piece – 64%

Textual Intervention: Creative Piece – 72%

Textual Intervention: Rationale – 66%

Creating Short Screenplays: Film Script – 64%

Creating Short Screenplays: Essay – 65%

Year 1 Semester 2

Creative Non-Fiction: Creative Piece – 66%

Creative Non-Fiction: Essay – 54%

Creative Voice I: Critical Evaluation – 60%

Creative Voice I: Creative Piece – 68%

Creativity II: Exhibition Piece – 62%

Creativity II: Evaluation – 63%

Poetry and Poetic Expression: Creative Piece – 64%

Poetry and Poetic Expression: Rationale – 68%

Year 1 Semester 1

Language – Writing – Reading: Essay – 62%

Language – Writing – Reading: Portfolio of Writing Exercises– 53%

Fictional Writing: Creative Piece – 65%

Fictional Writing: Rationale – 63%

Creativity I: Presentation Evaluation – 63%

Creativity I: Research Essay – 68%

Script Writing: Essay – 64%

Script Writing: Pitch Presentation – 72%

My particular favourites are the Pitch Presentation; my Creativity I essay, which was on Oscar Wilde; my poetry pieces; my Creative Non-Fiction piece which was on Doctor Who; my Short Story Parody, and finally, my Textual Intervention piece, which was a First!

Film Pitch - Tainted Blood

This is a piece that I did last year for Scriptwriting. In a group we had to come up with a film idea and pitch it to our lecturer. It was the first time I had worked in a group at University and it was a nice bonding activity, too. I'm still really close to the two girls, and one of them, Megan, also has a blog, it's called The Student Housewife.

We spent a lot of time on the script and rehearsed constantly, and in the end our efforts paid off as we received a first for it! I was really nervous as I tend to talk very fast and I didn't want to be the one that let the team down. Luckily, we had rehearsed it so much that I read at the perfect pace even if my heart was beating a mile a minute. Since then, however, I am much more confident in my reading aloud, in fact, I read something out loud to my classmates this morning!

During the pitch we all had something to say, and we colour coded our scripts. Megan was blue, I was purple, and Lauren was pink. I thought I'd leave it in colour to liven up my blog a bit, and so you can see how we all contributed.  

We came up with the idea after reading an article about the average life span being longer than it used to be a few decades ago, and I began to wonder what would happen if nobody ever died. In a way, it's very like the film Children of Men, only I haven't actually seen it so in no way did we copy it! 

I really like this idea and maybe one day I'll write it out in full as a book, obviously with Lauren and Megan's permission!

Tainted Blood is an action drama feature film following the lives of separated twins and their struggle to change a world where procreation is banned as the elimination of illnesses leads the human population to soar.

Seth is a young man that has spent most of his life hiding, living in basements, abandoned houses, or even underground, as he is an illegal child, born in a time when procreation has been banned by the Government. This is because after scientists found the cure for all diseases the world has become a dangerously overpopulated place.

His life takes a devastating turn as his girlfriend confesses that she is pregnant. Seth can’t bear for his child to grow up the same way that he did. When Seth was younger his twin brother, Xander, was taken during a governmental raid. These raids were to check for illegal children, and any that were found were sent off to army camps to learn how to fight and then join the ever threatening war over oil supplies. The two brothers were both hidden in a basement, but after Seth made an accidental noise and the Raiders started coming for him, Xander let himself be taken in order to protect his brother.

So Seth, in fear for his girlfriend and his unborn child, sets out to find the mysterious revolutionary movement called the United Forces of the Lost Generation (UFLG), who consist of other illegal children planning to overthrow the government and its regime. He has to disguise himself as an older man to avoid the suspicion of his age or being caught. He manages to travel around Britain hearing more about the UFLG and avoiding the Government, most of the time, but he has a few close calls.

 Throughout his travels he hears more about the group and eventually finds its hidden underground headquarters. Giving a motivational speech at the time is the UFLG leader, who looks exactly like Seth. It is his twin brother, Xander.

Seth manages to meet with Xander and says he wants to join the UFLG. During this meeting Xander explains how after he was taken he fought in the war and has seen many horrific things, but he worked his way into the Government. And now he knows all the ins and outs of the ‘Cure Vaccination Programme’. Xander says that he has a plan to stop the vaccination, therefore stopping over population and leaving Seth’s child to live in a better world.

Xander’s plan involves the use of Seth’s blood. Xander reveals that their father, who died before they were born, had an extremely rare genetic mutation that caused him to be immune to the vaccination. This immunity has been passed onto the twins and now their blood is riddled with many diseases and bacteria, of which the world’s population may not be able to survive. Xander and the UFLG plan to mix Seth’s blood with the vaccination, which has to be given annually to the whole world, in order to cut down some of the population and hopefully put an end to the war. 

The only problem is that the next vaccination is within the month and they need the blood now. And it will probably take all of Seth’s blood and he won’t survive. Seth asks why it has to be his blood and not Xander’s. But Xander tells Seth that he fought in the war and is now a Government official and that he deserves to live, whereas Seth is a nobody, somebody that has been hiding all his life, and not worth anything. Seth is appalled, he doesn’t want to die; he wants to be able to raise his child in a peaceful world.

However, before Seth can escape, Xander uses his followers to overpower him and take him to a secret medical facility. Seth wakes up in a bed with drips and wires coming off him and his blood being taken from him. It’s being put into containers that will be sent all over the world and secretly added to the vaccine. Xander oversees the extracting with grim satisfaction. Seth pleads with his brother, saying he is sorry for him, and sorry that he had to go the war and not him. Xander begins to break emotionally and begins to change his mind about the whole thing. But it is too late. The last of Seth’s blood has been drained and he dies.

Xander is devastated by what he did, but carries on the operation none the less. The blood is successfully mixed, and after the annual vaccination many people become sick and die. The new vaccination manages to wipe out a third of the population and puts an abrupt end to the war.

Now, because most of the Government was wiped out due to the vaccination, Xander starts a new Government to help rebuild the world, but without an ultimate cure, without a ban on procreation and without war. But Xander makes sure that Seth’s girlfriend and child know what a sacrifice he made, and that his legend lives on.