Prompt Short Story: New Who?

New Who?
Lee Hulme

“New Year, new me,” he said, raising a glass in his empty apartment and counting the chimes in his head. The door flew open on the twelfth chime and the next him entered, slight and tall, dirty blonde hair sheared close to his head, a mirror image of himself. Where this one, or any of the others, came from he never knew. Who he replaced, he never knew. Why? Not a clue.

All he knew was that in a few more years he would be free, with a pardon for his crimes and a lot of incentive in his bank account to keep him from committing any more.

But when the new him entered, it was time to leave. His bag was packed – a simple travel pack, all he was ever permitted to take.

He stood, drained his drink, nodded at the new him, and left, closing the door more gently behind him than it had been opened.

Writing prompt used:


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Audiobook Review: Dying For A Duke by Emma V. Leech, narrated by Gerard Marzilli

I don’t write as many reviews as I probably should, so it’s nice to get into it once in a while. You can find this book on Audible.

Disclaimer: this audiobook was received for free in exchange for an honest review

Benedict Rutland, the Earl of Rothay, is disciplined, determined, and has successfully rebuilt his family fortune – with no help from his rather more generous mother (Lucilla) . Life is shipshape, and his betrothed a perfectly sensible match, Miss Theodora Pinchbeck

Then Miss Phoebe Skeffington-Fox arrives, beautiful, mouthy, and showing excellent taste in her expensive acquisitions. As the beloved stepdaughter of a recently deceased uncle, she has been taken in by Benedict’s mother and brings discomfort and chaos in her wake by daring to have a personality.

But worse even than that, suddenly, nothing can be quite what it was as death’s claws begin to grip the family, and Benedict and Phoebe find themselves at the pointy end of accusing fingers. Continue reading

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Short Story: Pneuma Kleptis pt.9

Pneuma Kleptis pt.9

by Lee Hulme

Catch up: Pt.1     Pt.2     Pt.3     Pt.4     Pt.5     Pt.6     Pt.7     Pt.8

The creature didn’t sleep, not during the feeding cycle, but it could grow tired, and it often needed to pass time. Over the centuries it had learned to enter something akin to a doze. Sometimes it even dreamed. Sometimes the memories it couldn’t find while awake showed themselves again.

The creature, buried beneath its cloak, drifting peacefully, heard a familiar word being called. It was a few moments before it recognised the word as a name, and a few more before it recognised the name as its own.

“Melita!” the voice called again, filled with kindness but tinged with annoyance.

Melita found herself crouched beneath a cloth-covered table, feeling the urge to giggle. As footsteps entered the room she remembered why: an apple, stolen from her mother’s kitchen, the core still held in one hand.

“Melita,” the voice said softly as the cloth was lifted and a dark-haired woman with an, olive-toned face appeared. “Did you eat it already?”

Melita nodded, holding out the eaten fruit.

“Then no treat for you today. Out! You have extra work to do.”

Melita groaned but crawled out and stood, brushing herself off. Her cotton garments were loose and comfortable, her sandals snug, and her hair – a soft brown, much lighter than her mother’s – was tied back at the nape of her neck. Continue reading

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