Charles Heath's writing blog

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.   For instance: And, then, the words: Stations, and particularly for me, railway stations had a special meaning. It was not the practicality of the place, where many, many passengers began or ended their journey, whether to or from a holiday or place of work or something else. It was not the fact many people worked there, in the cafe, as ticket sellers or collectors, as station assistants helping with the mail, parcels or other types of freight, or just there to assist passengers. For me, it was a reminder of an ending, an end to the life I once knew and had hoped would last forever. It was where I said bon-voyage to a very special person, hoping as the train pulled out of the station it was not a goodbye. Three months later I received a text message that said, basically, she was not coming back, that she had met someone special. Oddly enough I was at the very same station when I received that f

Our hero knows he's in serious trouble. The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn't look or sound or act like the enemy. Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission. The next stretch of road was from Aba to Nagero, the gateway to the Garamba National Park.  This was a road where we would have to be more careful because it was possible, now we were off the main road, even though it was designated a highway, or perhaps that was a little too optimistic since it had a number N26, which ran into the R240 at a place nominally named Faradje, but did have a place to stay called the Residence Robert Ball. I guess I missed that. Beyond Faradje the road was a little more intense, but something else that worried me,

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: When someone tells you to meet them at Bryant Park in New York it's never a good idea to say "Where?". Particularly when that person is a woman you have worked with for nearly two years, was way out of your reach because of both her social and business standing and one that you have had feelings for but could never tell her. It was not that she was involved and then not, for reasons that we're never fully clear, it was not because she never complained about how she was treated by both peers and contemporaries in a company that didn't appear to practice gender bias, but did, and it was not because we worked often closely together at all hours of the day and night. It was simply because she didn't need that sort of relationship.  I respected that, and I liked to think that she respected my support. There were enough other men in the building who were a

I'm back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written. The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I'm not very good at prioritizing. But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn't take long to get back into the groove. Maury drops in for a search I moved to the doorway and switched off the light, sending the room back into inky darkness.  Not good for the eyes, going bright light to instant dark.  We stood together behind the door as it opened inwards, Jan ready with her gun. The door opened slowly, at the same time letting light in from the corridor, making it easier to see. Opened fully, the visitor tentatively stepped into the room, and once the shape moved past the door, I slammed it shut and Jan lunged with the gun.   I was not sure what result she was expecting but the person fought back, and as they turned to wrench the gun out of her hand, I let loose a punch, aimi

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way. Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war. And, so, it continues... Mayer realized something was terribly wrong when they reached the outskirts of Weimar and passed through the checkpoint. It was the sixth such checkpoint and each time the Standartenfuhrer told the sentries that they were escorting a valuable prisoner, and being mere German Army soldiers, most of the Obergefreiter rank, and not willing to argue with an SS Colonel. Then he remembered there was a large Government building in the city and assumed that was where they were talking to hi

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.   For instance: And, then, the words: I watched six figures rappel down from the bridge and land silently on the deck.  With no lights, it had been difficult to see them, and for a moment, after the initial surprise, I realized the boat had actually slowed down as it passed under the bridge. They disappeared inside in a matter of seconds, and I was left with the feeling I hadn't seen anything at all. Where the ropes should have been still down, they were gone.  I looked up at the bridge but there was nothing but inky blackness punctuated by car headlights quickly passing from one side to the other. Then, once past the bridge, there was a slight increase in speed, and, magically, the lights on the bridge came back on. It was as if nothing had happened. My first thought; it was the entertainment.  It was the sort of thing [name] would organize simply because it was something her sister wouldn't think of.