Charles Heath's writing blog

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: Everyone knows someone who has a child that will not go to sleep?  You can set the bedtime at whatever early hour you like, but by the time they actually fall asleep, there's been two or three hours of up and down, in and out of bed, and at least one episode of a scary master lurking under the bed, or, worse, outside the window. After exhausting every method of achieving a result and failing, I thought I'd try reading. The first book I picked up was, yes, you guessed it, about monsters.  In fact, nearly every book for kids was about monsters, witches, ogres, dragons, and vampires. I put them back and sighed.  I would have to come up with a story of my own. It started with, "Once upon a time..." "But that," May said, "only applies to fairy tales." "Well, this is going to be a fairy tale of sorts.  Minus the fire breathing dragons,

Here’s the thing... Every time I close my eyes, I see something different. I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox. But these dreams are nothing to laugh about. Once again there's a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt. The shrill ring tone of my phone woke me. And, for a moment I was in a state of panic because I’d woken in unfamiliar surroundings.  Until my eyes cleared and I realized I was still at Nadia’s. And it was morning. What the…. The phone was still ringing, and Nadia, lying on the bed beside me rolled over and said, sleepily, “Are you going to answer that?” I picked up the phone off the bedside table and pressed the green button.   I already knew it was Boggs. “Don’t you know what time it is?”  It was nine, a respectable hour of the morning to call.  It was just that I was tired. “Where are you?” I could lie, or I could tell the truth

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. Chasing leads, maybe I’m glad she didn’t ask me about Nobbin, or the fact a woman by the name of Josephine was working for him.  That went ditto for Severin, and Jan, who was working for him. It was a tangled web.  Now, apparently, I was working for her. I had another idea, and went back to the computer room to do another search, this time for the names of those who had been on my training course, and who was also assigned to the surveillance job. I checked the name Jack Temple, and his file was marked closed, with a stark, red, deceased across the first page. I checked the name Adam Alwin, and it was the same, deceased. I checked the name Jennifer Under

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.    For instance: And, then, the words: It was a secret I had promised to take to the grave, and now, that time looked as though it was upon me. Old age and a failing heart had left me in a situation where my final days were playing out in a convalescent home. At least it was surrounded by parkland and sunshine, far more, it seemed, that one could expect in this part of England. Except for today, it was overcast with a hint of rain, foreboding perhaps? I was out in the gardens, on my favorite seat, neat the roses.  On a sunny day when the flowers were out, it was quite picturesque. Today, in the gloomy outlook, the last of the flower petals had withered and fallen to the ground, it felt like they too were on their last legs  It was, I mused, the cycle of life. My replacement, I knew, was Amelia, one of three granddaughters and two grandsons.  She, of all of them, at 18, had more of a sense of adventure in her that the others

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: We both heard a key being inserted into the lock of the door to our room, and it turned, the sound as the locking mechanism moved with a heavy clunk. Lack of use, or just heavy-duty? It didn't matter.  The door swung open silently and a large man filled the door frame. No way of getting past him, so escape by either of us was out of the question. "You."  He pointed at me.  "Come now." When I didn't move quick enough, he took a step forward into the room.  Then he stopped and said, "we can do this the hard way if you like." Big, big man with muscles on muscles, I could imagine what the hard way entailed.  Violence and a great deal of pain. "She stays.  Come now." I looked at her.  "No doubt I'll be back soon,“ I tried to sound reassuring and failed. I let her hand go and stood, then followed the man outside, waiting until he reloc

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. Chasing leads, maybe She gave me a minute to think about the situation, and then said what I was thinking, “So he could be anywhere?” “He was dead.   I felt for a pulse.   There wasn’t one.” I could interpret that expression on her face, ‘you’re not a doctor’. She turned another page, read a few lines, then made a note at the bottom. It read, if my deciphering was up to scratch, ‘doesn’t know if subject dead or not’. She looked up again.   “It appears these documents are out there,” she waved her hand in the air, “somewhere.   Fortunately, they have not turned up, not has someone tried to sell them back or to the newspapers, so we’re lucky.   So far.   That isn’t

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: To say that I was living the dream wasn't quite how I would put it. To say that I was part of something bigger, something that was beyond any single participant's control might seem to be true, but there were always exceptions and circumstances that could alter the status quo at any time. That hadn't happened yet, nor was any of us expected anything like that to happen.  You never do.  These events are often random, and come when everyone least expects it, and, afterwards, no one can offer any sort of explanation of why it happened. But it did. And, like everyone else, I watched it unfold and did very little to either mitigate the fallout or discover the reasons behind it. Not to begin with. The thing is, everything was so normal on that day. Our neighbourhood was typical of many in the town, a town where it wasn't that large that everyone knew, or knew of, ju

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: It was meant to be time to reacquaint as brothers. Louis and I had not seen each other for decades, and when he returned, about a week before, I got the impression there was more than just 'missing his brother' going on. But that was Louis.  He was never one to say what or how he felt about anything, preferring to be the strong silent type, and it had not fared well for him transitioning from teenager to adult. As for me, when our parents split up, Louis went with our father, and I stayed with our mother, and, given the amount of acrimony, there was attached to the split, it was no surprise to anyone that Louis and I had effectively become estranged. In fact, when I had tried to find them, about two years after the split and our mother had died suddenly, all I found were loose ends.  They had effectively vanished. With that part of my life effectively over, I had married, had c