Work in Progress…

I am working on the third part of The Purge. It’s another quick-read, but it takes a lot of writing.

The Purge is the second book in The Piper series and was written over a decade ago. For the most part, it has been dormant in my various laptops. Indeed, I believe that three laptops and one AppleMac have expired in that time.

The writer that I was then is not the same as the writer than I am now. Back then, I wanted to prove that I could write. As a result of that, I produced work that was writerly and nothing like what writers did. So, I am treading through old pastures and making changes.

From The Purge Part 3:

With the torch shining in her direction, the woman holding the shotgun could not get a clear view of the people who were now in her kitchen. They were silhouettes at best. For the last two nights, she had been waking from a dream that kept returning. 

She was in the farm house with her two children. Her husband had gone outside to see what the noise was. Big bees outside. No, motors, motorbikes or mopeds, swarming like insects that had been poked and prodded into anger. They were buzzing around outside even though the sun had long since disappeared. It was night, the darkest night she had ever known and yet they flew. They were flying in circles, ever widening circles, covering the land with their eyes and ears. Her husband had gone out to shoo them away but he had been gone a long time.

A knock on the door, her husband with no key. 

A knock on the door, rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat.

You finish your food, children. You finish your food. It will make you big and strong. It will make you grow.

The children’s eyes told her what she was feeling.

Rat a tat tat. RAT a Tat TAT.

He breath formed a cloud in the now cold hall.


Just to be sure. The door chain.


Slowly, she could see his outline.


He had forgotten his key.

RAT RAT RAT RAT.         

He had forgotten himself.

She would wake just as the door was shaken from its frame, just as the thing that should have been her loving husband burst in from the dark, just as a thousand buzzing, biting, scratching things pushed past her legs and into the kitchen where her children were. She would awake and the last touches of her nightmare would still be upon her. She would wake to the silence of the night, a silence that was tearing at the edges, a silence that was being nibbled at by the things that waited in the shadows.

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