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Meddlers
Tom was starting to believe that malicious forces were deliberately destroying his life. It turns out they were just trying to get his attention.
A Bit About Me
I trained as a photographer, mainly studio, commercial and catalogue with some travel and fashion thrown in. I spent seventeen years working in that crazy profession, ending up with a small studio in Brentford. Debs, myself and a four-year-old Blake left London and moved to Weston super Mare back in 1994, where we’ve mostly lived ever since. I got a part-time job pulling pints at my local, which kept me busy for a few years. It was 2004, a full ten years later and now with our second son Craig along for the ride, that we departed on our little adventure, as detailed in The Backward Ark.
A long time avid reader, I started writing for fun a couple of years before setting out to write my autobiographical account of our Atlantic crossing. Just before leaving for Trinidad I won the April round of the BBC Short Story Writer of the Year Award, which was nice. It was a story set on a yacht, funnily enough.
Meddlers
Closing his eyes to shut out everything, Tom dropped his head into his hands and sighed. Yesterday morning all his worries had centred on winning a modest contract for his struggling one-man creative agency. He’d thought those worries had been bad enough. Today he was apparently being asked to face the prospect of possibly losing his life. And not merely to save his own world from alien domination, oh no, there was another world besides his that also needed help while he was about it. A world that Tom hadn’t even known existed until late last night. A world that was itself completely alien…
The Backward Ark
At some point in the dark and early hours of that solitary watch, with all below asleep despite the lurching and tossing, Kra climbed an unseen wave which seemed to rise forever, her bow pointing to the heavens, forcing a tight grip on the wheel to keep myself upright. I held my breath as goose pimples crawled over my flesh. We continued climbing. Then, finally straddling the wave’s crest, Kra hesitated for a moment before falling into empty space. Clutching the wheel in a white-knuckled grip, my stomach turned turtle as we continued to drop. The sea opened into oblivion below…