Tag Archives: Mystery

I’m back and you know I can blog!

Hello there, it’s been a while. People whom know me know that I do this a lot, the whole leave the blog for ages and randomly come back and start getting myself in order. It’s just a habit I suppose and old habits die hard.  But I’m quite glad I’m back if I have to be honest, I’ve never really forgotten about the blog, I’ve just been having a little bit of an existential crisis. Ever since my last blog post about the knockdown and how it shook my confidence; nothing really got better. Nope. Not at all, in fact it got a lot worse as I began thinking about quitting University and writing in general anyway. I’m still not really sure what it was that caused me to fall into such a dark and bitter place but… well, I’m out of it now and that is what matters. I owe a few people huge amounts of thanks after their support helped me get back on my feet. But that’s for me and them to know. For now, I’m just going to talk about where I’ve been and what I’ve got planned for the Authorial’s near future.

So, let’s deal with the first question: Add, where have you been? I was surprised to see my inbox full of messages that said these sort of things. I had no real idea how much people enjoyed my few and far between posts but to those people whom messaged me, here is your answer: I really don’t know. I have been sat staring at my computer monitor for ours playing League of Legends I suppose, editing University work or maybe even just staring at the screen with no particular goals. But I have been here physically just not here mentally. My mind’s been all over the place, like I said, I’ve been in a dark place and writing hasn’t been something I’ve really wanted to do since falling into it. I hated it almost when I come to think, writing had become the bane of my existence and the annoying thing was that I was constantly surrounded by it. I had things to do, ideas I could see so vividly that I could touch them and friends urging me to do something other than sit around angry and depressed at my own lack of motivation. I tried everything but in my mind, I was stuck. Everything was shit and as a result, I was shit. Dark times. But finally things look they’re going my way. I’ve been very happy with the pieces I’ve submitted to university and my faith has been restored. So, it’s time to get my head off the floor and back in the clouds.

If that makes any sense…

So… Moving on, the second question: What now for the Authorial? Easy, more! More reviews! More prose! More poetry! More everything! Damn straight! The most exciting thing I’m working on at the moment though, is my as of yet unnamed Assassin’s Creed Fanfiction; I’m going along the same lines as I did with my old Halo: Prisoners of Reach fanfiction where I’ve asked my friends to submit profiles of characters loosely based on themselves and I’m going to write about their adventures. I remember the joy of having such colourful and diverse characters back on my old blog, so hopefully, this can get me going back in the right direction when it comes down to writing. And with my friend’s behind me, there’s no chance I could fail. Right?


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The Blackground… A Preview

It was my sense of hearing that first confounded me.  My eyes were tightly shut and my body couldn’t feel a thing. I could hear though. I could hear the scuttling of something small across some sort of surface; it was funny really because it kind of reminded me of the sound I imagined sand to make as it made its way out of one side of an hourglass into the other. I’d often used that sound as a way to calm myself, something that I wasn’t able to do now. I panicked, as the rest of my sense failed me all I could do was hear. I couldn’t see anything, my eyes were tightly shut unmoving, heavier than the boulder that formed the impenetrable barrier of Christ’s own tomb.


At first I thought I was paralyzed, that I had had some sort of accident. Maybe I’d been hit by a car; maybe I’d fallen off a ladder; there were so many maybes and questions but so few answers. And then I realised, I realised that the underlying numbness of my body was so complete and so perfect that it was almost as if I couldn’t feel my own soul. ‘Soul’ may have been a strong word or even the wrong word but I know what I mean. What I mean is that feeling, that feeling that you have right down in the centre of your body, which if anything, let’s you firmly know you’re alive. Which then made me question, am I dead?


I couldn’t be dead. Right? I can hear and my eyes work, their just shut, right? RIGHT!? I felt my heart suddenly race as the possibility that I might be dead began to swirl around in my half-awake brain. I hadn’t noticed the effect this experience was having on my mental capacity. I couldn’t even function half sharp; I could remember trying to tell my fingers to move. To grasp at the ground, that hopefully, I was lying on.  Yet, my fingers lay still. Or so I believe. But as the fog of my body’s collective sense of touch began to reawaken; my faith I was alive slowly rekindled.




The reason why I had new found hope that I was alive was simple: I’d never believed in an afterlife. I’d never believed in a kingdom of clouds or a burning pit that floated by so precariously without our noticing. To me there was only one lease of life and no matter how short it is or was, there was only one. So, once you’re dead. You’re just that, dead.  There’s no spirits, no messages from the far beyond and most of all there’s no you. You can’t feel anything. You can’t hear anything. That’s because you don’t exist anymore. So the reason that I have a new found, albeit desperate, hope in my life came from the fact I could feel. I could hear. Even if I can’t see, those two were enough to let me know that my heart was still beating; I could feel it in fact, rattling my entire core.


Now that I had confirmed I was alive, it was now a matter of re-taming my body to work under my brain’s rule. I thought that starting small would be best and with all the effort in the world I tried to clench my fists. My fingers twitched a little. It may not have been what I had originally hoped for but it was enough for me to get a feel of the environment around me.  They had made contact with something solid. So this ruled out that I was being suspended in the air, I was definitely on the floor. Which was kind of a relief because that also ruled out that I was at anyone’s mercy.  I could have been on my kitchen floor, outside my front door, I could have been anywhere. Anywhere at all. Which then made things a little more worrying; I could have been in the middle of a road or in some strange place which would have been frightening.


I can remember telling myself that I didn’t belong here. What I felt with a further twitch of my fingers made that fact all the more obvious.  The floor felt strange, there were many different indents and embosses kind of like when you ran your hand across a jigsaw puzzle. It felt as if it was made up of many different parts; which like I said, reaffirmed my convictions that I did not belong where I was. Even with the slight control I had over my facilities, my mind and my sense there was no comfort to be found in my predicament.


The sound that had first stumped me was growing louder, my ears were slowly dragging themselves out of their apparent slumber and that slow sandy scuttling sound was joined by a chorus of other noises.  I thought it was just me at first. But from what I could remember, none of the many groans I could hear matched my voice; especially the slightly feminine ones that sprang out the darkness every now and again.  I tried my hardest to speak, to call out to the other people that were apparently around me. I couldn’t open my mouth. It was tightly shut, not forced shut but just not operational.  I suppose it stopped me screaming. I was scared.


When my eyes finally decided that it was a good time to open, they couldn’t have picked a worse time or a worse place. The weight that had almost welded them shut seemed to lift in an instance giving way to a fit of blinking.  I could hardly see it was just as dark as it’d been with my eyes shut and my vision was slightly blurred. It wasn’t getting any better for me and for a couple of seconds I wished that I was still comatose.  That I couldn’t feel and I couldn’t hear and for what it was worth, that I couldn’t see.  My heart sank as I realised the hopelessness of my situation.  I was trapped and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I soon realised I was not alone.




I panicked.


“Hello, is there anyone there?”


It was strange.  I’d been actually craving some sort of voice to call out to me. A guiding light in this apparent darkness, as corny as that was, to help put me at ease.  I wanted to say something back but being unable to see, I was scared now of a voice that I’d wanted only moments previously. I didn’t know whose voice it was, who I was talking to. It could’ve been the devil for all I know.




Just shut up! It killed me to think that. But I wanted them to be quiet. I didn’t know what was going on, who I was with, who was listening and there was this annoying voice nagging at me even though I couldn’t speak.  It was then that my own voice croaked, out into the darkness.



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