Extract from 'The Genesis Cycle'

I think this was my first major attempt at writing, it was intended as a fantasy, exploring life and creation. It never really got of its feet, and I got sidetracked by another story (which incidently hit a brick wall). It was inspired by a piece of electronic music I wrote called 'The Genesis Cycle', which gave me an image of the birth of good and evil, fighting from the off. I may continue it one day.


The moon was slowly sinking down in to the depths of the dawn, the day light coming to replace it. The sky turned from black to blue. A single white orchid hidden amongst a congregation of bamboo canes, was preparing to receive the new day and the chorus of birds was slowly turning from a few disparate voices into a mad frenzy. Meilim could feel the dew on his legs, crawling up to his waist, it had gradually been scaling him as he sat there fixed on the book. Kundae finally turned to Meilim, his deep brown eyes catching the last glimpse of the moon. For a few moments he just stood watching the small boy in deep concentration, he watched every expression in his face, transfixed with the beauty of the letters of the ancient language, but almost fearful of the other sketches. This troubled Kundae, as one so young should never know fear and certainly never experience it. Fear was an emotion of the elders and known only to the third generation as a description. It seemed to pass as soon as it arrived. Kundae moved closer to the child, encompassing him in his shadow. Meilim looked up at Kundae, a little smile etched it’s way onto his face. Meilim knew it was not for him to study the books, not yet anyway.

Extract from 'Of The Dark'

This are the first three paragraphs from my first short story, which was written in two chunks over the space of six months. I was basically testing the water, trying my hand at putting a thought into fiction. The story (3000 words) explores the rationality of nyctophobia (the fear of the dark). This is copyrighted 2005, please leave a comment if you want the rest.


We are taught from an early age that the darkness is simply a lack of light. A shadow is the place where the light cannot see. The world cools when the light departs, and warms when it comes again. It wasn’t always like this, before the light, the earth was void and without form and darkness was upon the face of the deep. Then the light came and captured the darkness in its brilliant cage, forcing it into eternal submission. But light is easily distracted, and chases itself around the world, like a dog playing rabbit with its tail.

It was dark outside, it had been dark when Charlie had left earlier in the day, and it was dark again now. There’s something unusual about only breathing the night’s air - something unnatural. The quite of night brings all the sounds to the fore; they’re brighter, more distinct. Under the orange glow from the sulphur streetlights, the stone bricks that made up the outer walls of the terrace took on a deep, almost moist texture. The shadows were long and thick and bled into the pavement. The thin strip of grass by the road showed nothing of the dead breeze that drifted by, floating endlessly onwards. A moth, that was little more than a blur, circled upwards towards the street light, his street light. The tiny creature filled the cone of musty light with its little dance.

Charlie picked the key out of his pocket, and slid it into the slot. He turned it slowly, the click propagating through the air with a resonance that briefly filled the terrace and then ceased just as quickly. When the silence returned, Charlie realised that he wasn’t the only one in this alien environment, but that someone else was making waves in the quiet. Someone else a fraction more tense in the sulphur night. Someone else.

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