shelley writes stuff.

This story takes place a few months after grey. In that time, our protagonist  has come across information that the powerful didn't want anyone to know. She has been on the run since.   --------------------------------------------- “You're going to have to listen to my instructions” She looked up at the woman talking to her. The last thing she remembered was jumping out the side of a freight train when the inspectors discovered her hiding spot. It wasn't moving fast when she had leapt, but the ground below was not welcoming. She knew she must have came to eventually and started walking... but this wasn't where she had landed. She'd been found by someone. The woman was still talking. “The only reason we are helping you is because Meer can vouch for you. Because he knows you were the one to get the intel about the nurses... and that's pretty much the only way this thing can operate. But. Do not take advantage of us. If it were me, you...

I've been listening to the album Saved by Now, Now a lot this week. This is the result of that. Her head bumped against the window and shuddered as it hit the glass, the dirt track road making the suspension of the van work hard to stay in tact. She slowly opened her eyes to bright sunlight and dry dusty land, and grabbed her sunglasses from the arm rest to take the heat from her sight. “Well good morning there. We're just jumping into a gas station, chance to stretch your legs.” Jay piped up from the drivers seat. Jay seemed nice. He was in his late 60's with a salt and pepper beard and weather worn skin. His wrinkles told a story of adventure and wandering. She was lucky to have been picked up by him about 200km ago – she always checked the odometer when she jumped into a vehicle. He gave her lots of tips about hitchhiking; highways to avoid, good motels to sleep in, the best places to work for a free meal. He'd been there and done that and was finally...

We got in another fucking fight again. And now here I am at 1am in the morning wandering the streets. It's pissing down with rain and this leather jacket + hoodie combo isn't doing much to stop me from ending up soaking. My combat boots are taking in more water and making a squelch noise every third step. My sports bag keeps knocking into the same little part of my hip but in all honesty I don't give a shit. I've got my booze and my basic possessions and I'm away from him for now. That'll keep me warm. That'll keep me going. That'll make me forget about the lovely bruise that'll form on my side if I just. keep. walking. I say 'my booze' but in reality I swiped it from his apartment before I left. It's his favourite, and I'm petty, and he's an asshole. As soon as I left I went to the little bodega on the corner and picked up the cheapest, most off-brand bottle of coke I could find. Y'know, that kinda shit that's called Ko...

Social media is a weird thing. I got really down on Monday because something I wanted to happen, didn't. It made me feel like I wasn't good enough, that I should just give up, that I'm a failure. One of those days. When you combine this feeling of not being good enough with scrolling through your social media, seeing all the perfect lives and job promotions; the flat stomach and the flashy lifestyles... it's a recipe for disaster. It's weird how social media makes you envy things you don't want because it's all become so competitive. It's like points are assigned to certain milestones, and you scroll away, tallying them up against your own total. Had a baby? 100 points. Bought a house with a garden? 90 points. Got a new car? 75 points. How do I compare? In my ideal fantasy life, all I really want is a penthouse flat, a cute pet tortoise, and the freedom to do whatever the fuck I want. So why am I feeling so far behind everyone else, like my tally of poi...

fun side note: i wrote this on thursday. on friday, after an eight year hiatus, doves announced they were going back on tour and making music again. the sun streamed through the blinds, projecting stripes of light and dark across her body. a cat jumps onto the bed, fully aware it was past it's usual feeding time. it slinks past parts of the duvet bundled up on one side of the bed, having been kicked off during the night. the cat inspects it's owners face, popping it's nose near her mouth to feel a puff of breath. good. still here. it lifts one paw up to hit the girl on the nose... but then thinks better. instead it gives her nose a gentle lick to say 'hello. it's me. wake up please. i require food.' it's tongue meets her soft nose. she twitches her head out the way of it's tongue. slowly she opens her eyes to see the cats two big blue eyes staring at her. she lifts her arm from under her and extends it out. 'hello puss. feeding time again?'. ...

Thanks to the Scottish Book Trust for popping this online. This is my first attempt at poetry so... if it's terrible it's terrible.  ‘Rebel’ is a word for other people Rebel is for the innovators, those breaking the rules Whereas for me I am too honest for my own good I always pay in full, never skipping the fare I only cross at the green man, checking both sides I play by the rules, colour within the lines  Even in the day to day, things stay the same Staying in my box, within my little lane Containing myself into a feeling of safety The path, the journey, the proper way Get on the right seats on the right trains All at the same time every day (Unless there are delays. Dismay that things aren’t the right way, the correct way, not to be led astray.) To sit elsewhere, to journey at a different time Is rebellion in the most mundane way But I found myself getting lost in other worlds On screens and through pages Seeing the lives of those more bold and brave Made me ...

There were a lot of big novels published in a year where the news was pretty bleak. Whether it was travelling to another world to escape, or holding a mirror up to the one we live in, there were plenty of worthwhile and important stories to be read and listened to.  Kazuo Ishiguro, author of Never Let Me Go, won the Nobel Prize for literature; John Green made a come back with Turtles All The Way Down, his first published work since 2012; Philip Pullman returned to His Dark Materials universe with La Belle Sauvage, the start of the new The Book Of Dust trilogy; and Adam Kay, junior doctor turned comedy writer, shared the diaries of his time working in the NHS in This Is Going To Hurt The Hate U Give   In a year where #BlackLivesMatter got more momentum, footballers in the States kneeled to protest police brutality, and more horrifying stories emerged of the mistreatment of people of colour by authorities, this book felt more important than ever.  Anyone ...