Spring To Summer

Mornings begin hot and with the afternoon things become dry and crisp under hard light. The sky becomes paler and more colourful in the evenings. When the days stop being cold and wet you can notice the nights. As they try to make up for the sweltering heat of the day with chill air and wet ground. 

As soon as the sun is up all moisture and dew is obliterated around this time of the year. Grey and white are gone, blue and orange are left. And when the days of orange and blue are over, grey and white will dampen the sky again. This process is ingrained in our very bodies as we try to adjust each year.

As the heavy hours draw in you can see the dark trees reaching down from the sky. The warmth leaves with the sun, the cold arrives with the moon. lamps are lit and fires are stoked. The only comfort to be found.

You can now see the moonlight through the old trees. Like a hard light being shone through an old mans's wrist. The veins tightly wound together.

The Shore. Part One By Morgan Murphy.

The Shore

By Morgan Murphy.

Part One

The sound of clean water gently sliding back and forth with the tide is quite possibly one of the most pleasurable sounds there is. A seagull calling out as it glided high above the water. this was all I heard. The air felt thick with sea spray vapour making every breath more satisfying than the last. The sun was up but not forcing its heat upon the beach below. The beach was vast and wet. It had rained almost all morning and as the afternoon came the sun had begun slowly drying the sand below.

A small wooden structure protruded from the sand, known as a groin to the Americans whose country I lay beached in. This was the only survivor of a long line of groins that had been weathered and washed away. Those solitary wooden beams caught seaweed and pebbles and just few metres further along was the perfect spot for flotsam and washed up bodies. This was where I lay. Amongst the sand. My shoes touching the tide as it came in.

I could feel nothing. I instantly thought I was dead, then realised I could not be. If I were dead I would not have been having the thoughts that brought me to consciousness. I could smell the sea and I noticed my body was almost paralysed. My eyes stung and my mouth was dry. Half of my face lay on the soft sand. I was neither cold nor hot. I felt like something was not right. I had literally no idea how I had manifested on this beach within an inch of my life.

When I noticed the first body I assumed the person that lay still was simply asleep. But upon close inspection the face was completely unanimated and pale. The shock that took hold of me would be hard to describe. I turned over to get a proper look into the lifeless face. He didn’t look familiar and I found it hard to feel sympathy for those I don’t know or care for. I hoisted my aching head up and caught a look at the rest of my body. My clothes were wet and sandy of course but I noticed I was wearing my favourite tweed suit. Then the sun shot its rays right into my eyes so I had to lie back down again.

At the time I thought perhaps I was in a plane crash. Or maybe even a boating accident. Mine and the body of the poor fellow next to me were so out of place here. Both lying fully clothed, drenched with sea water and covered in sand. I turned my head to the right and saw the wooden groin standing strong in the sand. The wood was dry, splintered and very old. The sun had burned down on the beach for the remaining hours of the morning and by now it cannot have been later than noon. The best wood to start a fire going is the driest wood, the best place to find dry wood is at the beach. Wood on the beach will usually have had its moisture completely removed by the surrounding sand. I remembered being a teenager back in England and going to beach in the summer. Searching for fire wood along the rocks just above the sandy beach. My friends and I would drink wine and smoke our pipes until the moon was high above the sea. I could remember these times so vividly, yet the present was more of a mystery to me than most of my treasured memories.

The second body lay a few meters up from me towards the groin and further inland. He lay on his front and I could see the soles of his nice shoes. I noticed something protruding from his back, for a moment I thought it was a small black bird sitting between his shoulder blades. With my head cocked at this angle I felt the first notions of pain. And trying to focus on the second body made me realise the state I was actually in. My hair was wet but not only from the sea water. I could see blood in the sand next to where my head was imprinted.

At last I felt I had regained control of my body, I sat up and felt the sand fall from me into my lap. The sun escaped behind a cloud for a moment and everything felt darker and more real. I moved my knees and dragged my legs towards me. I felt old and tired. All my feelings came back to me and it felt like death was properly upon me. I fingered about my body and felt numerous places about myself that were bruised and stung to the touch. I ran my hand through my hair and felt the head wound the blood had slowly poured from. It wasn’t running very heavily with blood at this point though and the hair around it was beginning to cling to my scalp, the blood was crisper than an open wound would suggest. I stretched my arms, they creaked and popped simultaneously.

I was so tired and drained, I was also afraid. My heart was thumping very hard inside me as if it was the only force keeping me alive. I pulled my tweed jacket off and placed it by my side, my shirt clung to my skin and there were flecks of blood stained into the white material. One of my braces was broken and hung lose alongside my leg. The other two men did not stir. I was suddenly very uncomfortable about their presence. They were both lying so still, I stared at the one closest to me. I desperately gazed at his chest to see it rise and fall but it did not move. I rubbed my eyes as the sun came back out from behind the clouds. I began to walk up towards the rocks away from the shore. I remember stumbling and falling back into the warm soft sand. As I raised back to my knees I looked to my left at the second body and wondered whether the bird was still on his back. But the bird was not there, in fact it had never been there. What I thought was a black bird was the black handle of a large knife that had been struck between the dead man’s shoulders. His striped suit jacket sunk inwards towards the wound and blood reached across his back on the damp material.

The knife made me see something, a memory. Did I kill this man? I thought for a moment. The idea of killing was never something that I thought I would be placed with. I had no feelings of guilt or previous murders. I remembered not having to concern myself with death much, I had no close family members and never had to mourn for loved ones. I wasn’t a killer, I felt that at least. I was a lonely man, I could not picture a single familiar face. I tried to remember being on the beach with my friends collecting the dry wood for the fire but that memory was so long ago the people I was with were no longer familiar. I needed to know what had happened. I reached underneath the dead wet man and pulled his shoulder up and pushed him back to see his face. His eyes were wide open and filled with sand.

I knew him. I knew his face. Even with its distorted hideous expression and bruised complexion. I scraped the sand out of his eyes, mouth and nose. I lay him in my arms. How did this happen? There were no answers in front of me. As I sat there listening to the tide and the gulls above me. I looked down at the man I somehow knew. His head was heavy and his hair was wet on my lap. I tried not to contort him further but the knife in his back and the stiffness of his body disturbed me deeply. His suit was purple and cream with pinstriped jacket and trousers. His whole appearance was familiar from his nice shoes to his thin black moustache. He was my friend. 

New Story: The Shore.... Preface

The Shore Preface

I have spent the last month or so writing a new short story for this months blog post and this piece of writing has turned into a concept I believe would make a good novel on its own. 
Set in the idyllic American coast of New Jersey in the year 1924 I decided to move away from writing about the UK. Even though I have never been to the US, my main character was born and raised in England and living as a stranger in America for ten years I thought this would feel a lot more safe of an angle for me to take.
It is somewhat of a mystery thriller with elements of romance and comedy. I don't want to give too much away but I hope that you, the reader, are interested in where the plot goes. 
I have the story in two parts so far and I should hope to post the second here when it is properly finished. 
When it is up, please let me know what you think and leave a comment or an email. or tweet me and share your thoughts. Twitter: @M_Murphy3 
I had great feedback for my last short story 'The Howlett Brothers'. I wanted to say thank you to everyone who read it and told me what they liked, very much appreciated. I would also like to thank my girlfriend for reading through my writings and picking up on things my slow brain cannot.

Enjoy and stay safe on the beach,
Morgan Murphy.

The Howlett Brothers. A Wolverine Short Story By Morgan Murphy

The Howlett Brothers

(Wolverine Short Story)

By Morgan Murphy

In Canada there are countless terrains. The woodlands is where one might go to get lost. It was here in a beautiful wooded landscape where James and Victor decided not to be found. It was beginning to get dark. A lone campervan was parked in the lay by of a vacant road used only by lumber workers. The trees surrounded the van and the road with perfect symmetry. Snow from the past night rested gently on the bracken of the woodland floor. The only light in the area came from a porch under a misshapen awning that belonged to an old campervan.

Victor staggered up to the campervan. He passed through the tall trees either side of him, stopping and leaning against the bark of every other tree to keep his balance. His jumper is torn in places and his long brown coat was stained with blood and dirt. His face was covered in sweat and splashed with flecks of blood, his expression was vacant. He looked around 24 years old and was visibly shaken and very damp. As he approached the van he saw his younger brother sat on a foldout chair smoking a thin cigarette. James looked 22 years old and wore a loose fitting button down shirt with a thick brown jacket. The porch light sat on a small keg he was using as a footrest. There was just enough natural light for James to notice his brother approaching covered in blood.

“God damn it Vic.” Said James under his voice but clearly audible enough to be heard by his older brother. He could smell the blood on him.  

“Don’t start Jimmy” Victor went inside the van and returned with a second fold out chair. He slumped next to his brother and looked down at his large sharp bloody fingers. There was blood and pieces of flesh under his nails.

“Where are they?” asked James.

“Dead. All of them” his eyes glazed over as he responded.

“I guessed so. But I was actually referring to the bodies.” Victor stared into the distance completely unresponsive.

“Victor! Did you bury the bodies?” He came around and words struggled from his mouth “uh um” he shook his head. “No. I didn’t.”

James rose from his chair and climbed the steps into the campervan. He shuffled around and knocked things about inside. He stepped down from the doorway with two shovels in both hands. Victor stood up as James threw one of the shovels into his hands. James leant the shovel against his shoulder and gestured to victor to show him the way. Victor stepped past James with a snort of laughter.

The sun had truly set by the time they had finished digging the graves. The snow had melted in the last of the evening sun and darkness had swamped the wood. As the last bodies were buried the two young men propped themselves against their shovels. The graves lay peacefully amongst the trees. The soil beneath them was rich and dark.

After a short rest and a few moments of reluctant silence they set off back in the direction of the van. They were both covered in dirt and had sweat dripping from their similar noses. They began to discuss the men they had just buried. The small gang of men had learnt that the two of them were camping in the woods and amongst them decided to ask the two boys to leave. They were five honest men from the small town nearby. James’s thoughts turned to the fatherless children and the widowed women. He didn’t blame victor directly, he blamed himself too. Victor explained to James how they had followed him into the woods and confronted him. They then attacked him. And Victor, consumed with rage as he was known, had killed all five men. He had squeezed each of their throats and slashed at their flesh until they lay still.

These two boys were not the young outlaws they appeared to be. They had lived as young lords in an age that had long past. They had done things together that any sane man would deem impossible. They were gifted. But their gifts were not used in any moral way. The two boys knew nothing of morals. They had been home schooled from a young age all those years ago. But since being on the run they had only each other’s company and very little time in one place to read or learn. They must have been around fifty-five years of age but to the naked eye looked no older than twenty. They were not fatigued nor did they show any signs of being their true age. They had lived partly empty lives and often found it difficult to remember their past.

They had a large amount in common, their ability to age slowly, their animal like perceptiveness and powerful senses of smell. Their wounds healed moments after being opened and they both suffered from uncontrollable rage when provoked. Not to mention James’s hideous retractable bone claws that sliced through his fists. And Victor’s finger nails could become bone hard and incredibly sharp.

When they got back to the van they snuffed out the porch light and James tidied up some of the mess from the day. The two stepped into the campervan in turn and went to sleep on opposite sides of the living space. The van was cold and damp, it was barely liveable. But the word ‘Liveable’ didn’t mean much to these two brothers.

James woke in a most unpleasant way. Although he had escaped from another nightmare about his father which was pleasant. These were regular and he would often find himself waking in a fit of screams with Victor trying to restrain him. It was an uncomfortable sleep. His shoulders hurt and his arms felt numb. He stood and stretched his body as the cold morning sun shone through the blinds. Victor was well awake and sat outside on the porch, he had a small kettle boiling on top of a little gas cooker. As James sat next to him he opened a tin of coffee and placed two mugs on the top of the keg they used as a table. They drank coffee and ate stale bread in silence.

Wolverine Short Story Foreword

Hey Bub,

My next post will be the whole Wolverine short story I have been working on. After seeing 'Logan' this month (twice) I went back and watched all of the X-Men films. I extremely enjoyed the idea of Logan being hundreds of years old. I thought about all of the experiences he had growing up with his powers and I wondered about all the stories and memories the character would have. Whilst watching 'X-men Origins: Wolverine' (arguably the worst X-men film) I noticed the short introduction scene where we see Victor and Logan growing up together and living through all of the wars side by side. As the film gets worse and worse we learn that Victor is a complete evil bastard. I thought it would be cool to see Logan and Victor before they become Wolverine and Sabretooth. Back when they were teenagers (or on the surface teenagers) Anyway I hope you enjoy what I have written. I am a fan of the x-men and Marvel and I do realise that Logan and Victor are not brothers in the comics. But I felt for this story to make sense it would be easier to go in with the prior knowledge we have from the films. I am working on a very similar novel idea about two brothers and this was kind of a starting point for me, as I love the characters and found it easy to envision them.

Hope you like. And please enjoy.

Let me know what you think in an email! or not. 

morgan_murphy@hotmail.co.uk

Short Story: Eric And The Pier.

Eric And The Pier 

by Morgan Murphy.

Eric McGrane stood on the tip of the pier staring contently out across the bay. He leant forward with his entire body pressed against the waist high barrier. The pier was a short walk from his home although the sight was far more beautiful from the end of the pier than from his bedroom window. It was around four thirty on a cold January afternoon and the sun was at its end. The street lights had lit the entire bay, illuminating the crescent of land that faced out to sea. The water so calm it couldn’t be heard. Eric’s hands became cold, he released his grip from the partially rusted railing and dipped his fingers into his pockets. Eric was 32, average height and build. Upon first observation he could come across as a depressive. This was because he usually looked swamped by his emotions. He wore an old brown coat that hung down to his knees. Brown boots and brown corduroy trousers. His hair however was black and kept lengthy on the top but short on the back and sides. At his age he no longer cared much for his appearance and thus clung a thin beard to his face. His sickened eyes covered by old fashioned circular glasses. He scraped into his deep pockets and fingered his wedding ring into his palm. His thoughts turned to his wife, as he rubbed his thumb and index finger around the ring his heart jumped as he was reminded of her beautiful face. He remembered their first interactions with and other. The two of them together. Eric was a teacher, he taught English but his favourite muse was literature. He had spent most of his growing life reading novels and could never stifle his need to digest new stories and immerse himself in lands and cultures he had never seen. He loved to become close with characters and people he had never met and trying to understand how their narration revealed the workings of their minds. He could not understand why these characters and worlds were so much more alive than the life he was living. To his students he was Mr McGrane and to his wife he was just Eric. The sky turned from blue to grey and the water became more unhinged. Darkness moved over the unlimited open sky and it began to fill with clouds. He turned and faced away from the water and looked back towards the land. The trees were touching the sky, each branch black against the pale darkening sky. With one last glance back out to the water Mr McGrane left the pier. He walked along the promenade just up from the water which lay still with ripples that lapped the rocks. The street lamps shone the way in an orange glow that made the sky seem even bluer. The orange and the blue. The contrast of colour made him feel something. Whenever life imitated art he felt the same way he did with thoughts of his wife. Warm.

Chapter 2 From My Unfinished Novel: The Autumn

Chapter 2 from unfinished Novel: The Autumn 

By Morgan Murphy

2

The days they just kept coming. Every single day shorter than the last. A photo book of brief memories and short experiences and bleak thoughts. A photo book gripped at the corners and flipped through rapidly by a thumb letting gravity suck each photo into the past. Every photo shown for less than a second and every thought gone before it began. Every thought of tomorrow was a mirror reflection of the day before.

This day was different. 6 am. Alex woke up. Left his filthy bed. Left his filthy apartment. Set foot down the cold sodden wooden stairs and made for the nearest grassy patch of land. His bare feet turned blue with every step. The calling of the thick autumn grass was ceased as his feet collided with it. He stood with his feet burrowed in the wetness of the dew. Standing with his head in his hands. A deep and overwhelming feeling came over him like death himself emerging from a soil churned pit in the ground. The feeling of loss and desperation, he felt his loss rise above him. And finally. He began to cry.

The morning sun shone through the empty trees onto every blade of wet grass. The small river that travelled past his flat and went into a forest nearby. The forest very uninteresting and almost too far away to be of any importance to Alex’s life. The factory attached to his flat was silent all through the day, the workers wouldn’t turn up until 9. Alex’s breaths were fast and each exhale let off a large puff of thick mist into the air.

His deep frozen feet began to move. Numbly he realised he wanted to walk.

In the back of his mind the route was already planned out. In the foreground of his mind, her. Always her. No matter where or when it needed to be in use, it was always her.

The path he walked was slightly trodden. With trees on either side of him a rocky and frosty mud path before him. The trees were naked. Without their leaves and instead a thick frosty dew hung from their thin branches. At the end of this path there was an estate that was the home of some young families and pensioners. The path would have only been trodden by dog walkers. Each dog so familiar with the route that it need not be attached by a lead. Each dog walker on the same path as Alex. Alex always wanted a dog. An alternative direction could be taken that lead to a clearing. Alex remembered walking there with Hector once. Probably years ago now. Hector was not someone he wanted to think about.

As the trees began to separate and the clear sky opened out he was clear of any trees the space he stood occupied only by him and one other. The clearing was all but empty the long grass was dark and thick. The light snap of a stick in the near distance just caught Alex’s dazed attention. He looked across the open space and into the black eyes of a beast. Frozen in time and also partly frozen from the cold Alex stood there practically naked. The beast was silent. How could something so huge be so quite? The beast watched his every move. From his shivers to his shakes. As steam began to bellow from its nostrils the man began to breathe also. Alex felt like this animal. He felt alone. He felt like the wilderness was his home. He felt he would happily stare into the sky and grow antlers on his forehead. And then be accepted as one of them. An animal. A deer. As one of his new friends.

The stag still watched him. Still stared into his very soul. Had anybody paid Alex this much attention before he would not have noticed the intensity. His brown coat almost blending in with the woods. Thick skin and tough short fur. His antlers stood tall high above Alex. Like a crown above his head all twisted and twined. Alex looked at the deer. To him the stag was a god. Someone he was beneath. The stag had lost interest in Alex and bowed down to begin sniffing the ground. Almost synchronised with the deer Alex crouched down to the level of the deer. His eyes scanned the area and fell back upon the deer. Perhaps the deer was enjoying his company too. As he stared at the deer Alex’s face began to change, feeling different feeling that company. He began to smile. The first expression that had fallen on his face for a long time. He and the deer were together. His friend began to make eye contact again. His thick neck a huge collection of soft brown fur began to pivot back into the air. Perfectly balanced. His pointy ears began to flutter around. His black hole eyes were tired and hungry. His antlers still stood high and unbroken there was pieces of moss and grass crammed into the sharp crevices in his crown. Alex sat like a small child adoringly watching his father. His smile was so far across his face it met the tears trailing from his eyes. This deer was the only other living being he had been able to relate too before. The Deer’s ears stood up. Flitting about in the open air. The beast began to trot delicately out of sight.

As he left the woods he dropped his emotions. He was alone again.

The air so open anything could inhabit it. The space he stood in inhabited only by a man. A man whose tears could have frozen in his hands.

Alex began to shiver. He was awake now. More awake than he had been for the last two weeks. But this time emotionally and mentally awake. The walk into the fresh air, the tears, and the emotions let go. Awake. Today of all days. Today he could bring back his life. He could claim himself again. Some may take an occasion like this as a sign, a blessing, maybe a message from god. But Alex didn’t think like that and he wouldn’t start thinking like that today.

The thick black eyes haunted him. As he climbed the steps to his flat all he could think of was the stag. The beautiful deer. As he opened the door and returned to his bed, his skin hardened and the hairs on his body shot into the air. The morning light shone into the big room. The gap in the curtain letting the sweet autumn sun into the space. He went back to sleep. This time it was real sleep.  

I hope you enjoyed that. That was one of the few complete chapters from my book and i hope to add more to each chapter at some point. This story about Alex and his discovery of who he is and what he has become after his marriage is what keeps me wanting to write. I will post more chapters when I finish them. Let me know what you thought in the comments or send me an email at morgan_murphy@hotmail.co.uk

An Introduction To Morgan Murphy's Writings.

My name is Morgan Murphy.
I am currently a student trying my best to be academic and scholarly. 
Upon this blog is where I have decided to share some of my short stories. I have been writing in my spare time (which is vast, being an unemployed scrounger) for the last three years. I have been writing a novel over this time which is nowhere near ready enough to post anywhere. I have already found myself having to refrain from using the Courier font. here is where I will post my short stories. If you, as a reader, decide you enjoyed reading my piece do leave a comment on what you liked. And I might just begin to build on the stories and characters and turn them into novels of their own.



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