Putting life into Words

Reflecting on the 2am post…


I will get back to my tale, I mean how could I leave a proposal dangling midair without giving an answer. However, life, reality, the mundane and the tragic has a way of consuming time and pulling a writer away from their fantasy realm for a while when circumstances are more important.

My last post, was written at 2am, during a wretched night of insomnia, I pulled all the emotions out of my chest and poured them freely upon the screen. I have slept better since then. I have noticed that people treat you differently at this time, I am spoken to differently, there is a tone which accompanies the voice, a softness, a heart felt pain, a lost for words and shall we talk about the weather?

I am expected to fall apart, to go to bits. I am told not to bottle in emotions, that it’s alright to cry, to sob, wail, snot and scream. I am sorry, I feel calm.

When I heard the news I had been expecting, my tummy jumped into my throat and did flip fops there as my heart raced, my hands trembled and there I was stood outside a music venue, under a clear full moon as the main band had just come on stage. This is a pinpoint in time which will always cling with me.

But I soon felt calm, still feel calm. It is quite spooky in a way… The way I have remained level headed, even kept a firm grasp on my sense of humor. I have moments where I am gloomy, sad, miserable… But this expected ‘falling apart’ still escapes me…

… This is because I’ve done my falling apart – I’ve done my sobbing – I said my words of regret and hope – I even kicked the fireplace and suspect I might have busted my little toe. I have been through a whole tornado of emotions throughout the year, I have watched my Mother  approach the edge of death on so many events, each time to drag herself back, only to sit and wish for death. Over and over again, it would tear my heart apart listening to her constant begging to be set free. I’ve done what is expected of me, now, throughout the whole year, for I have spent the whole year watching my Mother slowly die.

… Finally, stood outside the music venue, listening to the crowd inside roar into life, finally, as I heard the news I had  been expecting… My shock, my grief, turned into relief.

Please do not consider my words heartless, please do not think I am a bitch. Please understand how hard this is for me to write. Yet I grieved for my Mother as she deteriorated, now I am calm, for she is at peace.

Thank You for being there for me, my lovely invisible audience. Normal service will resume shortly… I mean you want to know if there will be a wedding between my characters, don’t you?


Love, Anne Harrison 22.12.16



My Safe Place

I feel safe writing here, I have my own corner of the interweb where I can express myself freely and sometimes that is just enough, to get my words off my chest, onto the screen out there somewhere… Instead of letting things fester inside my heart and feelings so raw eat away at the corners of my mind…

… but where to start?

January 2nd 2016, right at the beginning of the year… this was the day Mother suffered her first seizure. I have never witnessed anything like this and I’m not even sure how I remained calm? And although I want to get everything out in the open, I find myself unable to go into detail… for many a long hour we (my Father and I) sat helpless unable to do anything and unwilling to leave her side, until exhaustion overwhelmed us both and we had to retire.

That is how it started (2016) and how it continued… mums health declined rapidly and after six weeks in hospital she was sadly diagnosed with dementia and we had to accept the fact that she would not be coming home. We were in a system then! A long complicated string of red tape, forms and assessments, questions on top of questions,  all these policies and procedures sucking the life out of you… consuming time and money as the journey to get mum settled in a nursing home began. With language so twisted in a way that concerned my elderly Father, we muddled through as best we could… but while we were chasing paperwork,  mum was becoming lost to us…

We wrote letters, so many letters, to everyone mum had ever known and so few replies… Though there was a bright brilliant ray of light in this gloom which presented us with hope,  a chance to move mum closer to us, under the caring watchful eye of a close family friend.  For this I shall be forever grateful… mum had been struggling,  suffering,  her health (mentally and physically) was fast fading and heartbreaking to watch, with several more visits into hospital,  several more fits and seizures, several more close encounters with mortality…

We, thankfully, got her moved, somewhere closer, somewhere safer, somewhere that cared about each resident not bloody money!! And even though we knew in our hearts that mum would never really be mum again, she shone just a little,  just enough, in small valuable fragments of lucidity…

The beginning of the end came with a 2am phone call, another hospital visit and the deeply shocking, unnerving hemorrhage… again I chose to skip details here, save for the stench of blood,  I’ve never smelt something so strong,  so distinctive and so disturbing… I hope never to smell  (or see) such extensive bleeding ever again!!

I’m sad to say, this marked the beginning of the end and mum never fully recovered from this … we got her back to the nursing home though, instead of in hospital… by now she resembled nothing of her former life, she was so fragile,  nothing more than skin stretched over pale bones, wasted away to a hollow shell,  skeletal and restless…

Last Tuesday mum lost her fight, last Tuesday I was at a gig (my first night out in ages), the Christmas party at the nursing home was in full swing, it was the 13th… a full moon… all these details kinda stay with you  … and mum finally found her peace.

Nearly a year later… in that time I watched my bubbly bonnie mum become a skeleton…
… but I will never *ever* forget the kindness we all received from one individual, and subsequently a team of staff, who helped us make mums final months more comfortable. 

I can’t sleep,  I’ve not slept well in a long time, neither have i really cried… but I am writing all this here, in my safe place, my little corner of the interweb… where I can use words to express the great weight on my chest and hopefully honour the memory of my mother…

Love, Anne Harrison.

Part 17

*A convenient proposal*


It was a dirty day, the sky ash grey, full of moisture but not rain. A dense fog rolled around the hills, languid and stagnant as the caravan turned into the valley which lead as a natural path towards the capital city, which towered even above the fog like fierce knives stabbing the sky.

Hera rode with Sharmara at the head of his personal trailer. He had been silent, brooding, deep in thought since an in depth conversation with Fendor earlier that morning. The two men had engaged in several serious councils frequently and Hera just knew that this was relating to the mysterious stone and the broken Prince.

“What if I said I could heal The Prince before we arrive to see his father?” Hera spoke softly.

“Are you really that good?” The Priest had a stammer in his voice, the issue was clearly perplexing .

“I have faith in my abilities.”

Sharmara scoffed “I expect your demands will be high?” The conversation developed into negotiations, with the city in sight the situation with His Royal Highness was becoming impossible to ignore and even more impossible to conclude to a reasonable solution.

“Well? Name your price?”

Hera pondered over the question carefully, knowing that this could signify her freedom, but what would freedom actually mean if her kind were still persecuted…

“I want to be your wife.”

Sharmara near fell from his perch upon the van. “Wife?”

“You are a Kannrok Priest are you not? The Kannrok order has no demands of celibacy, their Priests may marry, some even have multiple wives.”

“Would you not prefer your freedom, money, property?”

“What good are these if I can still be hunted? I could be arrested, my assets seized and myself put to death. Your offer is generous, but I would be safer in the city as your wife.You need not expose my true nature, I can even change my outward appearance to relieve you of my hideous visage. You know my powers and I know you can hide me within plain sight.”

“… And you can fully heal The Prince?”

Hera nodded “I can even manifest a replica stone for the young Prince to present to his Father. I know yourself and Fendor are musing over the nature of the crystal and I understand neither of you feel this is safe in the hands of the immature Prince.”

“How do you know that?” Sharmara frowned…

“I really am that good.” She smiled, her appearance shifted  as she changed expression, exposing a hidden beauty under the grime.

Sharmara blinked but the illusion was gone, a subtle promise of the beauty his wife could behold by his side.

“If you really are that good, if you can heal The prince, if you can fool the King. Then I shall make you my Bride Hera.” He replied with sincere honestly.


Anne Harrison 13.12.16


Part 16

*Of grief, of revenge, of strength, of madness*


Hera knew the exact moment The Guardian died, she knew exactly how he died, where and by whose hand. Her skills with the sight were so fine, she felt it in her heart, witnessed it through her minds eye and throughout her grief remained silent as the caravan journeyed forth upon the trail back to the capital city, to the awaiting triumphant King and victory.

The Priest was a constant companion, he was her protector and no one dared harass the Witch in his care. This proved useful, yet also frustrating, his constant questions and demands upon her abilities were draining, but he was entertained with simple parlor tricks and slight of hand so Hera had no fear of letting any true magic fall into his hands. It also presented her with the opportunity to get close to events unfolding upon the road. The Princes insanity being the most pressing urgency, he played with his marbles and jabbered, drooling broken minded.

Hera had deduced that Fendor and Kane both held halves of the gem without one each others knowledge. Kane remained within the ranks of the common soldiers, hidden in plain sight, concealing the power he held. Though his fellow troopers clearly held him in high regards after he had so coldly dispatched of The Guardian, but even this had fallen under the attention of his superiors.

Fendor was of a stronger mind than the fragile Prince and when alone he would consult with the blue stone he carried. His logic overwhelmed his fear, he was not a superstitious man, yet respected magic even if he did not fully understand it.

So, he sat alone upon the humble bunk in his own caravan, off duty, relaxed with a sweet mead.  Fendor took the stone from his pocket and laid it upon the blankets before him, seated himself crossed legged and sprinkled the stone with mead, a custom he had witnessed his Mother enact many a moon ago. Though the details now escaped his memory, it felt like the right thing to do and the stone reacted, she shuddered, humming into life before his very eyes. A deep inner flame sparkled and pulsed, as the mead was absorbed, the offering gratefully accepted.

“Who are you?” Fendor whispered, initially feeling idiotic addressing a rock.

“I do not have a name.”

“I can not just call you blue stone, now can I?”

“What would you like to call me?” The voice was so sweet, musical.

“Beryl is blue, I shall call you Beryl.”


If a stone could smile, Fendor imagined she did.

“You said you wanted to be whole, when I first held you, care to elaborate?”

“I’m broken, there is a second half to me, scarlet and powerful. We were split when our host died, but we can not be whole again without another host.” Beryl wove her sad tale to the soldier, unaware of the danger she could be placing herself in, she trusted the man before her more than the weak minded Prince.

Fendor could be quite useful, she mused silently …


Anne Harrison 08.12.16



For Mum…


I want to write about what is happening in life.

I want to get it all off my chest, into words, onto the screen.

I want to pour it all free, to rant, to rage to scream, to shout.

I want to explain to someone – anyone – how I’m feeling, what I am going through.

I want sympathy, I want hugs, I want release!

But I can’t do that…

The words wont come, they stick in my throat.

I don’t want the attention, I don’t want to explain myself.

I don’t want to cry into my yogurt over my lunch break.


A phone call – during lines on the screen.

Puts matters into perspective.

Years reduced into days.


To soon.

But not too soon.

It is time to say Goodbye.


Anne Harrison 05.12.16