The Place

In light of Terry Prachett’s highlighting of assisted suicide (yawn), here’s a glimpse into the primitive mind of Sebastian Worboys, now at rest on the other side. The solstice reminds me of him a lot. Sleep was a blessing for him, between 11 pm and 3am. Those few hours of darkness were his liveliest. It’s odd how those who you lose change in your memory. A sudden thought: A swift tear.

There are all kinds of torture horror genres out there, including death metal horror anthologies (oh jeez), and frankly I feel that whoever is spending their time writing gratuitous prose about dismemberment and whatever else may just be a little unhinged. In this case, Sebastian extended our joint venture THE PLACE in a way to express how such sub-genres and other elements of society have grown so fond of gory brutality. Plus, essentially, it’s absolutely integral to the story.

DELETED FIGHT SCENE

 * REMOVED *

CODE FOR NEVER by Sebastian Worboys

DNM FICTION
EDITED BY A.MICHAEL

This was pulled from one of Sebastian's college folders. It was a flash exercise, with the keyword being someday. On the other side of the paper was a poem about a tiger and a shopping list, and some doodles. The shopping list included a red pen, a portable CD player, a dictophone, a bandanna, and a bunch of flowers.

....is someday. Someday. Someday I will be a stranger on a balcony, gazing at the stars with nothing to lose. Eating and drinking what I like as the waves lap the shore all night long. The kids shall no longer be cub scouts and brownies, but career people tending to cub scouts and brownies of their own. My ripe old age will be healthy and wealthy, having used the system to my advantage, standing on the shoulders of giants.

I will be a person with nothing to fear in the morning, a peaceful pensioner breathing crisp beachside air. My phone will be off, and my music on; music so loud that the luxury sailing yachts can hear it out on the bay.

The following day will be a pot pourri of mysteries, spent with interesting & beautiful people in exotic locations. A jet ride here, a helicopter ride there. Theatre, opera, sports in a stadium. Eye-popping, outdoor lovemaking.

Anything. Nothing. Everything.

Someday.

I will whisk you away. Yes, you. Into a life you never knew existed. A heaven and a paradise on Earth. My suitcase will be busting with cash, and my eyes burning with zest. We will never be still, m’lady or m’lord, whichever it shall be. The world will be our oyster, and us orchestrators, on its stage.

I promise it. So for now, get on with the usual chores and hold your head high throughout your working day. Take it one day at a time, until I sort something out.

It will happen for us, I guarantee it. Someday is not a kop-out word. It is not code. It is a reality soon upon us, when we shall ski down the sides of pyramids and much, much more....

© Sebastian Worboys MMX
Zombie Publications

Aztec Vase

This is what now contains Sebastian Worboys' ashes. After winning his battle against cancer, the young writer from the Wirral died in his sleep at home, exactly a year ago next week, leaving behind a quantity of unpublished short stories. He invited me to co-write THE PLACE with him when he worked at a horror internet magazine and allowed me to take the credit when it was published on-line, even though most of the idea was his. It is in the November 2009 issue of Estronomicon, screamingdreams.com

See page 20 of the sketchbook at the link below for The Place

http://issuu.com/screamingdreams/docs/sketchbook2009?mode=embed&layout=http://skin.issuu.com/v/dark/layout.xml&showFlipBtn=true

I'll remember S.W fondly. I can picture him at his breakfast bar in his kitchen, sat on a stool in one of his all-season t-shirts, writing away (he wore a t-shirt come rain, sun or snow). He would continue to write whenever he had visitors or guests, which I couldn't believe. He had a tiny compaq laptop with a broken screen (he stood on it) hooked up to an ancient bulky monitor, and he would blue-tack his handwritten A4 pages to either side when he was copying up, as he always scrawled a first draft in fountain pen first. Yeah, I found it very impressive how he could talk to me, watch the news, and tap the keys at the same time. He wasn't a touch typist, but he was very fast.

I could go on all night about Sebastian, but it would be better instead if one of his left-behind stories were posted, so I'll see about that. One thing I will say is that whenever I get a car, I call it Sebastian. I have always done that, even before I met him. Strange.

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More tragic news I'm afraid. DARREN HODGKINS from Creative Possibilities has committed suicide. He hung himself last Tuesday on the 23rd of March. It was his funeral today. He took part in our ceramics session on Monday the 22nd. That was the last time I seen him. We have lost a lad with talent who had a lot going for him. He was a photographer. The week before, he had his portfolio out, and I was thinking about asking him for a butchers, but I didn't. Wish I had now, because he was very good with the old ceramics. Such a waste. He's left behind a totem pole he was working on which we hope to complete for him. It's a top-notch bit of clay work, as good as anything I've seen from myself or the group. Although he'd been vacant in recent weeks, he seemed bubbly for a change when I last spoke to him. It's horrible, having someone you know go like that. I wish his family the best.

Because of the nature of Creative Possibilities, there are often vulnerable contributors taking part. This is usually a positive and what makes the work so dynamic, but last week we seen the very worst of the downside.

R.I.P Darren.

What have you done, lad?

What have you done?

Fair play to you.