Charles Heath's writing blog

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 expression of Boggs's face told me he was down here for a reason, and that assumption was proved correct when he started walking towards the middle of the first row of carpark.   He stopped at a pylon, surrounded by concrete blocks, tiles and broken bricks that looked like they’d been deliberately piled there.  Light on, he went around the back and emerged with a coil of rope. I knew then what his intention was. “You not going down there.  That’s too dangerous.” “It was, once.  Not anymore.”  He tied one end to the pylon and then unraveled it as he approached me, then three the remainder over the edge....

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: It had been billed as the longest commercial flight in the world.  London to Sydney. Previous times it had been flown, it was devoid of passengers and cargo, except for a few reporters and airline staff; not more than about 20. The plane, state of the art, was capable of flying twenty-one hours straight.  We would only need Nineteen and a half.  It was the first flight of its kind, and we were the first to participate in what was being touted as history-making. I was on board only because I'd won a competition.  To be honest, I couldn't believe my luck. I guess it was the same for the other 287 of us on board.  With baggage and cargo included, oh, and not forgetting fuel, I guess our biggest concern was getting off the ground. It wasn't long before that fear had been dispelled, though for a moment more than one of us thought we might not ge...

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 ordered breakfast to be brought to my room, then sat back and read the paper, culminating in a second cup of coffee and a half-hearted attempt at the crossword. My mind was not sufficiently clear of all the implications of what I’d seen last night, and before that. The first task was to go back to the office and get onto the computer to track down the address the car was registered to.  It was not the flat.  My guess that it was a sort of safe house.  He may not have had reservations about Jan, or who she worked for, not until he became the prey. Then it occurred to me that if Jan didn’t know where the USB was, then she had to realize...

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: I was not sure who was more shocked.  Madeleine, or myself. As her older brother, the heir to the family fortune, and supposedly her protector, Perry was anything but.  He was in the same age group as myself, went to the same school though I took pains to avoid him, and was the sort who expected everything to fall into his lap, and that everyone should abide by his wishes. She turned around quite angrily to face him.  "What are you doing here?" "Perhaps the question should be, what are you doing here?  You know you're not supposed to go anywhere before you tell me." "I don't have to tell you anything." I could see him look past Madeleine straight at Suzanne.  She was equally an enemy of his as I was. "I thought this might have something to do with you and your little games you like to play.  Do you ever realize the consequences o...

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... I woke to the sound of a cracking sound behind me, and, when I rolled over, I found myself staring up the barrel of a gun. The number one rule broken, don’t fall asleep in enemy territory. But something else bothered me in those few seconds as I struggle to wake up and comprehend what was happening.  Where was Jack?  If he’d been here this would not have happened. But still bleary-eyed from just waking up and in that initial confused state of not knowing where and when...

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... It was a good plan. Wallace, once he discovered his search team had gone missing would send another group to find them, and we would dispatch them in the same manner. Each foray would reduce his group at the castle until it became, for us, a manageable size.  Currently, it was 35, with four already killed.  There was also the Leonardo factor, and his men, according to Martina, numbered seven. If I was Wallace, who would realize once he discovered the body on the ro...

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: I'd been to London before, not with Cecile but my parents as an end of school graduation present.  My father had called it a mission to see how the other half live, and why, in his opinion, our country didn't need a Queen to be our head of state. A Republican, not a royalist.  But it had done little to change my opinion, simply because it didn't matter to me who ran the country, all positions of any color were equally as useless. But I remembered the trek over London, seeing the horse guards, number 10 downing street, the houses of parliament, Westminster Abbey, and Buckingham Palace.  A whirlwind of ancient buildings that had been in existence long before our country had been discovered. A little of that sense of awe I had then came back when passing by Trafalgar square and heading down Whitehall as far as Whitehall place. If we were not on a missio...