All is Well

Day 14 and a contribution from my storytelling blog. That particular blog On The Broken Road has been rather quiet over the last year as most of my story rather than poetry efforts have been focused on a larger fiction project. This is in addition to battling to complete my poetry collection Wreckage and my academic endeavours. This is why I really admire all of you attempting NaPoWriMo (and succeeding I hope) for not only having the belief in your ability to write that number of words but also sticking to the one project. Because while I am getting much better at completing drafts of stories and poems, I can never guarantee I’ll be working on the same thing two days in a row. To prove it here is a poem based on a character and location from a story.

On the Broken Road

photo credit: Michelle Hebert | Art & Fashion 2008. Menacing Garden via photopin(license)

I’m a coffee addict and a guilty pleasure for me is to sit in a coffee shop relaxing. I usually try to justify this downtime by doing some work while I’m there.

Today I was actually meant to be revising for an exam though (which is another story). I could not settle though, perhaps I was too much on tenterhooks waiting for an expected phone call to concentrate but the study juices were not flowing. So I put down my text book and picked up the story that began here as Watchers. I have written before about the combination of caffeine and creativity (Misbehaving) but today for some reason I could not seem to get up and running.

When Watchers first started it came over to me at least that the writing was direct and…

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Fortune Hunter

Day 30 and to round off my review with another tale from On the Broken Road…

On the Broken Road

photo credit: vk-red good night princess via photopin (license) photo credit: vk-red good night princess via photopin(license)

She had silver in her hair and when I first saw her they had tied her to a tree and were mining their fortune from her as the metal, the equal of anything you would have found buried in the Mountains of Ahl, grew in shimmering waterfalls that flowed down her back.

I bartered with them for her eventually securing the bargain with aid of cold steel and leaving the five goblins dead, I fled the glade with my hard won prize.

I felt that I had traded the last halfpenny of my humanity in order to possess her.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Leaving No One Alive To Light Them Again

Day 3 of my review of the year and another tale from On the Broken Road

On the Broken Road

photo credit: The Abbey via photopin (license) photo credit: The Abbey via photopin(license)

Once we were a dynasty that ruled an empire that stretched from the Crescent Bay to the foothills of the diamond encrusted Mountains of Ahl. We were feted; we were emulated; we were feared.
Whole populations committed unspeakable crimes on their neighbours to amuse us and armies marched on hopeless quests just for the opportunity to die in our service. We prospered, setting ourselves up as rivals to the gods, building palaces in the sky upon the skulls of the vanquished.
Then came the plague, the lower classes died first, the poor and enslaved. We thought they died for our amusement as we continued our laughter and feasting, peering down from out of our high towers at the circling vultures and bloated bodies that were carried away by a river that flowed red with the peoples blood.
But as we slept on in…

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How to Satisfy a Dragon

Day 2 of my review of the year and a tale about Dragons from my other blog – On the Broken Road

On the Broken Road

photo credit: Look into my eye via photopin (license) photo credit: Look into my eye via photopin(license)

Thomas stared directly into the eye of the dragon and the dragon stared back, unblinkingly at him.
Thomas knew he was responsible for his own predicament, as a long reptilian tongue snaked in through the open bedroom window – Thomas imagined the dragon’s tongue could taste his fear, the dragon salivating at the thought of eating Thomas down whole.
Because that was what the dragon had said “I like to taste their fear, it makes them so much juicier.” when Thomas had first summoned it and asked it to eat his stepmother.
Now as Thomas lay in bed his eiderdown pulled tight around him as the dragon’s tongue gently brushed his cheek. He realised that he should have made sure before he began whether one stepmother alone was enough to satisfy a dragon.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Consorting with the Enemy

photo credit: Lammyman Rita Hayworth via photopin (license)

photo credit: Lammyman Rita Hayworth via photopin (license)

‘American girls are not like us.’ Violet said.

She stood at the mirror fixing the suspender to her new stockings.

‘My Davey wouldn’t like me consorting.’ Enid replied, ‘He warned me watch me’self with the Yanks.’

‘So they get a little fresh.’ said Violet, as she smoothed the silk down her leg ‘Wouldn’t be good for morale to say no, not after they’ve taken me to the pictures and everything.’

‘It just seems wrong.’

‘It’s only a kiss and a cuddle, poor ducks might die fighting Hitler tomorrow. I’m only doing my bit for the war effort sending them off with a smile on their faces.

‘Anyway what about your Davey? All alone in a strange port you can’t tell me he wouldn’t?’

‘All the nice girls like a sailor.’ I sang.

Violet smirked at my reflection in the mirror as she paused in touching-up her scarlet lipstick.

‘Oh Mo, how could you. My Davey ‘e wouldn’t.’

‘Sorry Enid, we were just having a joke.’ I said, ‘We both know your Davey wouldn’t look at anyone else. Don’t we Violet?’

‘Mmm,’ Violet mumbled, ‘it’s not just the nice girls that like a sailor though.’

I didn’t think I would have been friends with Violet if we had not been billeted together. “All fur coat and no knickers” Mother would have called her, but she was at least a spot of colour amid the drabness, a welcome distraction from Enid’s moon-faced earnestness and constant talk of her Davey.

‘What do you find to write in that diary Mo?’ Violet asked, ‘Scribbling away all the time like the Daily Mirror, is any of it about me?’

Violet had stood back from the mirror to turn side to side and view herself from all angles.

‘Of course it is Violet,’ I replied, ‘every single word.’

Violet turned around to face us now, arms spread wide.

‘So girls how do I look, will I make old Winston proud?’

‘Ooo just like Rita Hayworth,’ Enid sighed, ‘my Davey took …’

Violet stood at the door, giving us a “V for Victory” sign before slamming the door shut behind her.

We listened to the sound of Violet’s feet as she descended the stairs.

‘I’ll bring you back some candy Ducks.’ She shouted, her voice echoing through the wall.

Enid grinned at me, the only thing she loved as much as her Davey was chocolate.


© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


This little story developed out of an exercise I did on a course I went to earlier this year. Combined with a snatch of conversation overheard in a coffee shop; while I don’t know what exactly the person I heard speaking thinks is different about American girls, I’ve left it to Violet to express her opinion on the subject.


The Spell

For those of you that haven’t found their way to my short story blog – here’s the latest tale for you…

On the Broken Road

photo credit: Vortex via photopin (license) photo credit: Vortex via photopin(license)

I whisper the words of the spell in your ear and the magic changes my words to thoughts in your mind. Synapses fire, small electric charges flood you as images paint your consciousness with thought and desire. The words of my spell compel you to act, hands fumbling to undo the buttons on my shirt, your fingertips gently brush against my chest.
You are no longer you; you are now an extension of me, as our lips come together as one.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

photo credit: Till The End Of Time... via photopin (license) photo credit: Till The End Of Time… via photopin(license)

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