William King

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  1. Thank you for a great home page

    I'm writing this here because I don't know where else to say it - Thank You, for making a really great home page for me, I very much appreciate the work put in to do that, so thank you to whoever did that for me 🤗🤗🤗 Will.
  2. A Sci-fi Story

    Here below is the first part of chapter one, a new story in the Sci-fi genre. I have never written Sci-fi, so it is an interesting challenge to get into this. The story is set in the future, a future where things have gone wrong - it's raining, all the time, it never stops. Except one day someone tries to fix it... Any and all comments, observations, good, bad, and ugly, are welcome. If you don't like it, that's fine, just say why, because that helps (obviously). Now I'll shut up and let you read It! Chapter One - Reticular Formation The neurons of the reticular formation all play a crucial role in maintaining behavioural arousal and consciousness. Part I – Danger Contamination - making or being made impure by polluting or poisoning. The neon light glowed in the darkness, reflecting washed out colours that reverberated off the sidewalk. The tall glass buildings he hugged gave no protection from the incessant rain that streaked in cords from an unseen sky. “Join us for a new dawn...” the smiling face, ten times larger than reality, announced from the red and blue electric billboard, so far up towards the invisible sky that it towered over the street. “Watch It!” The loud voice jarred him back to earth. He bumped into the figure of a man dressed in a grey hat and overcoat, the collar turned up, his face obscured. The man walked quickly on, ignoring him, mumbling something that was lost in the noise. He stopped, looked down from the giant billboard which was now saying, “life has never been this good...” and turned, watching the figure disappear. He was soaked through to the skin, the clothes he had on offered no protection from the torrential downpour. The loud screaming hum of an electric vehicle zoomed past, a mist of water swirling and scattering behind it. His attention was drawn to watching the rear lights recede down the street. He jumped, startled at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. Turning rapidly to look behind him, he was staring directly into the face of a boy. Another dark figure, cloaked in a hoody, about his own height. “You can’t be on the street during curfew.” The boy offered a half smile, as if he wasn’t sure what the reaction would be. “Curfew?” He questioned. A quizzical expression crossed the stranger’s face, but was gone almost in the same instant. Perhaps he had decided something? His hand gripped Joel’s upper arm. “Come on, let’s go.” He pulled him back along the sidewalk, back in the direction he had started from. Any resistance was momentary. Joel followed the boy. Walking side by side they turned into a small alley between the tall buildings. Suddenly Joel stopped. The boy turned to look at him. They faced each other silently. The rain was dripping from his hair and from the hood covering the boy in front of him. Joel watched, distracted by a glistening rain drop on the tip of the other boy’s nose. “I can’t stay here,” the boy broke the silence. The whirring of another car passing along the main street added a sort of highlight to that statement. Joel was torn, undecided, was it safe? “Come on! “ There was an urgency in the boy’s voice, but Joel didn’t move. The rain bounced off the buildings and pooled in a dark puddle around their feet. The darkness was deeper in the ally, only a faint red glow shed any light, and that was at the far end, almost obscured by the gloom. “Where are we going?,” Joel had found his voice. And now the boy pulled his arm, urging him forward along the alley. Once again he didn’t resist, although his question just hung in the night, unanswered. They stopped below the red glow of an electric sign hanging above the door at the far end of the alley. The dim light it provided washed out by the rain. It flickered, grew momentarily bright, then faded and came back alight. The neon inside buzzed and crackled in rhythm with the flickering light, but looking up it was still clear enough to read the name – ‘BB Club.’’ The boy tapped a code, pushed the door open, and virtually shoved Joel inside. He closed the door behind them. Joel perceived the closing door like another statement in a long series of events. The images crossed his mind one after the other of closing doors, their apartment, the car, the train, the centre. The boy’s hand had moved down Joel’s arm, and his hand found Joel’s hand. The warmth of the boy’s touch was as if a switch had been flicked – this was the first human touch since the door closed at the centre. He was led down a dimly lit corridor, only tiny leds at floor level marked the passage. They moved right, along some stairs which turned, twice, ninety degrees. Now it seemed they were in some kind of basement, below ground. Across the far side of this underground space, the boy opened a door and they went inside. This time as the door clicked shut behind them the light came on with a click and a flicker, the neon tube came alive, buzzed that insane electric noise, like it was gasping for breath. Blinked one final time, as if saying to them with some satisfaction – I’m alive again – the white light finally broke the darkness. Joel looked around. There was little furniture apart from one large bed and a dark brown leather armchair, the material of which was cracked and broken. So much so that the stuffing was trying to escape in several places. The boy stopped in the middle of the room and started to take off his clothes. Joel stared, he didn’t know what to do. What was happening? “Take your clothes off,” the boy told him, looking up as he removed his jeans. Joel didn’t react immediately, he was looking at the boy who now almost completely undressed stood up and stared at him. Hands on hips, with only his underpants on, the boy waited. “Like what you see?” The boy smirked, turned and opened a cupboard door, then removed a towel. Joel didn’t reply, just watched the boy. He threw the towel at Joel. It hit him and dropped to the floor. “For God’s sake, get out of your clothes and get dry.” The boy turned back to the cupboard to get another towel and began drying himself. Joel slowly got undressed. It wasn’t that he was shy, or that he was in any way concerned, the boy had only been nice, but his head was fuzzy. It was hard to get coherent thoughts together. Joel was not at all sure that he had not suffered something, maybe he’d been contaminated? He did as he had been told, removed all his soaking wet clothes, bent down and picked up the towel to dry himself off. It was then he saw the boy was naked. He looked at him standing with his back to Joel picking clean clothes from the cupboard. Something stirred inside Joel as he observed the boy. His eyes rested glued to the figure in front of the cupboard, and in particular to the fine rounded cheeks of the boy’s arse. The boy knew that Joel was looking at him, he could sense the gaze of Joel’s eyes staring into him. He didn’t have to look, he felt it. He pulled on some clothes. He thought to himself – ‘this could work out.’ Once dressed in shorts and t-shirt, he turned around to look at Joel who was standing naked next to a pile of wet clothes, with the towel held in both his hands in front of him. “We’re about the same size,” the boy said. “Come here and pick something to wear.” Joel walked over to stand next to him by the cupboard, but still clutching the towel. The boy turned back and they accidently brushed shoulders. He smiled at Joel. It was definitely a smile, not a smirk, a genuine smile. As Joel reached out to take a t-shirt from the cupboard his towel dropped a little. The boy moved away to sit on the bed, but still watching Joel. To pull the t-shirt on Joel had no alternative than to let the towel drop completely to the floor, and now it was his turn to feel that sensation of someone’s eyes staring. Once the t-shirt was on he picked out some underpants and turned back towards the boy on the bed. “Can I take these?,” Joel asked, holding them up. “Yeah,” the boy replied. “Everything’s clean.” For some weird reason Joel was getting hard. He had no idea why. Joel could look at a person and admire beauty, and the boy was a fine example, but he had never been predisposed to any sort of attraction towards another boy. This was a first! Joel realised that his head was clearing. He got dressed, choosing a pair of jeans, then closing the cupboard and taking a seat in the armchair, which clanged metallically as he lowered himself into it. “It’s a worn out bit of shit,” the boy told him. Joel smiled back.
  3. Notes

    Where? You didn't add any link!
  4. Article of interest to all writers

    Not true Cole. I have read good stories, well written, on Niffty. They don't appear here or on other US sites because of the restrictions.
  5. Buffalo Wild Wing Disappointment

    I should be talking about Buffalo Wild Wings, but you have a habit of slipping in casual little asides, which by the way, make your blog ever so interesting, not to mention the entertainment factor. Well your little aside in this instance reminded me how when I was that age I had a thing about finding a black boy. Why? It was something along the lines of wondering what black and white looked like together, or perhaps a simple curiosity about black boys - I did find a nice guy - sort of - that is to say he was engaged with someone else. So all we did together, was talk, c'est la vie!
  6. Day Off...Cleaning...24

    "Polishing something else entirely..." That's also a boy thing! If I told you about one of the guys I shared an apartment with when I was nineteen, well it might make you wretch. This was beyond slob, way beyond - it was good he never shared a bedroom. Too lazy, or too stoned, maybe both, but when we were having a general clean up, which didn't happen often, we went into his room and what did we find? Quite a few bottles pretty full of a dark brown liquid which wasn't beer or soda or anything drinkable unless you wanted to imbibe your own body fluids. Yuck! We closed the door and left it.
  7. Refugee by William King

    The next two chapters 3 and 4 of Refugee deal with the sexual exploitation of children by aid workers. I recognise that this is a difficult subject, it is however intrinsic to the storyline, and whilst fictional, it is founded in reality. I transposed the events reported by UNHCR in 2002, concerning child sex abuse in African refugee camps to Syria and in this work of fiction the victims are boys rather than girls. If perhaps you might be thinking that is a long time ago, then this information gives a brief summary of the situation continuing forward: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexual_exploitation_and_abuse_in_humanitarian_response I wanted to include this aspect to the story. The exploitation of vulnerable minors, both sexual and otherwise is a continuing theme, along with their struggle to reach Europe and safety. It is not an easy read, but I make no apology for that, it is a fictional reflection on events taking place in the world we live in.
  8. Website background Theme

    I was reading an interesting thread from sometime back - - and came across the problem of the website background (white text on black) making some parts of what was written unreadable. I noticed that back then people also commented about not being able to read it. I don't know if you always had the little link, bottom left of the page, that allows you to switch off the background Theme and choose Default, black text on white background. Anyway, I thought it worth a mention, because it's not too obvious that you can do this or where to find it. The black bacground does make some text on parts of the website unreadable.
  9. Two "newsish" issues

    Teacher pupil relationships are a difficult and delicate subject, because one, they revolve around 'abuse of a position of trust' and two, they may involve 'under age sexual relations'. Having stated that, every case is different, and there do exist such relationships founded in love that endure a lifetime. There is nothing intrinsically wrong with a relationship between two people with a big age gap. It is against the law for a teacher and pupil to be in a relationship, but what I would like to say is that it is not always right to condemn all such relations. The French president married his teacher, a woman twenty years his senior. I worked some years ago with a young lady over a long period on a project together, during which time I shared with her being gay, and she in turn explained how she had met and fallen in love with her husband whilst still at school, when he was her teacher. Their relationship was at first conducted in secret, because of the dire consequences if it were discovered. Nevertheless, they carried on a sexual relationship until such time as they could get married. There is a need to protect 'children' but we should not deny them the right to determine their own lives. We want to protect, not destroy their futures.
  10. Refugee by William King

    Thank you Joe and Chris James for your comments. "Headline news meets fiction" - I didn't need to dig very deep to be confronted by some horror stories and information that seems to be nicely side stepped or omitted by the headlines of mainstream media. You have to then ask yourself if what you just found out is true, but when it is easily cross referenced and is sourced from reputable sources, such as UNHCR reports, Human Rights Watch, and others, then it is reasonable to believe it is. Having the courage to use this background is perhaps something that has caused me a lot of personal debating. It is a work of fiction, but should nevertheless I think, do justice to the situation in which the story is set. I hope this proves to be so, my only test was that I shed some tears whilst writing it.
  11. Refugee by William King

    Thank you Chris, I appreciate you commenting and I am very pleased that it grabbed you, it is a tough story!
  12. The Americanization (Americanisation) of English

    We can probably thank Bill Gates, Microsoft, and America that British English still exists. After all if there wasn't a choice between US and British English in the Word spell checker, we would long ago have adopted American spelling and grammar with a generation who read and write using a PC, tablet, or phone, and for whom printed dictionaries are almost Dickension and encyclopedias are unknown dinosaurs from a bygone age, long since replaced by Wiki.
  13. Homosexual

    Thank you sir for your kind words and recommendation - this is encouragement indeed, and much appreciated. This short story draws a lot on my own personal experiences, you might say it is very close to the heart. I did actually ask my father what the word 'homosexual' meant, I was eleven years old (not thirteen) at the time. So that part is absolutely true as is the response he gave. The incident on the bus, seeing a boy my age one morning on the way to school is also true. Only it wasn't an epiphany. It happened when I was thirteen and already knew I was gay. The photo is not at all a personal photo, but I did have a crush on a boy at school: doesn't everybody? It wasn't that serious, but he was very cute, and I was upset when he left the school and his family emigrated to Perth, in Australia. I tried to write the narrative using the language of a thirteen year old. I wanted to describe some of those moments that are so important in your life that you remember them forever.
  14. Incorporating Music in a Story?

    Good point about the link no longer working. I regard that as unfortunate, but if you are really interested you can sometimes find an alternative, example with YouTube links (which can be annoying when you get the message "not available in your country.") Malware is everywhere - that is a question of protection and being vigilant. But I don't think any of this should stop us including links and expanding possibilities - they work or not, it adds something sometimes and takes nothing away (hopefully).