Sirkkusaga – The story so far

A saga – a long story of heroic achievement, especially a medieval prose narrative in Old Norse or a long, involved story, account, or series of incidents often named for the principal character.


I am at present looking for a publisher for the first in a series of science fiction novels, there are earthy characters, military characters, a rather naughty heroine, and some baddies of the most conniving kind.

Set in a parallel dimension it follows the trials and tribulations of the singer Freya (real name Andra Sirkku (Sirki) Vigsdottir) a hedonistic bisexual who likes to get her own way and her latest lover the self doubting army officer Da N’tan.

She is drawn into a world of Psionic abilities, genetic engineering and intrigue set in an alternate europe after a devastating war, as she discovers the truth of her ancestry she finds  her life coming under threat from the Witangemot (government) itself.


Tod is Tardy


Tod had enjoyed his day out, he had visited the railway museum and marvelled at the gleaming locomotives, a real tribute to the good old days of proper engineering then he had a cup of tea and a piece of parkin before visiting the Minster. He couldn’t help feeling a little humbled by its magnificent architecture, churches always got to him like that he supposed it was the unseen connection to the afterlife. He loved this city and would miss it when he left, deciding to end his tour with a meal he wandered down the Shambles and finding an Italian restaurant offering a lunchtime deal sat down to dine. He was just about to enjoy his Pizza Diablo, the name making him chuckle, he was easily pleased, when his mobile rang.

Taking it out of his pocket he looked at the caller I.D. grimaced and reluctantly answered it. ‘Hello Marcus.’

‘Where the hell, sorry for the language, are you?’

‘I’ve had a wonderful day, been to see the steam trains, I had some cake, visited the…’

‘I don’t care where you’ve been, you’re late you know we can’t start it without you?’ said Marcus.

‘I’m eating my dinner I won’t be long.’

‘You always do this you’re always late for everything, get here now!’ he shouted, Marcus was known for his rapidly changing moods

‘Ciao’ Tod hung up, deliberately took his time finishing and left a big tip. Well I won’t be coming back this way again will I?’

He arrived two hours later to find the other three waiting already on their horses ‘Two hours!’ yelled Marcus sat on his well-groomed chestnut steed.

‘I had to finish my meal it would be bad manners not to, anyway I don’t think anyone will mind if we don’t start on time.’

‘You had dinner?’ said a thin voice from the black horse’s rider ‘I wish you’d asked me I’m famished.’

‘You’re always hungry’ said the figure on the white horse.

‘Can’t help it, it’s in my job description Scratchy!’ she retorted.

‘Don’t call me Scratchy you emaciated crone.’

‘Will you two please stop bickering!’ roared Marcus in a loud voice, his face dark with anger. He glared at Tod. ‘You are going to get changed for this I hope Mister Tardy?’

‘Don’t worry War, keep your horny helmet on’ Tod pulled a dark robe from his very pale horse’s saddlebag and as he put it over his smart business suit his appearance changed. Death turned his skull face to War ‘is that better?’ he waved his scythe flamboyantly. Pestilence and Famine nodded their approval.

‘Well two hours in the scheme of all things isn’t too bad I suppose.’ Said War his mood mellowed somewhat.

‘Well then shall we set forth?’ asked Death, and the Four Horsemen rode out to greet the Apocalypse.

via Daily Prompt: Tardy

A candid story from the Alter-dimesion

Candid: truthful and straightforward; frank; (of a photograph of a person taken informally) especially without the subject’s knowledge.


‘Mz Vigsdottir, so glad you agreed to settle out of court’

‘Thank you Mr Wallis, this rather handsome payment will of course go to the Heremann’s Wives charity, they deserve it more than me and if I’m frank I don’t want to make a profit from this sordid business.’ She replied, the Reignweald Reporter had posted exclusive poolside pictures of Sirki, better known as Freya the Nation’s Sweetheart, taken without her knowledge and as the singer always swam naked their network was oversubscribed in minutes, the resulting furore had seen her producer-manager Adrian Barnet take the media company to law.

‘I’m afraid the individual who forwarded them cannot be found’ said the editor ‘I can only apologise once again Mz Vigsdottir and we have of course destroyed the originals.’

‘A bit late now they’re all over the sodding net’ muttered Barnet who had accompanied his greatest asset to the news-media’s premises.

They all shook hands, Sirki and Adrian left the building and got into the waiting vehicle, Barnet checked the tiny screen on his golden wristband. ‘Well I never! All your old recordings have started to pick up sales, even Harvest Moon and that album was shit.’ He rolled his eyes in mock surprise. ‘You’re on the up again dear.’

They drove by a video-board showing a picture of her, suitably censored, with the caption ‘Freya to accept settlement from the Reignweald Reporter.’ ‘Well there’s another piece of my dignity gone.’ remarked Sirki, then turned to Adrian and beamed ‘told you it would work didn’t I?’

via Daily Prompt: Candid

Daily Prompt: Strategy








I had a clever strategy which seemed to me  quite easy,

I would write and show my work whether it be good or cheesy,

to post on every daily prompt for one entire week,

I did it every single day and many had a peek,

Some I wrote as stories and some were in blank verse,

I hoped to keep you entertained, don’t think I could do much worse.

There’s something I didn’t realise but should really have predicted,

that once you start on these darned things it does become addictive.


via Daily Prompt: Strategy

Reaching the horizon


Volte and Shuala had ridden through the long nights and during the days had hid beneath their tent in the scorching desert sun but at last their goal was in sight, a rocky line spanning untold miles that had taken an agonisingly long time to reach, the sun was coming up now and seemed to rise from directly behind it.

‘About a day’s ride more I’d say.’ Volte observed. ‘How’s our food doing?’

Shuala was checking the rations ‘We’ll get back but we’re going to be hungry.’

‘Well we’ll have to eat one of the camels if it comes to it.’

‘Ugh I hate camel meat’ said Shuala.

‘You’ll eat it when you’re hungry enough’ the man looked at the lightening sky ‘sun’ll be up soon, better set up camp.’ They unfurled the tent and tied the camels to some thorn bushes which they set to devouring.

They cooked some flat bread and ate it with dried fish and lentil cake then after sharing some precious water with their mounts retired under the canopy as the sun climbed into the sky, Shuala shucked off her long robe and arranged the bed while Volte took one last look at the sky before joining her.

‘I can’t believe we’re nearly there.’ She said as they lay in each other’s arms later. ‘After all this time, we did it Vol!’

He kissed her forehead and sniffed her hair, which always seemed to smell of perfumed coconut oil ‘let’s just wait and see before celebrating.’ They had set off for the horizon months ago with six dromedaries laden with provisions, now they were down to three who were not so heavily laden. People had mocked them saying the horizon was too far across the desert, some asked them why it was so important to find it and some even said it didn’t really exist.

‘They said we couldn’t reach it but there it is a night’s ride away.’ She was elated. ‘Aren’t you excited?’

‘I am I suppose.’ He smiled ‘go to sleep Shu we’ll set off at dusk.’

‘I’m not tired yet Vol.’ said Shuala…


They rode all night and stopped at a long rocky ridge that stretched off to left and right, it was pitch black beyond and the stars did not seem to reach down below it so they halted daring to go no further in the dark, they would not pitch camp tonight but would wait until dawn.

The sun came up and they cautiously made their way up the rocky scramble.

Reaching the horizon at last Shuala looked at Volte ‘I’m a bit scared.’

‘Me too Shu’ neither of them dare look over the edge ‘well shall we do it?’

She nodded and they kissed, neither knew what to expect, would it live up their expectations or just be an anti-climax, would it be hazardous?

Both looked over the horizon to see what lay beyond.

via Daily Prompt: Horizon

Shock and shore

Waterhouse, John William, 1849-1917; A Mermaid

Crispin Smythe took his pristine white speedboat out of St Ives harbour grinning smugly and fondling the bag of jewellery in his pocket this should fetch a bit, she’s going to get the shock of her life when she sees what I’ve done to her precious picture, serve you right bitch.


Priscilla Hartford-Jones was a socialite who Crispin had set his sights on, her father was a local businessman and entrepreneur and he was worth a small fortune to boot. They had met at a very prestigious party and she had fallen for his easy charm and good looks and all looked set for him to be on the road to an advantageous marriage except for one fly in the ointment in the form of Jack Tremayne, a swarthy self-styled artist and boat owner who ran fishing trips for the Emmets when they swarmed down in the summer season. Pris thought the sun shone out of the little oik’s arse and flirted round him, it had come to a head when Tremayne had presented her with a picture based on the legend of the mermaid of Zennor, true the picture was outstanding and the fishy woman was extremely realistic and to say the least full breasted, Pris naturally loved the damned thing giving it pride of place on the wall above the mock fireplace in her expensive apartment overlooking the bay. Crispin had been steadily working his way into her affections and this distraction was one that in his eyes Pris did not need, worse still she had begun to divide her time between the two men, after a long argument she agreed to see more of Crispin and allowed him to move some of his things in to her home, despite this and her assurances that it was just friendship with Tremayne he found often himself glaring jealously at the picture, you are not ruining for it me my friend, one day you and I are going to sort things out.


‘Are you sleeping with that toe-rag artist?’ he asked one night after she had returned late from a girl’s night out.

‘I never said we were exclusive my lover.’ She emphasised in a mock Cornish accent, she was quite drunk.

‘So you are?’ he could feel his anger rising.

‘What’s it to you Crispin, you’re only after my dad’s money when all said and done?’

‘Not that again Pris I love you, you know that.’ the one thing he had always liked about her was her naivety, since when had she become so perceptive? ‘They’re his words aren’t they?’

‘No but knowing Jack has made me realise what a conniving bastard you are.’ Priscilla looked adoringly at the picture ‘such a sensitive man and he’s so good with his hands.’ she side-eyed Smythe grinning slyly.

‘That’s it then it’s over, I’m sleeping at my place tonight bitch.’ He snarled slamming the door on the way out best go before I do something I regret…


Early next evening Jackiel Tremayne was coming out of the Sloop after a quick drink when Crispin approached him in the car park. ‘What do you want Smythe?’ he asked cautiously.

‘Are you sleeping with Pris?’ he snarled.

‘What’s it to you?’ asked the artist ‘just because you got a posh voice and a fancy name doesn’t make you special you’re just a money-grabbing tuss.’

Crispin was enraged but held his temper back. ‘Why don’t you come with me to Pris’ place then she can tell us face to face who she prefers?’

‘Isn’t she out in Penzance tonight?’ asked Tremayne.

‘No, she had a last minute cancellation.’

They walked through the back streets to the other side of the peninsula and climbed up to Pris’ apartment. She’s not here you twat.’ said Jack looking around.

‘I knew that you prick!’ Crispin snapped.

‘What do you want from me an apology? Cos’ if you do you can fuck right off’ Jack felt a sudden pang of fear, he had never noticed how much taller than him Crispin was, or how well built.

‘I don’t want an apology I want to break every bloody bone in your body, but I’ve not much time so I’ll settle for this.’ he punched the artist in the face breaking his nose and knocking him to the ground ‘good with your hands Pris said, well let’s see how good you are after this.’ Smythe stamped on each hand in turn enjoying the cries of pain from the floor then dragging the artist up by his collar hit him repeatedly until he passed out…


Priscilla came back some time later to find her home ransacked but far worse than that was Jack sat propped up in the mock fireplace, the painting around his neck with his head protruding through the ragged hole where the mermaids face had been. ‘Oh god Jack’ she pulled the broken frame off and put her arms around him ‘please don’t be dead!’

He stirred groggily ‘Pris I think I need an ambulance.’ He looked at his broken fingers ‘bastard!’

She called 999 and sat down next to him. ‘Who did this to you my love?’

‘Who do you fucking think, Crispin fucking Smythe that’s who’ he paused then said in a panicky slur ‘we’ve gotta find him!’

‘We’ll leave that to the police.’

‘No we’ve gotta find him before my sister does, she don’t take kindly to anyone hurting our family!’

‘I didn’t know you had a sister?’

‘She lives local, we don’t talk much she’s a bit odd.’


Crispin Smythe or Chris Smith as he was known to the police in the West Midlands was a con man with a history of violence, he had actually liked Priscilla seeing her as a more than a mark, but now he’d lost it with that little prick so that was the end of that. He had got a thousand pounds the silly bitch had left in a drawer, two of her credit cards and all of her expensive jewellery, he would have to get rid of this nice boat he had coerced Pris into buying but hey-ho he would see what tomorrow brought. He was keeping to the coastline heading north in the falling dusk when he saw something white in the water close to the shore, it was a woman swimming and obviously in trouble, she started waving frantically and he thought briefly about ignoring her but decided he had been enough of a bastard tonight so somewhat reluctantly steered towards her, as she began swimming towards the boat he realised she was topless, the nights looking up he thought but when he reached over the side to help her aboard he realised that she looked remarkably like the mermaid in Tremayne’s painting, he recoiled in shock as she smiled baring teeth like needles or possibly like those of a fish, he reeled back in horror but she clung fiercely to his arms half pulling herself out of the water, the shock of seeing her toothy smile was nothing compared to that of seeing the golden scaled lower half of her body.

He screamed as she hissed and pulled him into the sea with her, a large golden fish’s tail flipped briefly out of the water and sank below the surf leaving the smart white boat drifting alone.


via Daily Prompt: Shock