Some of you may remember the last time I posted on these boards (last year) and what I wrote. Well, it's been a long time but now I've published a book of 12 twisted tales, including improved versions of ones you may have read here, and I'd very much like if you'd give it a look and perhaps consider buying a copy.
It's not been published by some big company and I make very little money from each book sold. I'm posting this because I want to share my work with the wider world and hopefully find people who like it.
You can have a look at some of the illustrations and read more about it
here. (To view some of the illustrations, click "Preview" under the image of the cover.)
Please feel free to post any thoughts, comments and criticisms you may have. This is about finding out what people think of my work after all.
As a preview of the things to be found in this book of mine, here is one of the many tales contained within. It's one of my favourites, but may I say that there are certainly more of which I am just as proud:
The Story of Isaac Labove
The city is teeming
With tales of regret,
But there’s one in the country
You’ll not want to forget.
Our dark tale begins
With a woman in love
With a dashing young poet
Named Isaac Labove.
He lived with his family,
And there he was hung.
They would not let him leave
For he was still quite young.
He lived in the city,
So they knew from the start
That love would be tricky
Living so far apart.
They could not meet that often
As he lived far away,
So he’d send her a poem
By letter each day.
He sent them at night
So next day she’d get mail;
And each one began
“To my dear nightingale.”
Each one spoke of love
And how he longed to be near,
And how they would marry
For their love was so dear.
“One day we shall fly
Like the birds, my dear love.
One day we’ll be free
As the birds high above.”
She’d receive every letter
With a smile and a sigh,
And once in a while
She would write a reply.
And so they continued
This written exchange.
But after a while
Things became rather strange.
It began with a letter,
No different at first,
But something disturbing
In the way it was versed.
“Oh my dear sweetest love,
If you only knew
How I’d rip out their spines
To be closer to you.”
This troubling message
Did have her struck dumb.
If only she knew
There was far more to come.
And as each day passed
She would get more and more,
With each letter’s contents
Far worse than before.
“I’d cut for a minute!
I would kill for an hour!
I’d open them up
And their hearts I’d devour!”
And when she stopped reading,
For she could take no more,
Each day she would still get
A pile through her door.
The madness continued,
And for weeks she’d not sleep.
For who once made her happy
Did now make her weep.
Until one quiet evening
She got only one.
So she read it in hope
That he’d say he was done.
Her hands trembled slightly
As the flap came apart,
But the note simply read:
“I am close to your heart.”
She read this bewildered,
But then she did stare.
For attached to the paper
Was a lock of her hair.
She staggered in shock,
But was shocked even more
When she saw dearest Isaac
Stood outside her door.
She opened the door
A fraction of a crack,
But Isaac just stood there
And smiled warmly back.
“I’m sorry,” he said,
“For the things I did write.
But it’s all better now,
For I’m with you tonight.”
She thought for a moment
And let him come in,
For he looked rather cold
And morbidly thin.
He seemed very different
From the rage of his letters.
But then she espied
The bloodstains on his sweater.
“What on earth have you done?”
She did suddenly squall.
“They would not let me see you
So I murdered them all.”
“I only did it
For I love you so much.
I would never hurt you
One iota as such.”
The stunned silence was broken
When soon she did hear
The sound of police sirens
Thundering near.
Isaac took her hand,
And with all their power
They raced to the mansion’s
Highest viewing tower.
The police bashed the door
With a shattering din.
She implored to her Isaac
To give himself in.
“I’ll never see you again!”
He desperately said,
“But we can be free.”
And to the window he led.
She looked at him fondly
For she knew he was right.
So out of the window
They leapt into the night.
The police burst through
But a second too late,
They could only watch as
The two leapt to their fate.
They looked out the window
But no corpses were there,
Just two nightingales
Soaring through the night air.
