Welcome, Dear Reader. I’m very excited as I will be on leave next week. Not that I’ll be going anywhere – nobody is – but I will be spending my time writing…
Leg Iron Books is back in action. We still have a small backlog of novels but the Spring Anthology (the fourteenth Underdog Anthology) will open for short story submissions from March 1st to April 2nd. Any genre for this one.
*Leggy wrote a post on nanobots, Clicky? /lights up and smokes… I heard mention of those in a new vid from Lashy just last night…*
We have a little treat for you, Dear Reader, on this cold January day. My good friend Leggy, a.k.a H.K. Hillman, has agreed the LoL can post a story from Fears Of The Old And The New, his collection of short horror yarns. It’s relatively tiny but really packs a punch 😉
*True – Leggy does live in the Scottish Highlands… /thinks… And he’s got swords…*
by H.K. Hillman
Nigel sat at the remains of his desk, idly twirling the paper-knife in the fingers of his left hand. With a swift motion he grasped it and thrust it through the palm of his right hand. His head pressed the high back of the chair as his body stiffened against the pain, his teeth clamped shut to avoid biting the end of his tongue. With a gasp, he forced his body to relax and looked at his shaking right hand.
Bright red life oozed from both sides, running along the blade and handle of the knife and forming crimson lines along his wrist. His face set into a grimace as he quickly pulled the blade free, then he sat sobbing as he watched the wound close, the flow trickle to a stop. As the last traces of his self-inflicted injury faded, he roughly wiped the blood from his hands onto his trousers. Standing, he walked to the shattered window, wiping the tears from his eyes with a wrinkled, filthy sleeve.
It had been his invention, his own work. Why should he share it? If he had told his supervisors they would simply have taken his idea and left him behind, alone and forgotten. He couldn’t let that happen. He had decided to keep his success secret until he could announce his invention himself. He would wait until the time was right.
He had tested his invention on himself, of course. Nigel recalled that day, months ago, when he had injected his microscopic robots into his veins. He remembered that first thrill as they set to work. His chest pains had vanished as his heart was healed. He had discarded his spectacles as his vision was restored. The arthritic ache in his shoulder simply disappeared. What an invention! He would be famous, or would have been.
Nigel felt tears returning to his eyes as he surveyed the desolation of the city. Four days ago – maybe more, Nigel wasn’t sure – nuclear Armageddon had arrived and everyone had left in a flash of radiation. Nigel could recall the pain as the wave of gamma-rays had followed the edge of the blast through his beautiful suburban house. His carefully tended garden had turned into a desert of brown, twisted stalks, although still in their perfectly ordered rows in the sterile soil.
He watched as the bulging wall of a distant building suddenly gave way, showering bricks and mortar onto the dust-obscured street below. The sound traversed the distance easily, unhindered in the silence of this dead world.
The flash had killed him, but it hadn’t killed his robots. He had no idea how long it had taken them, but they had repaired him. They had brought him back to life. He had invented more than just a medical dream. He had invented immortality.
When Legs asked me to pen the Afterword for the first Underdog Anthology, it was quite easy to choose, a) literary giant (duh, Shake Sphere) and b) political subject matter (Brexit, duh da)…
*Also Sonnet 6+6+6 is fairly short, Clicky…*
There are lots of great poets and poems out there, and no end of useless politicians and their fuckwittery to choose from this time… But what to choose, who to choose? I tell you, Dear Reader, I was stumped…*/scratches head…*
*For fucks sake, Clicky! Canadians wouldn’t even be able to criticize thedriving…*
“O Canada” (French: Ô Canada) is the national anthem of Canada. The song was originally commissioned by Lieutenant Governor of Quebec Théodore Robitaille for the 1880 Saint-Jean-Baptiste Day ceremony; Calixa Lavallée composed the music, after which, words were written by the poet and judge Sir Adolphe-Basile Routhier. The lyrics were originally in French; an English version was created in 1906.
There, a poet, described as such by Wiki… Dolphin–Basil–Ruthier... So here is the Afterword poem from Anthology 2, with actions… Then, Dear Reader, have a Song… And don’t forget to buy the book(s)… Available in paperback if you feel the need to burn something after reading 😉
:O Canada! 🤦
:O Canada! 🤦
New home of the Muhammad band!
Politicians love the Islamist sons’ command
Who’s cowering hearts we see compromise
No more to stand strong and free!
On slopes you slide
Oi Canada, we facepalm for thee
God save us from your quisling glee! 🤦
Oy Canada, get off your bended knee 🤦🤦
Oh Canada, get off your bended knee 🤦🤦🤦
*No, Clicky, my pen name’s Roo B. Doo… sounds like RooBeeDoo…*
*Yeah well I’m rather more fond of a shamble than Tiff… /shoos away assistant… Now, stop butting in…*
Leggy, the Underdog, is keen not to make the cover too attractive to children. Personally, I think the little buggers could do with reading the superbly written horror, sex and violence that unfolds inside…
*/Squints… It’s his pub, Clicky… Leggy’s the gaffer and I fully respect that… Now fuck off for a minute, I want to put the poem in…*
“We do not believe any group of men adequate enough or wise enough to operate without scrutiny or without criticism. We know that the only way to avoid error is to detect it, that the only way to detect it is to be free to inquire. We know that in secrecy error undetected will flourish and subvert”. - J Robert Oppenheimer.