Zoom in…

 

It first began to film him in the street…or at least that’s when he became aware.

 

He remembered it distinctly, the first time; the inception of the new horror. He remembered in the same way that a person remembers all cathartic events, be they the drama of a worlds-end sunset, or the first experience of penetrative sex; they are all stored within memory like antiques in boxes forged from bone.

 

Wilson had left some modest New Hoare Street red-brick bar of beer-jugs and men with hunchbacks from the weight of the world. He'd passed the celebratory sports drinkers and even the lonesome drinkers who muttered sad poems under hoppy breath and beards and only faced the ground, watching their cigarette butts lose their fire and curl into dirty corpses. Wilson passed all and stepped into the chill of February city-night.  

 

The cold hovered like pale ghosts who wrapped themselves around his shoulders like scarves of frozen meat. Wilson raised his collars over red-apple cheeks in an attempt to beat them back. A brief snow fell; a shower without the potency to cover the ground, just a shower that simply managed to highlight the outlines of billboards and buildings. He forced his pace to quicken and almost jogged up the hill towards the functional Snow Hall train station and its new, heated waiting room.  

 

Shadows shuffled in doorways like young hamsters that swim amongst their brethren for warmth. The moon grinned its full yellow fangs at those below in their avenues and arteries and, if werewolves were real, they would have been stalking fools in the undercarriage of shadows. As he scurried towards the final corner of his immediate journey, a slow automobile passed and the bright sword from the headlights caught a reflection from up-high. The light spat across his eyeballs and he immediately traced the source with a rigid stare. His gaze climbed above the tramp doorways, above sale signs, above windows adorned with maudlin mannequins, above undecorated brickwork and above the faded rusted letters of old-time businesses…

 

He saw it.

 

Screaming Blue City Murder MASTER WEBSITE

AN EXTRACT FROM - SCREAMING BLUE-CITY MURDER

Where in hell is The Blue-City?

 

It's everywhere but nowhere; the city within the cities you know.

 

It's in the corner of your eye, or the darkest recesses of your mind, shimmering like lights on the night-sea.

 

Blue is the neon on the faces of the characters that permeate the city with their strange and fantastic stories.

 

A man excreting the most wonderful fish…

Another being pursued by the glare of cameras…

A sinister government with a plan to rid the country of the rotund forever…

A lottery for the right to kill…

And many more besides…

 

The Blue-City looms large throughout this collection.

 

These dark, demented tales will leave you feeling anything but blue.

 

 

G.J. Wood's writing is dark, disturbing and at times laugh out loud funny, but always original and thought-provoking.

 

This collection of short stories by Birmingham-born Wood will have you screaming Blue-City murder.

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AN EXTRACT FROM THE SHORT STORY: LENS IS VIEWER FROM THE COLLECTION SCREAMING BLUE -CITY MURDER