Magog Rhys Petley On Saint David’s Day

March 1, 2014 at 8:30 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, History, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Magog Rhys Petley On Saint David’s Day

Welsh werewolf British Labour MP Magog Rhys Petley woke up on a beach in Ireland.

He wasn’t quite sure how he got there.

The last thing he remembered was being swept down a stream in Wales during a ferocious rain and windstorm.

He must have swept across the Irish Sea somehow and landed here where a beautiful red- headed Irish girl was giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

He must admit he was enjoying it.

When she had finished, he looked at his waterproof watch which was still ticking and which had the calendar date on it.

Good Lord, the atheistic Marxist thought rather ironically, it was Saint David’s Day already.

Saint David’s Day.

March 1st.

Saint David.

The Patron Saint of Wales.

A lot of his constituents would be pissed that he didn’t show for his constituency’s Saint David’s Day celebration this year.

He wondered if it would cost him his seat at the next election.

How ironic that he a staunch atheistic Marxist-Leninist (one of the few still left in the British Labour Party) might be defeated at the next election because he failed to attend a celebration honouring Wales’ most important Christian Saint.

. . .

Where the Hell was Magog Rhys Petley? British Prime Minister David Cameron wondered.

Whenever his government needed to send someone on a covert delicate diplomatic mission, they sent Magog Rhys Petley because, since he was a backbench MP from the Opposition backbenches, if he failed, the government could wash its hands of the matter saying Magog was operating on his own private initiative.

On the other hand if he succeeded then British Prime Minister David Cameron could take credit as the genius statesman who rose above partisanship and sent someone from another party to undertake a delicate diplomatic mission because he Cameron recognized the man’s ability.

Of course Magog so far hadn’t shown any ability.

The delicate diplomatic missions the British government had sent Magog on to Syria and Egypt the past few years had all been unprecedented colossal disasters.

Now Cameron was anxious to send Magog to Moscow to tell Russian President Vladimir Putin not to invade Ukraine.

And Magog had been missing for over two weeks now.

. . .

Russian President Vladimir Putin had called the Russian Vampiress Svetlana Kireeva of the FSB to his office.

For the past 10 years ever since the Orange Revolution in Kiev Ukraine in the late autumn of 2004 when Viktor Yanukovych was toppled as President of Ukraine for the first time, the Russian Vampiress Svetlana Kireeva had been involved in a long running battle with Ukrainian Vampiress Inna Huculak of the Ukrainian Intelligence Service to see who would control Ukraine- Ukrainian nationalists or pro-Russian elements?

“Miss Kireeva,” President Putin looked directly at the Russian Vampiress, “I want you to do everything in your power to kill Inna Huculak once and for all.”

To be continued.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
on Saint David’s Day
Saturday March 1st

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Jack’s Visit To Galway Bay

November 22, 2013 at 7:36 pm (Short Story) (, , , , , , , )

Jack’s Visit To Galway Bay

Jack was enjoying his visit to Galway Bay.

He loved Ireland.

As he stood on the wet sandy beach, he looked across the shore and saw the village of Claddagh on the other side of the Bay.

He could see the moon rising over Claddagh.

He smiled.

He then turned his gaze towards the far western edges of the Bay.

And the sun was setting on Galway Bay.

It was like that old Irish song he loved so well- Galway Bay- whose lyrics went, “… you can sit and watch the moon rise over Claddagh and see the sun go down on Galway Bay.”

How wonderful Jack thought.

The lyrics of that song come to life.

He was actually seeing the moon rise over Claddagh.

And actually seeing the sun go down on Galway Bay.

Jack was happy.

He was glad he had lived to see this moment in his lifetime.

“Jack, Jack,” a woman’s distant voice called out to him.

The voice seemed to be getting closer, “Jack. Jack.”

Jack felt a shaking on his shoulder.

It was Jackie.

He was in bed.

It had all been a dream.

Yet such a realistic dream.

It was almost as if…

As if…

As if he knew not what…

“Wake up sleepyhead,” it was Jackie again, “we’ve got to catch the plane. You’ve got an important speech to give in Dallas today. Remember?”.

Jack looked at the date on the desktop calendar on the bureau alongside the bed.

Friday November 22.

Dallas awaits.

He heard a banging on the bedroom door.

It was the White House valet’s voice, “Mr. President. Mr. President. Time to get up…”

Jack headed for the bathroom to shower.

He was thankful he had such a beautiful dream this morning.

For he had the feeling it was going to be an eventful day.

Dallas awaited.

-A short story
written by Christopher
Friday November 22nd

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Haiku On The Death of Seamus Heaney

September 2, 2013 at 6:17 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , , )

Bard Seamus Heaney
now joins Ireland’s great poets
in hills forever green

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