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Tom Harris

Writer of edgy Middle Grade & Young Adult Fiction

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Apostles

#RISE: Ep 4: APOSTLE DAY

The dead have been with us for almost a year now.

Crowley says there are big plans to celebrate the anniversary.

The rebirth of New Britain.

But I won’t be celebrating. I will be fighting. And I’m not alone.

There are others like me.

We post this stuff on what’s left of the internet. Just in case someone’s listening.

There are twelve of us. We call ourselves The Apostles, but none of us are religious.

How could we be after what has happened.

Most have given up. But we haven’t.

The fate of the world is in the hands of a bunch of kids – lol!

Even Syd next door has stopped saying hello.

Like the adults, she’s glazed over; become a ceramic version of herself.

I like that line and the image of it, even though I heard it from Crowley on TV, maybe he’s slowly infecting me…

Syd was fine until she turned 14, but now she too is infected with death.

Thirteen seems to be the lucky number for us all. But we won’t be thirteen forever.

13

I don’t have long.

I’ll be fourteen on All Hallow’s Eve – the 31st day of October.

The anniversary of the return of the dead.

Today is October the 30th. In the future we hope it will be known as Apostles Day.

The day when the twelve first met.

We have twenty four hours before the next rising.

Things are bad now, but when they come again…the dead will inherit the earth.

The dead are taking over the world. They are infecting the living.

I live in a world where the living are lifeless.

My name is Anderson. I am one of the twelve apostles of the living and I’m calling on you all now.

Anyone who’s left. Who’s out there, watching and waiting…

It’s up to us to stop Crowley.

It is time to take back our lives.

It is time for the living to rise.

END TRANSMISSION…

#RISE

#MARIGOLDS

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#RISE EP3: The Disease of the Dead

The skies have been black all summer. Only the rain is the same.

Since the dead have been back, I’ve been feeling tired.

I do less than before although Dad says it’s difficult to do less than nothing.

It’s like the dead have bought back a disease. And it’s catching.

I’m sure I have the disease of the dead.

That is why I write. Why I must spread what I know as far and wide as I am able.

That is why I never stop.

If I did, my brain would stop working. I know it would. I would just sit around like the others. No telly. No books. No games.

Dad. He just sits there and grumbles and then he’ll get hungry or thirsty.

Only then does he get up and go out.

He comes back with tins from the corner shop most of the time.

But one day the shop will close. A lot of them already have.

shop

Children run the big supermarket round the block and the local chippy.

They even run the local newspaper and the radio station…

Adults have…stopped…working.

Shops, offices, doctors, dentists, restaurants, pubs, all deserted.

I should be at school, but all the schools are closed.

Dad leaves the door wide open now. Everyone does. No-one locks anything.

He also wanders into things…He’s just fallen over a chair in the dining room.

His face is scratched and cut and Mum is sniffing around him because the wound is fresh.

It gives me the creeps when she does that.

It’s why I carry my knife.

green-zombie-woman

Ever vigilant in this new world among the dead.

It’s how we all must be.

It’s why I must go.

But…it’s also why I must return, to share what I know, to find a way through…

It’s not too late for us…we can rise.

We can defeat The Party of the Dead together.

END TRANSMISSION…

#RISE

#MARIGOLDS

 

#RISE Ep 2: The Necromancer

My name. I didn’t tell you my name.

It’s Anderson. You don’t need anymore than that. Just Anderson.

After the Marigolds and the vote. The election results were announced.

Big Ben chimed and Mum returned as promised.

I never really knew Mum. Too young. Adults always say it, but I get it now. I mean, I still don’t know her, but at least she is here, back with us.

She walks past my door, but she doesn’t say hello. She grunts a lot and smells funny, but she is still my Mum.

We don’t seem to exist to her though or any of them. So we don’t talk to the dead…but the necromancer does.

It’s what necromancers do.

When he speaks they appear alive. It is because of this that we need Crowley.

Dad says if we ever vote against the Party of the Dead then things will change. The dead will turn on us. We could all get eaten!

The necromancer keeps us invisible. The necromancer keeps us alive.

So life is strange.

Everyone got what they wished for. They were not careful.

Everyone got their dead back. But not as they thought.

Sure, they walk around and moan, but not like before…nothing like before.

Crowley is on the telly…right now!

He says there are more dead coming.

The Prime Minister looks tired.

The Necromancer looms above her, arms raised, taking the acclaim of the public. Their banners of support are bland, none witty or worth sharing. Their messages devoid of emotion, in fact, the banners are there upon Crowley’s orders…

So are The Hackers.

They’re running another trace.

I’m compromised…but I will return.

When it’s safe.

When we can speak again…

END TRANSMISSION…

#RISE

#MARIGOLDS

#RISE – My new Blog Series

AN INTRODUCTION TO THE NEW SERIES:

A couple of years ago I wrote a short piece for a Day of the Dead event which I performed at The Square Tower as part of the Portsmouth Bookfest programme. It was a fantasy-horror piece about a government necromancer and a band of teenage apostles who must save humanity from extinction. It was called #RISE.

It went down okay and I’ve always thought there was potential with the concept but it never really found a home or fitted in anywhere. A bit like a three-legged puppy doing twister, it was something that I knew wasn’t going anywhere fast, but I couldn’t stop going back to it, to check if it was alright.

Then, this happened…

I was out walking the streets late at night in Old Portsmouth, when I came across a mysterious woman wearing a cloak. She followed me for some time down dark alleys and through derelict building sites, her breathing ragged and heavy at my back.

alleyway-old-pompey

Finally, heart pounding and mouth drier than a shop bought Victoria sponge, I turned to face her. The old crone coughed and reached out to me. ‘You dropped this on the bus,’ she cackled. When she opened her hand I was surprised to see my dentures sitting in her palm. ‘Dank do,’ I replied, gummily and she went about her business.

Anyway, it was when I got back later that night that I decided to try out #Rise, as a Blog Series. Was the strange meeting with the old crone the reason behind this decision to blog again or was it just guilt, boredom or being constantly nagged by friends that if I don’t blog then literary agents and publishers will think I’m a lazy tosser?

I guess we’ll never really know…

#RISE – Coming Soon

October 2016

Who will you vote for?

#Rise #Marigolds

   

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