The Diary of Elliot Parker Part One

This is the diary of Elliot Parker…
A mysterious dreamer and more than that, a deliberate creator who is still learning to master the whole deliberate side of being a deliberate creator… Elliot has strange dreams and dreams with in dreams and her waking life is ever changing but always attempting to find that better feeling thought, that better feeling life.

The link to purchase the full story on amazon…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MG21QLX

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01MG21QLX

A brief message before you read below.

I have been thinking a lot about The Diary of Elliot Parker and while writing it was cathartic, enormously so because it was a fun way to break the writers block. I am well aware that I have perhaps misused the process in the sense of it got me out of a life block too, it became similar to blood letting. Wanting to break free of my own thought patterns was tricky because of many issues, what is written may at times be exaggerated or misinterpreted but that is ok as long as it is understood that this was written for the purpose of entertainment, not all of the views expressed I agree with then or now. Whether or not that is understood is another thing. But I want to make it clear that I do love the characters. I love those that inspired the writing wholeheartedly. I am entirely grateful for the chance and the inspiration to write something that challenges me and makes me want to be better. I am entirely grateful for those in my life who have inspired and encouraged me, I am entirely grateful for this writing to put me in a better mood by bloodletting the things that stung or were difficult and to come to an appreciation for the experience for what it taught me. I want to lead a positive life, this kind of helped me find a path to that positive momentum. Like I said, I don’t always agree with what is in the diary or the drama of it, I understand it can upset people, but I don’t want them to think for one second that that means they are not cared for or loved or that is the truest opinion I hold of them.  I love those that inspired my writing, in whatever story or form. And I want to sort of apologize and more importantly I want to say thank you for being a part of my life and a true inspiration.

The first few chapters as a taster just for you 😉

.: Entry One :.

My name is Elliot Parker. I am not your average woman. I like to say I am a quarter of a century old, it feels more fun to me.

I spent my life reading stories, living in other worlds, I never not once thought I would be living a story myself. For me, other worlds, they were an escape. Now they are my living nightmare. I used to read as a child you know. For fun. No kids I knew loved it as much as I did. No kids I knew actually requested veggies to go with their dinners either. But here I am. I ate all those damn veg and I am still five foot two. Don’t believe the lies they tell you that it makes you grow up taller. Just eat the damn veg. Wait! I revise that, eat a balanced diet.

See, there is more to this story than what meets the eye. I have to be careful what I say, I acquired a… gift. And now? Well… now I am trying to learn how to use it.

Like I said before; I spent my life reading stories. Hiding. I spent my whole life in all these other worlds. Somehow I went from a reader to a writer. Now, I create worlds. I guess I always have. But now, I am learning to be careful with what I think, and say, and do.

My name is Elliot Parker. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I want to forget.

But sometimes, just sometimes. I am bloody brilliant.

I tried to lie to myself once. Ok more like a hundred thousand times. I tried to live in denial. But deep down… I always knew. I wasn’t right. I was different. It took a long time to accept that and an even longer time to embrace that.

So I bet you want to know about my gift?

I will get there. I promise.

When I started writing, I started to look at the world. I started to look at people. I noticed things, small things at first. The nuances of a facial expression. Soon I noticed more in a behaviour pattern. But it got worse. I stopped enjoying reading so much, when I noticed I was predicting plot twists and outcomes from the first few chapters. TV? Well, I could ruin a soap plot before it even began to develop. Slowly even that trickled into life. That’s when things got harder to gloss over.

I noticed patterns in those close to me, I predicted the future before it happened, then slowly I tried to experiment to change it. To change the outcome. And it worked. I had started to become a monster. That’s what I am. I know what people want to hear, I know what they want me to say, what they need me to say. “It’s ok”, but it’s not. Not anymore.

I started to change the lives of the people I cared about. Sure they had free will. If you can call it that. I didn’t always know what I was doing. What outcome I really wanted. I’m what you could call self-destructive. I’m not going to lie. Well. Actually, yes, I am. If I know what people want to hear, it means I know what they want. I know what they want from me. They always want too much. It means I know more than I should. It means I pick up on the unseen energy like an instinct and in a split second I can tell a lie, in the other half of that second I have to decide if I want to push for the truth or accept it for what it is. Now? I only let one of two people lie to me. One of them is myself. One of them, I love, unconditionally… That doesn’t mean I will always accept that lie and let it grow. All lies grow.

I keep telling myself I am a good person. When really, there is the greatest capacity with in me to be bad. And oh, how I want to be bad. I want to live without the consequence of guilt or regret. But that doesn’t happen for people like me. When I do bad, I feel it, it haunts me, in my sleep.

I have this dream. As a writer, I always say a character has a life of their own, they have free will, to a degree. The characters in stories, they are real, they have lives, and they write stories and they have dreams too. I couldn’t understand, in this dream I mean. I had been transported to this boarding school, as a teenager. I found myself in a magical world that transformed and inside it, thousands of books would appear crammed inside of bookshelves. That’s when I first realised the power in a character of a story, a world other than this. I saw the thimble from Peter Pan and the tiny clothes from Alice. That’s when I saw Robin’s book. The cover was green and the pages were old. I saw his dream. He wanted to run away with Marian and become a notoriously philanthropic pirate. Who’d have thought it? That room with the books. That’s where I met him. Another one like me. A creator of worlds. A story teller. A writer.

He said his gift was being an impossible thinker. He loved the impossible and finding a way to achieve it. Like me. This room with the books was a secret. Our secret. This place, was his, this was his spirit dream. His name, he said Adrian Kraig. I don’t know how he knew I was different. Just that I was. I still don’t want to believe what I know. I try to fight it every single day. Like I was never meant for this life. For this world sometimes. But what I do know, is I am what could be called a powerful creator.

 

 

.: Entry Two :.

My name? I am Elliot Parker. And today I made a mistake.

I am an idiot. Ok, no I’m not, but I kind of am. You see. I want my friends to be happy, I really do. But I also want to be happy. These two things, they don’t always go together. I wish they did though. So that stupid thing I did. I sort of introduced my friend to someone that I have what you could call a crush on. Clover is a nice girl really, but she does sort of leave a trail of broken hearts and scorned boys behind her.

It was an accident really. I wasn’t careful. I ended up introducing Clover and Stan; and they hit it off. He’s a good guy, a really good, sweet, kind guy. She needs someone decent, someone who isn’t the average douche bag. That’s where the problem came… I have two choices. I tell Stan about her past and what she really is like towards the men in her life; or, I tell her not to fuck up this time and to make a genuine effort with a good guy. I know what I really wanted to do. To tell him about the last few guys to give her attention. But when she is the best of herself, she could be a good match for him. I came too close to putting a knife in to go for what I wanted.

I didn’t do it.

My name is Elliot Parker. And I put her first.

I told her not to fuck up. This was a good guy. And honestly, it’s not the first guy I have wanted that she has set in her sights. The first one, she really fucked him up. He had trust issues before, but now, well, I can’t see him having a relationship for a very long time. A healthy relationship, to be specific, he has even more trust issues it seems. Years ago, he was sweet and kind. A different kind of Stan. But one I liked all the same. But he was what she wanted. I wanted her to be happy, so I walked away, just like I am now.

But to be honest, he’s not the guy to hold my true attention. Sure it smarts a bit, having a card taken off the table. It would smart more if he was the only thing that I wanted.

And other than the odd crush on a fictional character, guys seem to come and go quite a bit. There may just be a handful that have stayed in my life and will stay in my life. None of them are related to me either.

To be honest, I would quite happily retreat back into these other worlds that I love diving into. I could Netflix and chill on my own for a week straight and not give a damn. Though for me, it is more satisfying to read an entire book series in rapid succession, pretty much day and night. Those days, are ecstasy. Nothing like avoiding reality.

Truth be told, I want my safe place. The books and the stories. I am anxious. I really don’t want Clover to hurt Stan, or even vice versa. But now, it is out of my hands. They both deserve to be happy. If that is each other, then well, that’s fine with me.

I’m fine. I’m fine.

I hate that the itch and the urge to be bad is just there, on the tip of my tongue. I hate that it is so very easy for me to do something that I shouldn’t because it would cause a little ripple. But little ripples, they grow. Just like the ones I tell myself over and over again.

My name is Elliot Parker. I am fine. I am a good person.

I want to believe that I am a good person. But the temptation to be bad.

My name is Elliot Parker. No matter what I am, good or … bad, I am magical.

So perhaps I wanted to pair Clover and Stan up. To clear the cards on the table a little?

After all, mixed energy is bad energy. Bad energy grows quickly; the effects are much quicker to see. My indecision for Stan, cleared up quicker with competition, one that I won’t enter, for their happiness and for my own. I don’t want to cause a fight.

I made the mistake of crossing over two areas of my life. Now, I have to tidy up the mess, but I won’t, I mustn’t. They are adults. I can’t look after them all the time. They have to learn for themselves.

She better not fuck up.

Ok. I care about both of their happiness. It’s not like I can put some kind of anti fuck up device on them. I need that device if it existed for myself.

I keep telling myself that their happiness means more than my own. Its basic math. Two people’s happiness is greater than my own. Right? Right? WRONG. Stupid girl. I should be happy too. But they seem to be getting along. Interfering now, that is bad. If I interfere now it is done for no other reason than spite. Spite is bad. I am not bad. I am not bad.

I know Jonas and I joke, but I am not bad. We both know it. As wise as he is though, I can’t help but feel that there is a free spirit constantly surging through him. He is one of those people that I admire. He broke free of the rat race and did something he was passionate about. He does what he loves. His enthusiasm transcends in his work. His enthusiasm is contagious. For me, he is proof that it can be done, proof and wisdom that I can do it to. I can be everything that I want to be and do all that I want to do.

 

 

.: Entry Three :.

My name is Elliot Parker. I had the dream, again.

It always happens the same, no matter where I am, what I am doing. I can be pulled away without my knowing. At first I didn’t understand.

I appeared in the room, dusty, crumbling, bare. Exposed brick work, floorboards. It looked unassuming, uninviting and downright shabby. Then it happens, the dust of the brick sort of crumbles to the floor. The floor ripples and rumbles and crumbles away. The wood breaks apart. Then they shoot up. Old, antique, battered bookshelves. They pop up from the tears in the floor. And there they are. Volumes and volumes of stories. Some have matching leather bound covers. Others, like this one have yellowed pages and faded covers, bent spines. They are loved.

When this first started, I would open a cover and begin to read the story, when I did that, I got so immersed, literally. I would be pulled into the story and, Robin’s he was the first. I had to climb his ships rigging to go up to the bird’s nest. I HATE HEIGHTS. But I got pulled back out before I completed his little challenge. Turns out I was just simply a stow away in his story. There are worse things to be.

Have you ever been hated by an author or writer? A little tip and guidance, never wrong a writer, we get our revenge in print. I am just as guilty. There are people in my stories I base on people I know or have met. Oh boy do I love hurting those characters.

ANYWAY… moving swiftly on.

My own anxiety slipped into this dream once. I was having lots of problems with work. A boss that I have a particular issue with burst through the door and started to yell at me. I kept telling myself that this is a dream. I can change a dream, surely I can? I know most people can’t but I can because I am me and I am strong. I can do this. I did it. I told her to leave, suddenly my comfortable sleepwear (leggings and a vest top) disintegrated and transformed. I had black jeggings on, a black lace vest top and black crop top underneath so a tiny hint of my tattoo was visible, and my favourite biker jacket. I told her to leave and the look on her face was priceless. She wanted to fight me. My own anxiety and agitation wanted to fight back and cripple me in a dream. I didn’t want it to. I didn’t want it to win. Not again. When she left I noticed that the room was becoming clearer. More in focus.

The print of the title in the books was clearer, a little less soft on the edges. The leather bound books, the ones gilded in gold, the embossing, it became more tangible. The whole of the room had more texture. It had a smell. The air had the smell. That old book smell. There was a painting on the wall. For now, it just looked like the sea. But that was fine. The dream had become more real.

But this was new. I had more control. I was in control. I wanted a good dream, here it was. I had asked for a good dream before I fell asleep. And now, my dream was becoming clearer. I was pushing it forward, pushing the dream to progress to grow more. This change, the bleeding of my real life anxiety into my special place, my happy place this was new. And it had to mean something. Perhaps the intention I had entering my sleeping world was growing. Perhaps the inclination and the strength I have been summoning wasn’t just an “in the dream world” kind of thing. This was an adventure that I was asking for. This was a world that I had control in when I shouldn’t. I was breaking the rules.

That is when the phrase “you are a deliberate creator” began to make sense. I had heard it before. I had been told it before. I had never understood. But here I was in this dream, it had been the same dream for so long that it was a reassuring place, an untouchable safe place for me to just relax and not have to really worry or think. And I had changed it. Something I had never been able to do, I had never been able to turn right instead of left while climbing up the rigging which was something I was curious about, trying more than once if I could do it, just once. But here, I changed something big. I had done something big. I had created the change and then changed it again. I could alter the unalterable. I had done yet another impossible thing. First I had survived in the real world, more than once, something that was meant to but could have destroyed me.

My name is Elliot Parker, and I love to do the impossible.

The dream sort of dissolved while I made sense of it and came back into the waking world. I wanted to cling onto the dream refusing to open my eyes and face the day.

Admittedly, I didn’t get out of bed until the urge to pee was crippling. I kept trying to go back to the dream, but it had slipped through my fingers like sand.

But it was the deciding factor, aside from this dream, I have had nightmares, dreams, whatever they can be called; I have had full blown night terrors about work for so long that I am struggling to remember life without dreaming about work. I am a writer, plagued by dreams about a job that is most certainly not writing. Before this job, I had dreams about my stories, about my characters. Since that job, nothing but terrors of work full of anxiety. It has to stop.

Counting Corvids

A magical girl, the blend of her race and another combined must leave her childhood home to a new country where she can be safer. Or so it should have been, she encounters life threatening situations and a boyfriend from hell!

https://www.amazon.com/Counting-Corvids-R-Appleby-ebook/dp/B01GEBKVUM/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01GEBKVUM

Chapter One: Here we go

This story is as old as time itself, but as new as the ink I write with. This story is my life, my death and what happened next.

For my story to begin to make sense an open mind is needed. Many generations ago my family stemmed from three sisters, triplets. Daughters of a Goddess, Hecate. They were born in the exact same place as I, a stone circle on a Scottish island. I had been over a thousand years after the triplets, my great, great, great well you know where that is heading. Like their birth, my birth had an effect on the world. When we were born, all the magic in the world stopped for a short while.

The daughters of Hecate each held power over an elemental property; flames, earth and mist. These three women started a new species of magic, a new species of witch, the Elementals. There are rumours that the three founders of the line are still alive after consuming the last breath of Hecate. It is said they are the elders and guides for our magic.

It is said that as the three sisters altered the destiny of one man, the ripple caused death after death of many. Neither good nor evil claimed them damning them and by extension me into an afterlife in purgatory. Since then we have been attempting to build an alliance through generations of good karma. Of course no good deed goes unpunished. The witch hunts were brutal.

At some point the elders sent word during the trials, should a child of all three lines be born into eligibility then they shall forge the path from purgatory into a new world and afterlife. As with all ancient stories they become rumour, fairy tale and myths. And that is why I am here, standing in the same stone circle at the turning of the years, like my mother did twenty one years ago at this very moment when I was born.

The three of us are no longer alone in the circle. In this darkness is where the story starts. There was a blinding flash of violet light in the circle before the world went black. The magic had once again stopped. In the darkness three voices chorused. Of course I had no idea what they said, I was out cold. From the gist of what Dad has said that the myth or legend of a chosen one, well that is me, he was the only one managing to stay half conscious to hear. I can’t quite explain why. Anyway it seems that I am the supposed guiding light my ancestors have been waiting for. No pressure. As the sun rose on the New Year it rose on us also, around us surrounding the circle had been hundreds of magpies, they had stopped watching me, instead they glared at the single crow taking flight away from the circle.

The wings of the magpies burst into flames as they swarmed and dived at us until the wings stopped burning and the magpies themselves plumed fresh char free feathers.

I’m not sure if it was the entire event or my childhood that freaked my parents out the most. You see, the problem is I didn’t have a normal childhood, my parents couldn’t risk me going to school. I was the breaker of hundreds of years of tradition, I had been born with powers, specifically basic flame powers.

Safe to say my shooting flames made my parents jumpy. I remember feeling lonely as a child, I struggled with mastering my power, my emotions. Apparently when I was three I had a strange encounter with a magpie. I liked magpies, I always have even if it was something I shouldn’t be proud of, my parents were wary. Once I had bowed to a magpie, it bowed back and flew to my shoulder. Since then I have always thought of magpies as sweet companions despite my parent’s very clear unease. The amount of hushed whispered arguments I had heard from the stairs always swam through in the darkness.

I think the magpies at the circle sealed our fate. Mum insisted we move to a town in Texas that is filled with magic that way I could learn to master my new abilities in peace without fear of discovery, so they say. I hated the idea, but I had no choice or no way to argue.

Chapter Two: “Home Sweet Home”

There is darkness all around, except for a glimmer of silvery moonlight shining on the grassy slope to the eerie shadow of a circle made of stone inside are three people stood waiting. In the distance quiet waves but an echoing wind howling louder and louder, the three figures struggle to stay balanced in the darkness.

Everything stops, a blazing violet light encircles and traps the stone circle, the three figures are clear for a moment, and the light grows brighter and denser until nothing is visible with in it. The light stops, and the figures lay motionless on the ground.

*

A young woman bolts upright in her bed, at the window stands a crow, watching her quietly before it cawed, in surprise the woman whips her head around in time to see it explode in a ball of fire. In seconds she was no longer alone in the room, still shaking as her parents rushed in, in a panic. The young lady, Willow, finds no answer, even once she has prepared herself for the day. Not quite sure on a solution she resolves to do a little exploring to distract her, not knowing just how true those words were.

*

The area around her seemed nothing like the promises her parents had made. This was in no way a good or remotely trendy neighbourhood. On the surface, everything was bleak and miserable. In fact everything here seemed desperate, buildings and people alike whether it was for love or money was indistinguishable.

The local park lacked in so many ways, everything was left to its own devices, pathways, grasses, fences. Walking alone here, seemed ever so slightly other worldly, that was until Willow felt impact in her shoulder, a girl had run into her and sent her flying, the girl carried on running, her pursuers closely behind her.

Willow jumped up confused, baffled and curious rubbing her shoulder; she followed in pursuit of the girl who had managed to get herself a little trapped.

Willow without thinking tried to help, pulling one of the girls pursuers attention away. Willow couldn’t believe her eyes at the towering man who looked more like boulders in shape then human, the girl had started to try to fight back. Not quite sure if she had done it on purpose or by accident, Willow had started blasting this creature with ball after ball of fire.

After a few attempts Willow succeeded as the thing burst into the exact same flames as the crow on her window sill, that very morning, but this time it was accompanied by an agonizing scream from the beast.

The girl and the remaining thing turned to face her, the thing disappeared into thin air as the girl stood staring at Willow.

“Hey how did you…? I mean… what are…? I mean… Hi, I’m Madison but most people call me Madi,” Madi extended her hand but Willow stared at it, “I have to go” she stammered before turning on her heels. “Wait! Wait who are you? You saved my life.”

“Willow” she through over her shoulder as she carried on walking, Madi caught up with her. “Can I at least get you a coffee to thank you, something or anything?”

Willow stopped “Only if you can tell me what just happened.” Reluctantly Madi agreed as she led Willow into a small dingy diner, sitting in a booth next to the furthest corner window.

“That thing what was it?”

“It was a Quake”

“A what?” Madi stared at Willow stunned for a moment.

“A Quake is a demon,” she studied Willows face as she spoke. “A Quake demon, is a low level demon, up to around five of them in an area are low risk threats, any more then that and they have the potential to cause some serious damage.”

“Oh, right, I see so why were they chasing you?”

“I am a Delicai, a good being, a good witch in theory, I make mistakes, I accidently caught their attention and well, that is how we got here.”

“Right I see how do you know all this stuff?”

“It’s a family thing, I’m guessing by your reaction that was your first vanquish.”

“First what? Yes, I guess it was.”

“So erm, what are you?”

“To be honest I’m not really sure, mum once said I was an Elemental, well that our heritage was, I am not so sure.”

“It makes sense, I can’t get a reading from you, good or evil. Elemental’s are essentially in no-mans-land that way.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well Elemental’s reside in purgatory for an eternity, which is the case until the ever-so-mysterious chosen one finally materializes and makes an alliance in either good or evil.”

“How cheerful” Willow’s words spoke, remaining as neutral an expression as she could manage.

“I wouldn’t worry too much it’s not your responsibility to make the alliance is it? After all, you seem to be just coming into your powers.”

Willow smiled politely across at Madi who patted her on the arm, Willows body tensed with a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes unfocused, in her mind she could see another Quake demon crashing through the Window. Willows eyes snapped open.

“I thought you were just a flame elemental but it looks like you just had a premonition, oh… wait your first? Does that mean you’re an earth one too?”

“We have to go”

“Wait why?”

Willow didn’t have time to answer, the Quake demon came crashing through the window throwing the shattered glass everywhere, and moments later Madi soared through the air hitting the back wall as Willow scrambled out of its path.

Once more with evert effort she could muster she set to work on igniting the demon repeatedly until it was consumed in fire chasing after Willow who lead it out into the empty parking lot before it finally exploded sending her flying towards a hedge. As Madi reappeared searching for Willow in the hedges among the chaos. “Wow that was some explosion huh Willow” Willow murmured from the hedge before dragging herself from the branches.