Forsaken

03/24/2014

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Wow it's been a while. Like way too long. A lot has been happening and i'll catch you up soon but for now here's a short piece of prose. It was very spontaneous and not quite what i usually write so check it out and let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy,
Martin Hyde

Forsaken

The realisation that life is slipping through your fingers is a queer feeling. At first it’s like a thick gloopy papier mache glue slowly oozing between your fingertips and though it seems to be falling slowly from your hands in lumps, it’s just as sure as the light rain that comes next - glancing off your empty hands and often slipping through your open fingers as though they barely impede the inevitable rain. By the time you realise you’ve lost everything, you’re kneeling on the ground, your trousers torn open at the knees, staring down at your numb fingers, barely aware of the storm raging above you, or the rain pouring down on and around you.
You’re so lost that you are truly indifferent to living or dying. Your broken heart pulses in a lacklustre process, providing just enough pressure to pump cold blood around your plastic veins. Your sodden clothes cling to your skin, it would have been uncomfortable at any other time but you’re just beyond caring, and though your clothes cling so tightly to your skin, you feel naked, flayed in the street like a falsely accused rapist, with angry eyes tearing you open with every glance. Where your skin was only a shining reddy orange remains. All your defences have fallen like a curtain, crumpling on the floor and leaving you exposed, indifferently so.

The life that you once knew belongs to another man. His wife, his house, his family, his… happiness. You aren’t living. Your heart is beating (just) but this isn’t living. Everything is distant. You can just make out the ghost of your life, like a faint light at the end of a blindingly dark tunnel. You reach out your trembling hand. As your fingers line up with that dim light, you close them into a fist and for a second everything you’ve ever wanted is in your clenched fist, locked away from you by your own caged fingers. But when you open your hand, there’s nothing there, like a wisp of black smoke drifting to the sky, and to try and grab hold of it again would be just as pointless. The light at the end of the tunnel fades and it hits you with a slight coldness, like a candle blown out by the wind, that your life is long gone.

You’re dancing with her. A handsome, brightly lit hall, with chandeliers hanging from its high ceiling. Her arms around your neck. You can almost feel her fingernails brush the hairs on the back of your neck. Yours on her hips, firm but relaxed. You feel the warmth of her body, the soft fabric of her dress that almost floats upon her figure. Your feet lift effortlessly as you sway gently like a feather in the sky on a light spring wind. The floor you dance on barely feels there; you’re dancing on a cloud and you’d tear the stars from the sky for just another second pressed against her warmth. But she’s gone, her skin blisters and cracks, her body melting to the ground and rising in that same black smoke, till you’re left with only a yellowed wedding dress hanging limply in your numb fingers.The hall is cold and deserted. Spider webs arch around the high ceiling and dust covers everything in the room; broken, upturned furniture, shattered glass on the wooden floor also covered by a thick coat of dust, or maybe ash. The hall is dark, devoid of natural light. Only thin beams of light shoot across the ceiling, carrying dust in its beams, from holes in the roof. Your feet stop and your arms hang at your sides. You’ve been dancing on your own. The ring on your finger cracks and turns to ash. A faint band of pale skin remains, a reminder of what you once had. 

It’s a bright summer day, the trees are in bloom. You’re pushing him on the swing. He’s too small to push himself properly but he kicks out his feet as he rises into the air. You see his bare ankles between his shorts and socks. He wears small brown shoes, kicking them in front of him as if reaching for the clear blue sky. But his height is only momentary; the swing falls back and soon your hands touch him, warming something deep in your heart. They push out with enough force to send the boy flying again. His back is to you, but you can imagine the beaming grin on his face as he yells ‘higher, higher, Dad!’ The boy soars forward and up, kicking his little brown shoes out ahead of him and your heart breaks as you realise he will never reach the sky. As if at that realisation, he is gone, gone in a blur of smoke. The smoke rises, heading for the blue but the smoke dissipates and fades, not making it ten feet toward the sky. You scream inside your head, hate and destroy yourself for not holding onto the moment for another second. The small wooden seat, hanging from the tree’s limb by two strips of rope swings back to you, empty. Your arms are still outstretched uselessly, but the swing passed by them and swings back out. It’s fall now and the leaves are falling from the trees. The child is long gone but the swing still sways in the wind.

With a crushing realisation, you finally understand. Your wife is gone, your son, your life. Everything you have ever loved or cared for has turned to ash and is falling around you among the black rain. Falling, light as feathers and you know that when they hit the ground they will be dead and gone forever. Your outstretched hands clench unconsciously and then open again. Though your heart and mind have given up, a trace of instinct, of muscle memory, remains. Yet this is only the final cherry on top, oozing blood red into the remains of everything, a cruel reminder that you are so helplessly lost, so forsaken by the world that time has ceased to exist. It’s irrelevant. Even in the second that your knees hit the concrete, tearing open fresh cuts on your already broken body, you’re completely and utterly lost and nothing else matters when this realisation finds you. It could be an eternity that you kneel there, your world falling around you but you are armed with one final defence, one last weapon, a shard of glass clenched in your desperate grasp; the knowledge that once your life has crumbled all around you, once you are truly forsaken, you know with every icy inch of your existence, that you have nothing left. And a man who has nothing left has everything to gain.

 

Fin!

12/02/2013

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So just a quick update to say Traum is finished! Just need to do some final touches and we'll look at getting this thing out. That also means i'll be having a lot more time to write other stuff so watch this space for short stories in the near future. 
Martin Hyde

 
 
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Well hello good people, I've been dead a long time and not in a Freddy Krueger way, i've just been busy. I took a break from new material a while ago to re-direct my attention to Traum. If you're unaware of this phenomenon (i wish,) it's the first proper novel i wrote and my proudest work to date. Yet there were countless improvements to be made, which inevitably rendered a whole re-drafting of the work. I have just hit 40,000 words in the new draft, which is about 200 pages in a book. Funnily enough this was the entire length of the first draft and i haven't finished the 2nd of 3 parts yet. 
     Anyway, i'm being hopeful and aiming for a release of Friday the 13th of December but this will definitely require a lot of work. I want to replace the digital versions online with the new gem as well as making it available in print.
     So don't fear, i'm still alive and still writing. I'm very much looking forward to being able to bring you Traum in all its glory  very soon. I hope you will all enjoy it too, 
Martin Hyde

 
 
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What is happening? Right now- not that much. Still have two or three weeks left of exams but after that i'm a free man :D Speaking of which, i really want to share my essays that i received nigh full marks for. Don't wanna publish them just yet for obvious reasons. I'm also working on a new project (like properly this time.) So when i'm free i'll start a proper routine, writing for a certain time  each morning. I've also finished my short story collection 'Beneath the surface' which is in the final stages currently. So, i'll see you all real soon, 
Martin Hyde

 
 
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Well hello people! Got a nice little surprise for you today on the day of Margaret Thatcher's funeral (R.I.P.) Firstly this is a joke; this is a short story featuring some horror but mostly humour. I mostly take the piss out of the party leaders although if i do offend anybody with this... well tough shit really :P So yeah; during the funeral of the Baroness a zombie epidemic breaks out. In the story: 
Ed Miliband pisses himself,
David Cameron looks at boobs in the bible,
Maragret Thatcher turns into a zombie.
Hope ya'll enjoy,
Martin Hyde

zombie thatcher.pdf
File Size: 57 kb
File Type: pdf
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Well, i've reached that point again. I have very little time and very little patience. Of course i'm still submitting to various horror magazines and websites but always to negative response. I need to focus on my studies at this moment in time and as soon as they are out the way, i will have a few months before moving forward again (hopefully) to the next level of my education. In that time i will work hard to edit and re-work old stories and maybe some new and hopefully present them in a medium which will be more accessible to a larger audience. I'm thinking of course ebooks, self-publish, whatever. But one step at a time. 
Martin Hyde 

 
 
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Have a story lying there that you think isn't good enough? Give it a go. Everybody loves horror but hey, whatever genre, email me at thmaggot@hotmail.co.uk I'll either post it on here and put a link to your website or blog or review it. Watch this space for new content,
Martin Hyde

 
 
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Well here it is, it's over. The last episode of Maxwell's Daughter. Find out how the chilling story concludes bellow:
Martin Hyde

Maxwell's Daughter Pt.8.pdf
File Size: 55 kb
File Type: pdf
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Well here we are; the penultimate (second to last) episode of Maxwell's Daughter. It's been good, now we set up to go out with a bang. Is Stephen's secret about to get out? So when i'm finished with this, i have a few ideas for short stories that i'll put out. I also want to start re-editing old short stories including this one ready for an ebook/ paper back self-publish. I will also be doing my top 13 horror movie reviews, so expect lots of content in the coming months,
Martin Hyde

Maxwell's Daughter Pt.7.pdf
File Size: 69 kb
File Type: pdf
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Partly due to the lack of Good horror films hitting the big screen this year, Sinister has been one of my most anticipated horrors of 2012; spawning films such as The Devil Inside, which was a complete disappointment- the few bearable scenes of this movie were those shown in the trailer and the rest of the movie was absolute trife, and Paranormal Activity 4, for which you can check out my review. Sinister has got to be the best horror flick of 2012, i also need to see The Possession, which looked promising. 

Now my opinion of this film varies; firstly from my initial opinion of the film before watching it, based on reviews and my expectations etc. From what i'd heard it was fairly good and considerably scarier than both Paranormal Activity and insidious, which in retrospect i can kind of agree with. 

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Watching the film, i was very impressed to start with. The build up was very nicely paced and the lack of jumps kept me on the edge of my seat throughout the film. The uncertainty of the plot kept it feeling quite unique, i didn't feel like i'd watched this movie before as you get with a fair few horrors. It felt really Stephen king at some points; mainly i guess due to having the main character as a writer trying to find new material (and no this isn't just the Shining, like so many fucking books are based around similar ideas.) I would've liked to have seen more in this movie, like maybe the director's cut's better, but the film was very limited to scenes and characters. There were for instance, no other charters other than the family and the cops. The University professor has a couple of scenes on Skype but i would have loved a few scenes maybe at the school, some more weird shit happening from the kids' perspective, their dreams or something. Also what the community thought of the writer, yeah a couple people asked for autographs but like they could've made this film a good twenty minutes longer or something and added some depth to it. 

The quality of the horror was good; the face of the demon guy (i guess that's what he is, i don't remember his name, he reminded me a lot of Jim Root's slipknot mask.... anyone?)

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kept a consistent terror throughout the film until i feel at the end. The chick's standing there in front of the screen and then suddenly the dude's face is there and it's scary but then you see his whole body and at that point i lost fear of the demon. It's like it takes away your anticipation and unknowing when you reveal the full form. The ending in general felt a little unoriginal like they didn't quite know what to do with it. But the little twist was pretty neat. I can't quite remember if you see the deaths of Ellison and his family at the end. Not much anyway, it makes me feel like if they do make a sequel, they would open with the tapes of their deaths. There is potential for a sequel; there is definitely loose ends that they can work with but i feel like it would completely kill the movie. Although having said that, i've been pleasantly surprised with the quality of some sequels recently so hey, you never know. 

But overall very good movie, pretty good cast, there were some neat scares in the movie and the plot was fairly original. Won't hit my top 10 favourite movies ever, which i may actually make at some point, but yeah solid movie, definitely get some scares out of this one, check it out.