Tuesday, 1 May 2012

A story extract - trauma writing


I include this extract from the book I'm currently writing for 2 reasons:-
a) Magda Olchawska is a great activist in the anti slavery issue that is sadly current in our world and inspired the inclusion of such a situation in my latest novel.

b) Christina Carson expressed an interest in this type of writing.

Both of these ladies are part of the same Triberr team as myself and have been incredibly supportive to me over recent months. They are also very accomplished writers in their own right.


A Changed Reality

We reached the landing and paused once more when I heard a small explosive ‘pop’ somewhere behind me which caused us both to drop to a crouching position as the sound was instantly recognisable. The unmistakeable report of a silenced shot! I set off along the corridor at speed and so when he exited the room on the left I was already at full tilt and the young man didn’t have time to raise the handgun he was carrying before I’d buried the Fallkniven knife up to the hilt under his breast bone stopping his heart almost instantly. Naomi was watching my back but we were alone, even the continuous sound we’d heard previously had stopped and I had this awful premonition that the reason for it ceasing was dead at my feet. I wiped the blade of my knife on the sleeve of the man’s hoodie and stepped past his body easing silently into the room he’d just left. There is no way of preparing yourself for the sight I beheld.
                The room was not that big, it was dimly lit by a single bare light bulb, the walls were painted a dull creamy colour and there was a window but it was curtained with thick brown material barring all natural light. There was no carpet on the floor or, for that matter, any other soft furnishings. The only items of furniture were four identical, cheap, divan beds sporting only a mattress with a bare pillow on each and on top of the mattress a body. They could have almost been four identical sisters, dressed alike, painfully thin, lying on their backs looking at peace but all were dead. They must have been under the influence of drugs when they were shot as there was no expression of horror or attempt at fighting back. Each child would have been between fourteen and sixteen years of age yet looked so much younger and, in death, so innocent. All four had been shot twice in the chest, the popping sound we’d heard, but there life expectancy wouldn’t have been great since they’d been taken by this gang of thugs. I was frozen to the spot with thoughts of lost lives, grief stricken parents and unresolved deaths, in the modern parlance, for some left behind there would be no ‘closure’.
                Naomi tapped me on the arm, which made me jump, and indicated other rooms that we should investigate but in my heart of hearts I feared what we would find. Unfortunately, there were three more bodies in another similar room and in an identical condition and there was also an empty bed, I assumed where Emma Cobb would have been, had she not escaped. In a perverse sort of way she could be blamed for all of this because if she’d not got away she would be whoring on the streets of Krakow with the other seven but life expectancy would not have been great for all manner of reasons that had nothing to do with a young girl growing up at home in a normal situation.

God Bless