Erin is the winner of Round 39, Round 52, Vol 2 – 51, and was a Flash! Friday judge for the first quarter of Year Two. Read her Sixty Seconds interviews with Flash! Friday: Sept 4 2013, Dec 3 2014.
She is 33 and lives in Glasgow with her husband Lewis and cat Eggy, and she works in education. She had a short story included Vol V of The Dead Files, an ebook published via the United Kingdom Zombie Defence League. She also has a soft spot for a bit of Mighty Boosh or Nathan Barley Fan Fiction, and she has dabbled in erotica (which she personally feels would put “50 Shades” to shame, she says with a giggle).
Vol 2 – 51: Tyranny
Slowly, I walk into their sea, grasping their ridiculous red umbrella, all the while cursing them under my breath.
I stop, as instructed; a young girl left standing waist deep in the swell of the sea, mind consumed by contempt, stomach churning with impatience.
Here, the expression of outrage is outlawed, the desire for change consistently castrated.
They say this act, this rite of passage, must be passive.
They say if you aren’t contrite, obedient and crushed under the weight of your own humility, it will come for you.
They say if you aren’t sweet, subservient and unspeaking, it will find you.
Casting their umbrella into the sea I scream until my lungs ache and all of the old men have cleared the edge of the beach.
When it arrives I shall mount the terrible beast and with all my bravery, wit and hatred, I shall ride it over their corpses and out of this dead place, towards freedom.
Round 52: Reservations
I wanted to strip off my clothes and run into the distance, travelling deep into the unknown, gloriously naked.
“Stop fidgeting!” my sister scolded, as I fought with my pinafore; stiff and unmanageable, it was more akin to a tipi than a dress.
“Cultural Assimilation” they called it, but in truth it was cultural assassination and schooling was a key weapon in their arsenal, aimed squarely at me on a daily basis.
If all “Americanisation” could offer was dusty rooms, starchy frocks and endlessly dull words about dead white presidents, it was little wonder I daydreamed about running bare-skinned under the warmth of the sun.
Round 39: Second Living
He was sitting in front of a table; a tall man with strong angular shoulders; atop his head was a magnificent wizard’s hat, curled and gnarled at the corners. In front of him was a mystical door which seemed to be suspended in mid-air, although his view was somewhat obscured by a dead tree. A beautiful woman stepped through the door; wildly vibrant butterfly wings were sprouting from her back and she was accompanied by a dazzling white unicorn.
“My Liege,” she stated, performing a somewhat unnatural looking curtsy. “What shall we do today, Sire?”
He was confused by this form of address as clearly his hat signified his Wizard status, but he decided it best not to complain. What followed was a thoroughly frustrating half-hour spent attempting to satisfy her requirements; he had taken her to the bog moors of Alierain, but she had been unimpressed. He had then transported them to the hot spring glaciers of Macembree, but again she expressed only boredom and annoyance. She had initiated a conversation about her favourite “toys,” but had disappeared quickly after he had started talking about his.
“Christopher, are you busy?” shouted a voice from the kitchen.
“Just playing with a friend,” he replied.
“Not really. She wanted to go somewhere dirty, so I took her to the bog moors, but then she wanted somewhere steamy, so I took her to the hot springs; she didn’t seem very happy about either.”
“What was her name?” The tone of the question seemed cold and considered.
“S.X.Y Fairy 69,” he replied. “Although I think she must be one of Daddy’s friends, as I was using his online account.”
The clatter of dishes which erupted from the kitchen, accompanied by a string of swear words from his Mother made Christopher wonder if all women hated bogs moors and hot springs.Leave a comment