Salvation No Kissing Required Excerpt 1

Arizona, six months earlier

What’s happening? How did this all spiral out of control?

The sixteen-year-old boy is confused. With the promises

of no rules to obey, eternal life, and sex anytime he

wants, with anyone he so desires; yeah, who wouldn’t

be tempted? Besides, no money need change hands.

However, payment was expected; of course, there was

a charge for Utopia. Deep down, he had known it was all

too good to be true. The price was non-negotiable, no

haggling, no cutting a better deal was possible. What he

had been asked for in exchange was priceless, and he just

wasn’t prepared for it. No, selling his soul to the Devil

wasn’t something he would ever be prepared for and

something he wasn’t going to do.

Therefore, he was now fleeing for his life, he needed

to get away from Wingate and fast. Luckily, for him, the

road was quiet. He had been driving for about an hour,

he had only seen one other vehicle in that time and it was

following close behind. It had joined the road about three

miles back; the driver had not attempted to overtake

and was unlikely to do so now, due to the byroad’s

narrowness. At first he had thought it was a police car

following. Somehow, they may have been alerted that he

had stolen his father’s car, but eventually he had decided

it was unlikely his father would notice it was gone before

morning.

The tailgating car suddenly closes the distance

between them and it’s headlights illuminate the rear-view

mirror of the boy’s vehicle; blinding him on every

turn and twist of the winding road. He presses his foot

down, hard onto the gas pedal, but the car’s response is

sluggish. The young driver is certain that the engine is

protesting at being pushed so hard.

The two cars reach the summit of the climbing road

and the fearful teenager knows that the ground drops

steeply down away from the side. He can’t see the bottom

of the ravine, it’s as though it’s lurking in the bowels of

the earth.

“What the?” the teenage boy yells with surprise,

as the pursuing car gently nudges the rear bumper of

his. He moves forward slightly in his seat, but his seat

belt clicks and saves him from being hurt in any way.

His foot is flat to the floor, but his vehicle continues to

struggle to pull away from its pursuer. The boy grips the

steering wheel as though he’s on a white-knuckle ride at

the fairground. The road widens around the last bend

and will start to drop downhill, towards Highway 87. He

hopes the maniac following him will pass then.

Both cars are now traveling at high speed and the

awkward curves of the road are hard to negotiate. The

inexperienced driver is finding the steering heavy and

he knows he is being pulled closer and closer to the edge

of the precipice. He’s finally approaching the last bend;

he glances in his rear-view, but what he sees causes

him to lose his concentration. Just for a moment, but a

moment too long. The car leaves the road on the bend

and the darkness swallows the teenager up like a whale

consuming a minnow.

The tailing car doesn’t stop; it drives on, no looking

back.

Today and Forever

I feel your touch and my skin burns

Filling me with excitement and delight

Your lips upon mine send tingling through my body

Like nothing I have ever felt before

The love you and I express, I know is real

A love that we can share today and forever

With a Sprinkling of Fairy Dust

Magical Areas will be created

    Like Robert Burns and Sir Walter Scott, author and playwright, J. M. Barrie spent many years in the Dumfries and Galloway region of Scotland. The creator and writer of Peter Pan, the Little White Bird, Margaret Ogilvy and Better Dead, was schooled in Dumfries and graduated from Edinburgh University before moving to London.

River Nith, Dumfries

    But, his time in Scotland was never forgotten, it was the gardens of Moat Brae House, in Dumfries, where he played as a child that inspired his creation of the character Peter Pan and his land of make-believe, Neverland.

    Finally, the derelict building and grounds are being restored in honour of J. M. after receiving £5.3 million pounds of funding and once again they will bring joy to children.

    When completed it will house a children's literature centre and play areas. Now, they too can have their lives enhanced by story-telling and of course I'm sure there will be a sprinkling of fairy dust for all.

Neverland, will include gardens

Common Sense At Last

    Libraries in the UK are being chopped and squeezed with every austerity measure the Government inflicts upon the population. Something they have been doing over the last few years and yes, I have written posts on this subject before and I make no apologies for mentioning it again.

    But, elsewhere in the world there are Governments who recognise that libraries and the reading of books is important, if we want to educate children and adults alike.

    One such country is Spain, and like the rest of the world  they don't have lots of money to go around, however they know that accessibility to literature is key to the future of their country.

    So, thanks to promotion by the Spanish Ministry for Education, Culture and Sport, the library in Adeje, South Tenerife, Canary Islands, has seen increased numbers of students using its facilities including the usage of study rooms and Wi-Fi connections also rising sharply.

   
    Thank goodness, there is some common sense being used by Government and of course that means, those year round sun worshippers can also take a book to the beach.

 

 

 

The Chinese whispers of Greyfriars Bobby

Greyfriars Bobby, Edinburgh

    There are stories, whether true, or myth that pull at our heartstrings. One such story that does it for me every time is that of, Greyfriars Bobby. Boxes of Kleenex in abundance are needed when settling down in front of the 1961, Disney movie, Greyfriars Bobby and the 2006 film, The Adventures of Greyfriars Bobby. Both based on, Eleanor Atkinson's, book of the same name it tells the said to be true story of a Skye Terrier who watched over his master's grave for fourteen-years.

    Like any story that is passed down through the ages initially by word of mouth and then Atkinson's book in 1912, the story varies. His master, John Gray, in one version was said to be a local, Edinburgh policeman, or bobby an informal name used for the police in the UK and in another he was, John Gray a shepherd.  

Greyfriars Bobby Bar, Candlemaker Row, Edinburgh.

   
    In Edinburgh's, Candlemaker Row a statue was erected in 1873 opposite, Greyfriars Kirkyard where his master was buried in 1858 and then Bobby, fourteen-years later. True, or myth I don't really care. I believe it's a story that will last forever and of course this little Skye Terrier can watch over his master for eternity too.

Please, Please, Mr.Postman

Postbox in Dunblane, Scotland.

    They've been around since the 19th century in all the villages and towns throughtout the UK; some are built into walls and some are free-standing. No matter what shape, or size they come in, they're part of the British culture. What am I talking about? Postboxes.

    However, due to the decline in the art of letter writing, an old favourite of mine, this rare breeed is in danger of becoming extinct, which is kind of sad.

    The Post Office says that it isn't thinking of scrapping them just yet, but I've got a sneaky feeling that they'll soon be as rare as an dodo or a pterodactyl.

Please, Please, Mr. Postman keep taking my letters for me. 

P.S. Gold postbox to commemorate Andy Murray's Olympic win.

Copies in Noir

 

    I was watching a re-run of an old, Colombo, movie the other day and the shabby, much-loved detective was enthralled by a facsimile machine in one of the scenes. In fact the whole scene and explanation of how a fax machine worked amused me.

    While faxes are still used the Internet has pushed this piece of equipment, into the sidelines. But, watching the film made me wonder what the TV viewer in forty-years time will think of tablets, notebooks, laptops, cell-phones, or even social media when they sit down to watch re-runs.

    Even my old cell-phone could feature in Film Noir!