July Story Spotlight - Run
"Our world is cruel and deteriorating. I hardly recognise it anymore. But has it changed, or was it you or I that changed?"
Exploring the everyday darkness of struggles with mental health, this month the spotlight is on short story 'Run', a tale of psychological horror.
Behind the Story
The opening of 'Run' was the first passage I wrote following my decision that my next project would be a short story collection. It was late September, 2018, and I'd travelled to Cornwall for a few days away in the wake of a relationship break-up. I spent the next few months plotting, refining and researching for each of the stories - revisiting the first three I had already planned, unearthing 'I Killed Dorian' from the past, and pulling on the threads to craft the final three. 'Run' then became the sixth that I wrote during drafting, though I always knew it would be the finale to the collection.
The plot represents a psychological odyssey, perhaps of discovery or realisation, certainly of emotion, narrated by the main character in that sometimes jumbled, irrational and illogical stream of thinking that comes with suffering anxiety, depression and other mental health problems.
'Run' remains one of my most fantastical stories as well as one of my most personal. Stylistically and thematically, it's a companion to 'A Deathly Shade of Pale' - together book-ending the stories of 'Whispers from the Dead of Night'.
We all want to break free at times, to release ourselves from our struggles, our heartache and pain, and the pressure and horror of the world around us. Self-care is important. Without it, we sometimes fail to see the beauty in the world. It gives us hope. It gives us faith in love. Reading and writing have formed a huge part of my self-care for longer than my memory can reach. Nature has too - for there is nothing that brings me peace like the beauty of the ocean or the sound of the rain.
Come with me, on a night-time escape through the forest…
___
"I've been running for a very long time. There are times when I've run until I can no longer breathe, staggering, falling to my knees and dragging myself on. But I can never stop."
A night-time escape through the forest…
Pursued by his memories and his demons, a man seeks solace within the forest in the darkness of the night.
Yet his pursuers prove relentless, chasing him through the storm, ever present on his heels. Perhaps somewhere in this pursuit of freedom, he can find sanctuary.
But the shackles that ensnare him may prove too tight, the burden he carries too heavy. For there is only so far and so long you can run...
___
Opening Scene
It is often the things we don’t say which warrant the loudest voice. Sometimes the deepest silences ought to be broken, disturbed from beneath the headstones. That’s easy for me to think now. It’s easy to think of the things which you should have said, all of the things you wanted to say, those things you weren’t brave enough to, when you’re alone. In these lonely moments, I lie in the dark and listen to the rain pattering above, my eyes closed.
You followed me, didn’t you? As you always follow me, day and night, from when I wake in the morning, through the lit hours of the day at a steady pace, a safe distance away, gaining on me as the dark yawned and stretched and slowly ate the light for its breakfast. When it has swallowed its last morsel, licking its lips with a glutton’s satisfaction, I can feel you close, never quite sure how you managed to close the gap so quickly, reaching out a hand to touch my shoulder. It is then that I run, and you chase me through my dreams until morning, when we begin our Danse Macabre once again.
But I always knew the night would come when you would catch up with me.
It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly where it began. Everything seems so jumbled, both of us so intertwined you could have been beside me on the day I was born. Of course, how could I remember if you were? Would you even remember?
When I try to look back, everything is so foggy. Strange, how our memory seems to develop at a slower rate than our brains do. As if they’re separate, not truly connected at all. I suppose most people can only look back so far with clarity, back further still with less clarity, details beginning to merge or become clouded, further back again where entire events mould, parts of them confused, chunks missing or simply not true recollections.
I wonder, does the fog advance through your life as you do, some distance behind but a constant presence, clouding memories, leaving decay in its wake?
___
Available as part of the original "Whispers from the Dead of Night" short story collection in ebook and paperback and the deluxe collection in ebook, paperback and hardcover.
Order "Whispers from the Dead of Night"
Order "Whispers from the Dead of Night - The Deluxe Collection"
Visit me on Facebook
Follow me on Twitter
Follow me on Instagram
Exploring the everyday darkness of struggles with mental health, this month the spotlight is on short story 'Run', a tale of psychological horror.
Behind the Story
The opening of 'Run' was the first passage I wrote following my decision that my next project would be a short story collection. It was late September, 2018, and I'd travelled to Cornwall for a few days away in the wake of a relationship break-up. I spent the next few months plotting, refining and researching for each of the stories - revisiting the first three I had already planned, unearthing 'I Killed Dorian' from the past, and pulling on the threads to craft the final three. 'Run' then became the sixth that I wrote during drafting, though I always knew it would be the finale to the collection.
The plot represents a psychological odyssey, perhaps of discovery or realisation, certainly of emotion, narrated by the main character in that sometimes jumbled, irrational and illogical stream of thinking that comes with suffering anxiety, depression and other mental health problems.
'Run' remains one of my most fantastical stories as well as one of my most personal. Stylistically and thematically, it's a companion to 'A Deathly Shade of Pale' - together book-ending the stories of 'Whispers from the Dead of Night'.
We all want to break free at times, to release ourselves from our struggles, our heartache and pain, and the pressure and horror of the world around us. Self-care is important. Without it, we sometimes fail to see the beauty in the world. It gives us hope. It gives us faith in love. Reading and writing have formed a huge part of my self-care for longer than my memory can reach. Nature has too - for there is nothing that brings me peace like the beauty of the ocean or the sound of the rain.
Come with me, on a night-time escape through the forest…
___
"I've been running for a very long time. There are times when I've run until I can no longer breathe, staggering, falling to my knees and dragging myself on. But I can never stop."
A night-time escape through the forest…
Pursued by his memories and his demons, a man seeks solace within the forest in the darkness of the night.
Yet his pursuers prove relentless, chasing him through the storm, ever present on his heels. Perhaps somewhere in this pursuit of freedom, he can find sanctuary.
But the shackles that ensnare him may prove too tight, the burden he carries too heavy. For there is only so far and so long you can run...
___
Opening Scene
It is often the things we don’t say which warrant the loudest voice. Sometimes the deepest silences ought to be broken, disturbed from beneath the headstones. That’s easy for me to think now. It’s easy to think of the things which you should have said, all of the things you wanted to say, those things you weren’t brave enough to, when you’re alone. In these lonely moments, I lie in the dark and listen to the rain pattering above, my eyes closed.
You followed me, didn’t you? As you always follow me, day and night, from when I wake in the morning, through the lit hours of the day at a steady pace, a safe distance away, gaining on me as the dark yawned and stretched and slowly ate the light for its breakfast. When it has swallowed its last morsel, licking its lips with a glutton’s satisfaction, I can feel you close, never quite sure how you managed to close the gap so quickly, reaching out a hand to touch my shoulder. It is then that I run, and you chase me through my dreams until morning, when we begin our Danse Macabre once again.
But I always knew the night would come when you would catch up with me.
It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly where it began. Everything seems so jumbled, both of us so intertwined you could have been beside me on the day I was born. Of course, how could I remember if you were? Would you even remember?
When I try to look back, everything is so foggy. Strange, how our memory seems to develop at a slower rate than our brains do. As if they’re separate, not truly connected at all. I suppose most people can only look back so far with clarity, back further still with less clarity, details beginning to merge or become clouded, further back again where entire events mould, parts of them confused, chunks missing or simply not true recollections.
I wonder, does the fog advance through your life as you do, some distance behind but a constant presence, clouding memories, leaving decay in its wake?
___
Available as part of the original "Whispers from the Dead of Night" short story collection in ebook and paperback and the deluxe collection in ebook, paperback and hardcover.
Order "Whispers from the Dead of Night"
Order "Whispers from the Dead of Night - The Deluxe Collection"
Visit me on Facebook
Follow me on Twitter
Follow me on Instagram
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