today i finished blue eyes black hair by marguerite duras. she's far from being one of my favorite authors but I feel very connected to her books. I'm having fun thinking about the similarities in everything I've read by her so far :-)

A Dark Town Undone

The Dark Town was to be in a movie. Yes another post apocalyptic.

Extras all dressed up in whatever they could find as Victorian ghosts. English pale skins and delicate bodies. The usual characters of Dark Town sent to the side streets and light towns for holidays.

The pale skins were dotted with silver glitter, an ethereal picture they made; fake dust in their hair and on the top of the hats. Some brought their large ethereal dogs.

The neon was turned off, an occasional spasm.

The main characters were given torches, some things were thrown over and there were lots of helpings of apocalyptic trash.

Beams of light stretched out along the abandonment and up toward the airy black ceilings occasionally disappearing into the great dark caverns. A zap of blue or pink would attract the direction of the torches. They were hoping someone had left food. Torches invaded old food trollies and cyber restaurant windows and then storage. The occasional glint of hidden silver glitter.

The usual horror movie conversation about something not feeling right and we should get out of here.

No food.

Of course an underground town with no lights on can be made to look like an ever expanding lost city.

Increasing tense voices as the protagonists venture deeper into abandoned food carts and dusty cyber restaurants. Their thoughts echo around the cavernous dark spaces, getting more desperate.

The last of the water shared and finished.

Tiny spots of veiled glitter seem to be getting closer as the torches dart around the blackness. Conversations from one who swears they’ve seen a face out there.

SNAP something breaks and echoes around them, “it sounded wooden"

Back to back with furious torches they continue deeper into the dusty no food.

An ancient brick drops next to them, all the torches clash to inspect it and then inspect the high concrete places.

“LETS GO BACK” a little piece of faded silk floats down onto their head, SCREAMING as they run backtracking their journey. SNAP SNAP SNAP

Only their breathlessness sounded. The lost cars of the abandoned parking spaces had flashes of reflective eyes on the back seats. The breathing stops as the main characters lower their torches, not able to stand the animalistic eyes any longer. The sound of a car door opening. Running up the sloping roadway. Such a long roadway, a giant wooden cart wheel on one side, dustily decomposing. Up and onto a northern English moor of heathers and slowly retaking trees. “NO, WE HAVE TO GO BACK... THIS ISN’T RIGHT.” Turning to little flecks of glitter emerging out of the dark underpass, pale faces, ghostly hair and peppered vintage hats. Tools of the modern world, taken from the dark town. Aluminium piping, a flash of shiny new hammer, a shopping trolley, with one wooden cart wheel, full of dangerous reflections.

The end

By Peter Stringer

Clowns

An old car racing down a forest road. No honking. A covered painting vibrates in the back. The art dealer had found the Worst painting in existence. He was bringing it to the castle, a castle sometimes lost in the mist, that local people swear disappears sometimes. In fact the locals will not go up to Gray Stone Castle, ever. The surrounding villages have never had any contact with anyone at the castle, no local businesses used by the inhabitants; in the whole history of the region not one interaction... though the castle has always been there in perfect condition, a little smoke with the faintest tinge of red escaping from a little gargoyle chimney on one grey stone corner... ALWAYS a little plume of smoke for hundreds of years, as far back as anyone’s ancestor’s could remember.

Winding up into the mountainous region the car stops at the closest village. An older lady sat with a plinking smartphone looks up and at the car “I’m looking for Gray Stone Castle.” ‘it might not be there today' said the lady. The man laughed. The lady got up, went indoors and locked her door. “huh... mountain folk.” The clouds parted higher up in the rock, a small turret could be seen in the sunshine. Distant thunder cracked from darkened clouds somewhere behind the castle.

The car reached the courtyard outcropping of the castle entrance. A robot made with skin coloured metal, opened the door. ‘you drive yourself' asked the robot “yes when I find a place where it’s still legal, I always find a car and take it for a spin... and no tracking, makes things easier.” The robot took the painting inside. ‘smaller than I expected.’ said the robot about the painting. ‘the mistress will be pleased though... when she gets back.’ It started raining with a misty grey chill. In the distant valley below there was still sunshine.

Sat by a small fire in a vast grey fireplace “when will your mistress be back" the robot flinched slightly at the word your. ‘this evening or tomorrow morning I believe.' “I might have to wait?! That wasn’t part of the job!”

The man had a look around the castle ; hundreds of grey stone rooms with slit windows that only had views of mist and rumbles of thunder. A few locked doors but all in all a cold drab uneventful place. IKEA furniture.

The man sat by the small fire. A little D2 robot brought him food, it too was made of skin coloured metal. Canned meat, pickled beetroot slices and mayo sandwiches with a glass of milk that had a hint of red tinged that the man didn’t notice. The first robot stood over the man while he ate. ‘the mistress likes to hunt for mountain pigs in the mist.’ “mountain pigs?? How does she dispatch them?” ‘with her bare hands.’ Answered the robot. The man choked a little and drank some ‘milk'. The castle entrance slowly opened and a small grey haired kindly older lady walked in from the rain. The man glanced at her hands, they were clean. The robot introduced them. They walked into her study. Inside was the painting on an easel, still covered. The mistress sneaked a peak of one corner and giggled in anticipation. She looked at the man. ‘you see the paintings always reflect the man' said the mistress. The man didn’t understand. “I thought you wanted the worst painting I could find?” he asked. ‘yes but your worst.’ Said the mistress. The robot snatched the cover off of the painting. The mistress turned around to take in all of it. The spotlight revealed a mixture of fluorescent paints and pale skin coloured acrylics. A face of a smiling gorgon; scaly skin with fluorescent highlights, BLACK irises, stale breathy strands escaping from it’s mouth of fluorescent pink teeth. ‘OOOOOOO WHAT A GLORIOUS PIGGY.’ The robot said. The man wanted to run. He slowly got up and walked calmly to the castle entrance. He went outside. Outside was a half ring of skin coloured robots blocking the man’s route to the car. It started raining... the skin colours started dripping to reveal patches of stainless steel and shiny red painted manic smiles, demonic red painted noses and arched white painted eyebrows. The paint dripped further revealing stainless steel robot hands. The man stared transfixed, his face expressionless. A mechanical shunting noise came from around a castle corner. A 10 foot heavy lifter contraption walked slowly around and into view: it had a giant red nose on the front and white arched eyebrows. A mega phone speaker inside it announced with an older ladies voice. ‘GET AWAY FROM HERE YOU LIL BITCH.’ The man looked down at his hands... they were glowing with a hint of neon red light. He found his feet and ran, the mist parted to let him through and it stayed parted to let the clowns through.

The end

By Peter Stringer

Geese

Granny Bluddyfords fed her geese. They looked bored she felt. ‘I’ll let them forage in the fields.’ Granny Bluddyfords organic farm was one of the last to convert. Solar powered contraptions now did all the work. Small fidget robots humanely kept the crops free of pests.

Granny Cripplings fed her geese. They looked a bit bored. She let them into her fields for a forage. Granny Cripplings was also one of the last to convert. She too had solar powered pest control.

Granny Bluntscar fed her geese. They also looked a bit bored. She too let them into her fields to forage. Granny Bluntscar was one of the first to convert to organic farming with robots.

Millions of geese covered the fields of Cendiary Bay. The shining white of billions of feathers looked down on the small coastal port of mirrored cube buildings; Every surface of solar panel.

The gaggle of grannies all liked to keep their geese nice and aggressive. The little fidget robots fashioned the geese’s tiny teeth razor sharp, in their sleep.

Two old lads burped and cajoled their way down a lane that runs between Granny Bluntscar ‘s farm and Granny Bluddyford's farm. They hadn’t noticed the mass of white feathers. They were drunk. Millions of goose eyes followed the two older men. One of the older men climbed a wooden stile to get into and cut across a field, he reached the top, looked out at the white masses as far as a drunken eye could see. The second old lad climbed up after him. They both stood there looking at the millions of goose eyes staring back at them. The bottle of red wine in the second mans hand slipped, the first man caught it. Not a drop spilled. They laughed and said “the geese are out again;” climbed down and wandered through the throng of white, on their way.

A rat walked along the top of a dry stone wall that ran between Granny Cripplings and Granny Bluddyfords farm’s. It was terrified. It didn’t want to know what millions of razor sharp goose teeth would do to one scrawny rat body. A rock in the wall dislodged as the rat passed. It crashed down onto the ground scaring some geese. The rat carried on along the wall. A florescent butterfly landed on the fallen rock. The minute vibration this caused cascaded through the rock and deep underground and with an unlikely twist of fate started a rare, for these lands, shockwave. An earthquake rumbled around Cendiary Bay smashing solar panels. Shards of solar panels screeched all over the streets of the modern port town. There was much blood. Granny Bluddyfords fell to the ground at the sight of a blood stained Cendiary Bay. A heart attack.

The dry stone walls, that bordered and divided all the fields, had all shook down into neat little lines: no longer goose barriers. The geese waddled onto the fields with crops and tucked in to crisp green fresh things. At the sight of this, Granny Cripplings had a heart attack and dropped to the floor. The geese gorged themselves on juicy sweet delights all afternoon.

Granny Bluntscar sat drinking tea sweetened with a little evaporated milk. A tear from one eye for her sister, a tear from her other eye for her other sister. A manic smile gleefully looked out onto her new super farm and her newly tripled evil goose stocks.

The end

By Peter Stringer