I've started work on a new exciting project and as a sneak peek, here is the prologue... Enjoy!



This is the story of Derek. Derek was as not an impressive man; he was not handsome, or athletic or charismatic. He was, well, a Derek. That’s not to say he was unattractive, unfit or dull; he was just, kind of anonymous. Derek was the kind of guy you see walking down the street every day; average height, average build and average hair. He is extraordinary in only one way, he is extraordinarily uninteresting. Your eyes pass over him and your brain immediately dismisses him moving on to the weird goatee guy carrying a tiny dog or the uncomfortably stretched American flag spandex pants on the obese girl shovelling handfuls of greasy fries into her mouth.


‘Remember ladies spandex is a privilege not a right,’ you think to yourself. ‘I mean I’ve not seen the old stars and stripes treated so badly since they had that sale on in Osama’s Bargain Basement.’ You chuckle to yourself snap a surreptitious picture and tweet your fat shaming hilarity to your 20 followers; two of whom unfollow you.


You see? I mean the story has even moved on and forgotten him. That is how beige Derek Jones is; the guy is an accountant in local government for crying out loud. Anyway, Derek had always thought of himself in vaguely the same terms as you, just an average Joe doing his average things in his average life. That was until this week, when his life got a whole lot more interesting all of a sudden.


“Look out!” came a cry from behind Derek who looked over his shoulder to see what all the fuss was about. Across the road he saw an old man in a hideous brown cardigan with grey eyebrows the size of snack size Mars bars, and glasses so thick he could probably see though time. He was waving. Strange old men rarely waved at Derek but not one to be rude he raised his hand and offered a tentative wave back. It did not have the desired effect of diffusing the strange situation, in fact if anything the old man’s wave got even more frantic. Indeed, things worsened as two well to do ladies in matching long blue winter coats dragging shopping bags behind them stopped to stare, not at the mad old man, but at Derek mouths agape. Apparently, the fuss was about him.


As he looked on the two well to do ladies started to imitate the mad old man’s odd two-handed wave. Derek failing to understand the universal sign for ‘get the hell out of the way’ did not move, instead he looked up and saw a spear streaking towards him. No not a spear, it wasn’t wooden it was brightly coloured metal of some kind. It was probably a… his thought was interrupted as the javelin slammed into his shoulder knocking him to the pavement. ‘Javelin, it’s a javelin not a spear, duh!’ he thought. Then the shock wore off as the burning, screaming pain forced its way into his mind.


“Argh!” he cried somewhat belatedly from his position on the cold hard concrete.


“Don’t worry mate I’m hear with you,” came a calm voice that was strangely both immediate and far away. Derek had his eyes screwed shut so tight he could see spots so he couldn’t see the man but he had a reassuring voice and smelled of pine so Derek decided to trust him. “Don’t worry mate you’re going to be fine; I’m a trained first-aider.” Then to himself under his breath. “You can do this Stanley, you can do this just remember your training. What was it they said about things like this? Remove the obstruction?”


White flashed before Derek’s eyes as someone poured white hot metal into his shoulder, he felt something warm and wet splash on his face. “Argh…” he moaned batting feebly at the suddenly much less trustworthy stranger.


“I think you’re supposed to leave it in,” said a new voice matter-of-factly.


“Look lady, I know what I’m doing I just did my St John’s ambulance training last summer. You remove it and…”


Derek felt someone drag a rusty hacksaw across the nerves of his shoulder as the javelin scraped a small furrow in his clavicle.




“No, you leave it in,” said the second voice. “I was an extra on Casualty once I think I know how to treat a spear wound.”


The javelin scored a deeper groove in the bone as the woman pushed the half dislodged javelin back in.


“Fukjagrmargle! Schnogrus!”




The javelin scrapped another infinitesimal layer of bone from Derek’s shoulder as it was yanked out. I was going to say imperceptible but Derek could certainly perceive it. In fact he perceived it as two tiny demons from the old Disney movies using one of those two handed tree felling saws in some sort of cruel amputation attempt.




Derek wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to these people but judging from how much they seemed to hate him he felt he would have to send them a lengthy and heartfelt apology letter when they stopped trying to kill him.




The pain was now an all-encompassing thing; it felt almost spiritual, burning with a righteous fire hot enough to melt the meat from his bones.




There was a crack as the javelin snapped his clavicle and Derek let out a low moan of agony. It didn’t make him feel any better but it seemed like the thing to do.

“Someone call an ambulance before these idiots kill him,” came a third voice and Derek silently thanked him as he slowly drifted into darkness.