Wednesday, 18 May 2011

Fantasy Dialogue

Hello folks and first up my apologies. It's been a while hasn't it? I've been very busy doing other things, such as doing university work and procrastinating. In regards to the former, for one of my creative writing modules I was asked to write a Fantasy Dialogue - a conversation between two people with a magical/supernatural theme to it. Inspired by one of my favourite books of all time, 'Good Omens', I decided to write a piece about a chat between two angels - but as you'll see, they're not exactly the same...

'Swans? Really?'
'Sorry. I was forgetting myself.'
'Can we focus please? There have been grumblings for a while now, we both know that. But this has come out of the blue.'
'We knew it would come one day. The only tricky bit was working out which side would instigate it.'
'It's my side, I'm afraid. But based over here! That's the bit I can't get my head around. Why not near his birth place? Or anywhere in the Middle East?'
'I mean, America for fucks sake! They'd love all this shit. But no, it is here.'
'Yes. Is anyone ever actually awake round here?'
'Damien will be, don't worry about that.'
'He's chosen here for a reason. Probably because it's so quiet. When your four mates turn up what will the reaction be? A strongly worded letter into the newspaper, probably.'
'They're not friends of mine, don't you worry about that.'
'They're on your side.'
'They're freelance. Wouldn't trust any of them. Especially Death. Right little twat he is.'
'Not sure I can trust you anymore, to be fair.'
'Oh, well that's nice isn't it? How long have we been friends?'
'Think we first met around the time you started the Great Fire of London, so over 300 years.'
'Yes, we have our disagreements on things, but I'm not going to stab you in the back. Anyway, we've been through the plan enough times.'
'Enough times to know it's flawed. Deary me, if the Boss finds out.'
'Yeah? Your Boss, huh? Want to think about mine for a moment? You think me turning my back on fire, brimstone, Hades, the entire underworld and Satan knows what else is going to go down well? That I'll get a free pass back and a nice tour of all of our facilities?'
'It is our only hope.'
'I understand that.'
'Oh, it's coming, alright. And we're running, alright.'
'What if there's space for only one of us, though? Who gets in?'
'Who's done more for our respective sides? Me.'
'I had a hand in creating rabbits. I was personally responsible for overseeing oak trees. I green lighted Stephen Fry!'
'Yeah? I caused Vesuvius, used my skills to assist the guys behind Chernobyl AND I created Milton Keynes.'
'And the Fire. We've been friends ever since, haven't we?'
'Of course. Shouldn't let the day job get in the way of friendship, that's what I always say. Right, where exactly are we?'
'Oh. Shit, really? That was one of our guys.'
'I gathered. We need to leave this park and head towards the Princess Royal Hospital. Damien is being born in 25 minutes.'
'And us?'
'You should know, really. I'm going to fill out the forms and make sure all procedures are done correctly and swiftly. The Boss is wary, as you can imagine.'
'You're there to ensure he does become the Spawn of Satan, the Destroyer of all Destroyers, the creature who's going to instigate the Almighty Judgment Day across the entire universe.'
'Of course. Have I got time just to kill one more swan?'
'No. But I've got a few chickens you can practise on when we meet up for lunch later.'
'I look forward to it. Best of luck.'
'God bless.'

Patrick Campbell, 2011

Wednesday, 16 February 2011


Time for a nice change of pace. On this blog I've previously put up short stories and flash fictions, which are great, but I felt it was time for a bit of poetry. This poem was written by my very clever friend Shaun, and it's a nice little piece. What I particularly like about it is how he's only used one vowel, as I'm sure you'll see, but it flows well, is readable, and ends on an interesting and ambiguous note. It does take skill to manage that - having attempted it myself once, it's a damn sight tougher than it looks. 

Long lost or long loss?
On top of or looking down?

Show no mood
Hold no flow
Do not root
Sold for loss.

Cold moon blows onto morn
Fold slowly onto floor
Don't knock. No door.
Only looking for...

(A poem using only one vowel, Wolverhampton, Autumn 2008)

Shaun Hand, 2008