Tänkte att jag kanske också kunde lägga upp lite av mina grejer. Här är början på en novell jag började skriva på som jag inte har hunnit så mycket på för jag fick writer's block. Den har inget namn eller nåt än heller.

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Prologue

Allan's car stopped in the middle of the road just after 11 pm. He checked the engine twice but there was nothing wrong with the car. Cursing under his breath, Allan took his mobile phone and dialled the number to his sister. It wasn't that late so maybe she could find the number to a garage in the town nearby.
'Hey Eva, your dumb brother has gone and done it again. My car broke down on a road few kilometres outside of Milstone. I'm going to head back there to see if anyone can help me out. I'll be late so tell mum and dad not to wait up for me.'
Then, as by clockwork, the display went blank and Allan reminded himself to charge the batteries before he went for a long drive. Although he could have sworn the batteries had already been fully charged. There was nothing more to do than to start walking back to the town and it couldn't be that long a walk. If Allan was lucky he would probably be home sometime early in the morning.
'Let's race to the river!'
The twenty-one year old stopped in his tracks and looked around. For a moment he thought he had heard children but at this time of night it seemed very unlikely. Allan dismissed the thought as mere imagination and continued walking. Honestly he wasn't so surprised that this had happened, but considering his luck at least the weather wasn't half bad.
'No fair! You cheated!'
This time it wasn't Allan's imagination. There were children playing in the forest. They were running and laughing not too far from the road. Allan could hear them very clearly and now he was curious. There were three of them: one boy and two girls and it sounded as if they were around the age of eight or ten. In order to not scare them, Allan tried to make as little noise as possible and hid behind a large tree trunk. He waited for a while but they didn't seem to notice him at all. They were just running and there were no adults around.
The rest of the forest was silent as well and to be honest Allan was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. He knew he ought to be looking for help with his car but instead he stayed. Suddenly, the boy fell and the two girls danced around him and laughed, except this time it wasn't a warm and childish laughter, it was a chilly sort of laugh, almost dark. One of the girls pulled the boys hair and the other one started poking him.
'Stop that!' The three youngsters gasped and looked up at Allan in shock and before he was able to react, they ran.
'Hey come back!' Allan hurried after them but couldn't see them anywhere. It was impossible to run in the dark and he had no idea of where he was going. He stopped to rest for a few seconds and glanced around him. There were no no sound of footsteps, no voices, not anything. There was just the thick fog wriggling around the forest like a snake. Allan sighed and started running again, straight into the fog.

(fortsättning)

* * * *

A blue Aston Martin stood parked outside a rusty cemetery gate. It was so old that moss had grown onto it and a few spiders as well as other insects had made their nests in it. The graves appeared to be in an equally bad state and nobody had been there for decades. Except of course for some caretaker who made sure that nothing was vandalised.
The owner of the Aston Martin was a man who crouched next to a cart. He was wearing sunglasses despite the fact that the sun hardly shone, but as they said, old habits died hard. Alex Harding was in fact rather fond of those glasses. He wasn't older than twenty-eight, still he often lied about his age, mostly to women. After having wandered around the cemetery for nearly an hour and a half, taking pictures and lying on the ground, his formerly blue shirt was now the same brown colour as his hair.
There was nothing in the cemetery except dirt and dust. Alex decided to give up and started walking back to his car. He was asking himself why he was spending a Friday afternoon in the incredibly dull English countryside. An afternoon which also happened to be his first day off in a few weeks time.
'That bloody girl.'
Some leaves rustled in the wind and Alex turned around as it had startled him a bit. He quickly shook his head and assured himself that it was just the wind and nothing else. Cemeteries were however, naturally scary places and the slightest noise could easily play tricks on your mind. Alex started the car and drove out onto the small road. He turned on the radio and tried to tune in a channel but all he got was static.
'Typical.'

* * * *

* * * *

'I was just a boy when I first heard the stories. My grandfather used to tell me that the faeries would dance under the light of the moon. He'd seen them once but never dared to get a closer look at them. They're dangerous folks the little ones.'
Eva Sullivan listened intently to the old man's story and every now and then she made sure that the voice recorder hadn't run out of batteries. She took down some notes on a piece of paper and waited to hear the rest of the story. Mr. Dermot was an old man and his memory certainly wasn't the best. He was a sweet man though and kind enough to let Eva talk to him. His appearance reminded her very much of her own grandfather.
'I'm sorry, I lost track of where I was.' Mr. Dermot apologised and Eva gave him a warm smile in return.
'That's okay, take your time.' she said
Mr. Dermot's great granddaughter whom had been standing in the doorway now came in to the living room and put her arm around the old man. She turned around to Eva, with a look on her face which wasn't a very friendly one. She hadn't been particularly fond of letting some strange journalist in the house but it hadn't been her choice to make.
'I think it's best if you leave. I don't think he's feeling well.'
'Of course. Thank you for your time.'

Without a goodbye from neither Mr. Dermot nor his great grandchild, Eva took her things and rather swiftly walked out the door. Alex was standing by the car and she grinned widely when she saw the state of him.
'You look horrible.' Eva commented
'Oh really? I hadn't noticed.' Alex sarcastically replied as he handed her the digital camera and got in the car. When Eva closed the door she looked up at the house and saw the Mr. Dermot standing by a window, looking at them. Eva would have loved to have more time to talk but she would just have to do with the information she had. Instead, she turned on the camera and looked through the pictures Alex had taken. It wasn't much to cheer for, but once she transferred the picture to a computer and enhanced them it would be easier to notice if there was anything out of the ordinary on them.
'What do you think is going to be on those photos Eva? Little elves with wings dancing around trees? You can't seriously believe that faeries are real? It's just tall-tales.' Alex said. Tall-tales were for children and he would think that Eva was reasonable enough to know that there were no such thing as elves and faeries.
'Just drive Alex.' Eva replied and leaned back against the chair. It was a long drive back to London.

* * * *

Och längre än så har jag inte skrivit. Hoppas ni gillar den. Har inte postat den någonstans förut.

Bra skrivet, keep it up! Vad duktig du är på engelska.

Tackar

Måste hålla med, riktigt bra skrivet! Man sögs in direkt. Keep up!

(fortsättning)

1-


‘Dad isn’t going to like this.’ Keane locked the door to one of the vaults in the cargo hall. He leaned against the wall and exchanged a worried glance with Declan. They were only an hour into the journey and things were already going wrong. How were they supposed to tell Gordon that there was a disguised toolbox full with cocaine in the cargo hall? Sure they dealt with illegality but exporting drugs was something the captain had been very clear on: Not on his ship. What made the matter even worse was the fact that they didn’t know who the owner of the cocaine was.
‘It’s gotta be someone onboard. They’d want to make sure it got delivered flawlessly.’ Keane assumed as they were making their way back to the main deck.
‘What I don’t get is how the hell we didn’t know about this. All information about the cargo should go through me.’ Declan stated, dreading the thought of having to tell Gordon about their find. Then again, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. If they found out how the cocaine got onboard without their knowledge and who was responsible for it without getting the captain involved it could make things a lot easier onboard.
‘Keane, how do you feel about doing some detective work?’ Declan asked with a grin on his face.
‘If by detective work you mean lying to my dad, I don’t think so. You’re own your own buddy.’ Keane replied. He had a lot of respect for his father and he wasn’t someone you wanted to make angry. Not if you wanted to live to see the next day. Besides, he was bound to find out anyway so Keane didn’t get the point of not just telling him in the first place.
‘We wouldn’t be lying; we’d just be avoiding the truth. Come on, he’s bound to be busy with other stuff anyway. We can tell him once we find the idiot responsible for this, until then it’s unnecessary.’ Declan said. Keane sighed and saw the point. Not to mention it couldn’t be that difficult. They had a passenger list and a list of the cargo. It shouldn’t take that long to get it done but it would have to be in a very discreet way.
‘Alright.’ Keane agreed, still a bit uncertain that they would successfully be able to keep this from his dad. Secrets on the ship tended to get out sooner or later as rumours travelled fast.

En halvfärdig dikt som dök upp i huvudet på mig idag. Jag gillar inte ens dikter i vanliga fall. men oh well.

So forgive me my Dear, if I made you faint hearted
I didn't mean to make you sad or cry on the day that we parted
In fact my intentions were good, I swear I meant to stay
But perhaps fate just thought we should end up going different ways
So forgive me my Dear, I know I said I love you
And no, don't say a word I know you do too

Du är duktig! Jätte bra dikt!

Tack så jättemycket!

Här kommer lite gammal fanfiction jag började på för ett bra tag sedan. Baserad på Sherlock Holmes filmen med Robert Downey Jr och Jude Law håll till godo.

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September 12

“Extra! Extra! Whitechapel murders have the police stumped! Famous detective Sherlock Holmes looks into it!”
“This is a riddle you cannot solve.”
“Moriarty. His name is Professor Moriarty.”
“One day, men will look back and say that I gave birth to the 20th Century."
Sherlock Holmes woke up with a start and sighed heavily as he buried his face in his hands. He had slept badly for four nights in a row and had been having strange dreams on top of it. The detective got out of bed, put some clothes on a lit his pipe. He thought back on the past few days and couldn't help but to wonder if it might have been a mistake to get involved in the Whitechapel case. So far two women had been murdered and so far Scotland Yard were as good as clueless. The first one being Mary Ann Nichols and the other woman was Annie Chapman. There was an eerie chill hanging in the air and the people of London felt it too. Mothers told their children to walk home straight after school and to not talk to strangers. Husbands followed their wives to dinner parties and made sure they got home alright. Ripper they called him. Jack the Ripper.
“Holmes!”
Sherlock spilled out his tea and coughed as he inhaled the tobacco wrongly. John Watson merely rolled his eyes as he closed the door behind him and walked into the room. He hadn't seen his friend in a few days because he had been on vacation with Mary and the in-laws to their summerhouse in Wales. Why anyone would have a summerhouse in Wales was beyond Watson but it had been a nice visit. It amazed him however that the house on 221B Baker Street was still kept in the same manner as the last time he was there. Clothes were lying on the floor, Gladstone was sleeping in a corner, the violin lay on a table and there was dust everywhere. Watson made a mental note to himself to remind Mrs. Hudson to sneak in and actually clean it whenever Holmes was away.
“Didn't your mother ever teach you not to sneak up on people Watson?” Holmes asked as he got up on his feet again, pretending that he hadn't at all been caught off guard.
“Didn't yours ever tell you about hygiene?” Watson countered back. Sherlock sniffed his armpits quickly and looked up at the doctor.
“I don't smell that bad I do I?” he asked
“When was the last time you had a bath?”
“It's been a busy few days. Murders and all.”
Holmes glanced at his friend and noticed that his right sleeve was unbuttoned and when Watson searched his pocket the detective also realized that he ha forgotten his pipe. Point of interest. An unbuttoned sleeve, a stressful appearance and a most spontaneous visit to Baker Street without tobacco after a holiday only means only one thing,Holmes thought. “You and Mary had a fight.” he said. It was a more of statement rather than a question.

“A slight disagreement.” Watson half mumbled, apparently not wanting to talk about it.
“She kicked you out didn't she?”
Holmes was amused by it and he didn't even try to hide it. It was true though, Mary and Watson had had a bit of a fight, in fact the first one since they got married. It had resulted in Mary kicking Watson out, but not permanently, only for a day or two until she calmed down. It was they very reason to why he had gone to Baker Street.
“What was it about? Did you buy her the wrong set of curtains for the living room?” Holmes asked, finding the whole situation very amusing.
“Holmes! Spare me your teasing. Don't you have some work to do? I heard your working on the Whitechapel case.” Watson said, quickly changing the subject.
“Oh yes. In fact I'm about to go meet Lestrade at the Coroner's office. Come along Watson old boy! Assuming you don't have anything better to do?”
Holmes put on his coat and his hat. He grabbed his cane and headed towards the door and Watson sighed, shaking his head.
“I'm going to regret this.” he said, mostly to himself

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Och längre än så hann jag inte skriva på den.

Du skriver jättebra!
Och du är duktig på engelska!

Tack så jättemycket

Lite mer ofärdiga saker jag har på min dator

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Prologue
”You're late.”
”I'm sorry brother dear, it wasn't my intention to insult you.”
The sarcasm in the younger brother's voice was inevitable, but then again it wasn't as if he was actually trying to hide it. It hadn't been his intention to be late, there had just been some things along the way he'd been forced to take care of. A young woman passed by, glanced at the two brothers and then suddenly decided to quicken up her pace. It was probably a very wise decision on her part. They weren’t the best people to be left alone with in the dark.
“This ridiculous game of hide and seek has to stop Michael. We are no longer children and you cannot keep up this charade of yours.” Said the older brother whose voice was resolute and superior. He was a man in his mid-thirties, give or take a few years. The grey streaks in his hair made it a bit difficult to determine his exact age but none of that was important.
“Yes, I know. I’ve already been told.” Said the younger brother as he leaned against the wet brick wall behind him. They were standing within an alleway not far from the Whitechapel tube station in East London. The younger brother was a handsome man, presumably somewhere in his twenties, at least that what his appearance would suggest. He reached inside his coat pocket where he found a cigarett which he lit and then smoked.
“What do you want Gabriel?” he asked as his voice suddenly changed and grew darker, more serious than earlier. Michael knew his brother and he also knew that the reason for his visit was anything but social.
“You’ve been ordered back home.” Gabriel replied solemnly
“By whom? Father? No, I’ve heard this one before. You exiled me here Gabriel and you expect me to believe I’ve been forgiven? I don’t know what you’re planning or who sent you here, well actually that part I can guess, but you can tell them I’m not going anywhere.”
“Don’t be absurd Michael!” hissed Gabriel, “You can’t stay down here. You’re not like them. You don’t belong here.”
“Don’t be so damn condescending. Clearly I don’t belong with you either so you tell me where I fit in? You’re trying to tell me that Father is actually proud of having me as his son?”
Gabriel didn’t reply, in fact there was nothing he could say because he did understand Michael’s point. Very well then, if that is your choice, he thought. Michael met Gabriel’s glance and understood perfectly well what it was saying.
“Goodbye brother.” Said Michael as he turned his heels, walked away and then vanished.