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Wayne Sharrocks - Gothic/Pagan Author

Wayne Sharrocks


Last Updated: 11/19/2009

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Gender: Male
Status: Single
Age: 44
Sign: Taurus

City: Norfolk
State: East
Country: UK
Signup Date: 7/18/2006

Blog Archive
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Saturday, October 24, 2009 
http:../../..www...blog...co...uk/..user/..WayneSharrocks/

Was only invited to join yesterday but seems ok. Feel free to join/..add/message me...

New Website coming soon...

http:../../..www...waynesharrocks...co.uk/


Also, feel free to add, message me on:

www...facebook...com/..WayneSharrocks...author
Tuesday, July 21, 2009 
As the result of being supplied with x2 copies of BOTH 'Dominion' & 'Redemption' for a local press shoot - I can offer them to anyone interested for £5
($10 or 5 Euro) each (I'll cover any Postage & Packing costs).

Just drop me a line for details...

* Next novel 'Kismet' is due out later this year.

Regards

Wayne








Monday, June 29, 2009 
Kismet by Wayne Sharrocks (Due out late 2009/early 2010).

Synopsis:

For Billy Evans, the past was a haunted place that left an indelible imprint on the here and now. As he struggles to piece his life together he finds himself drawn back into a world of violence and terror. 
  Already emotionally struggling with the passing over of his remaining family, a chance encounter further clouds the border between reality, perception and illusion.
  He has spent his life struggling to escape his past but now with memories triggered, he finds himself with no option but to begin an emotive quest for revenge, retribution and finally redemption. 
A brief taster... William had soon become a solitary figure, a loner rapidly retreating into a world of fantasy and dreams, although fear and loathing (both of himself and his tormentors) was never too far from the surface of his emotions. He wished that he could just walk away from his troubles but wasn't sure if there even existed a place that far. As a result, at night he would take a handful of his Grandmother's sleeping pills to aid his slumber and to dream that he was invisible. Although he could not find the courage to actually put an end to all of his suffering he just hoped that one day his eyes would close, never to re-open. Much as he yearned to believe that he would be rewarded in the next dimension, he suspected that the only Earth that the meek were to inherit was likely to be six feet deep. As William sat upon his bed he swept his fingers through his long chestnut mane, pushing it back to reveal his cat like emerald eyes, lined with kohl and features that looked as if they could have been chiseled from the finest marble. He stared at his reflection in the wardrobe mirror but the image that was reflected back to him was far from the reality. He felt ugly and worthless. Reaching over to his bedside cabinet he slid open the top drawer (which was lined with felt), parted his carefully rolled socks and underwear and removed the razor blade from its place of hiding. He then unbuckled his trousers and slid them down to his ankles before methodically slicing at the young and tender flesh of his thigh. As he did so, rivulets of vivid crimson trickled from the fresh wounds, seeping over faded scars from previous out lettings and as it did so he felt the tension ease and the by now well worn escape route from his emptiness, depression and unreality kick in, his mind validating his inner pain with an outer expression, thus avoiding the yearning for suicide. This was his way of coping, his gift for survival in a world full of ignorance, intolerance and pain. He was alone in the world, so as words were not an option this was the only way that he could find to express emotion and maintain a sense of connection and self worth. His own coping mechanism honed from years of practice and necessity. Alas as the years passed the victimization both at school and outside the school gates had only intensified, so he became increasingly unable to peel the scars from his fractured mind. Consumed by hate and a yearning for vengeance, he vowed that everything his tormentors held dear would one day be taken away from them and that all the pain and anguish that he had experienced would be relieved... CHAPTER ONE THE BEDSIT William's room, (or Billy as he now preferred to be known as) was one of three in an inconspicuous lodging house, just off Eardley Road in Streatham Common, London, in which he shared both bathroom and kitchen facilities. The tenants of the other rooms worked for a living, so that thankfully he was on his own for the majority of the day, but even when they were home their paths rarely crossed. He liked it that way, as although his childhood lisp and stutter had all but been eradicated, thanks to a great many speech therapy lessons, he had remained very much a loner. He had realised very early on in life that social interaction for him rarely ended with a positive or healthy outcome. There always had to be winners and losers and sadly for Billy he seemed to constantly find himself in the latter category, well for the moment at least. For if all his dreams and visions came to fruition all that would change and he would finally be somebody. Billy's room had a radiator but the landlord had vowed that the central heating bills had become too expensive, so had taken to setting the timer for just an hour or two a day, then padlocking the heater cupboard, so that the dial could not be tampered with by unauthorized hands. As a result of these somewhat Draconian measures, Billy had taken to sitting in the kitchen area with the oven and hobs lit for warmth or lazing idly steeping in a hot bath and topping up the water at regular intervals. He realised he could have always tried to seek out a job, but as he held no qualifications and a somewhat chequered school attendance record, (due to the many sessions of therapy and later the flagrant truancy) he realised that the chances of gainful employment were quite slim to say the least. Anyhow, what with his lack of people skills (hadn't that been how his therapist had phrased it?) and his lack of experience in the work arena, he couldn't see how he could possibly compete for a vacant position, even in the unskilled sector, what with an immigrant workforce on tap who, due to family necessity, where willing to toil long hours for a meagre salary, no questions asked. For the aforementioned reasons (and many others beside...) Billy now found himself living in the crumbling bedsit with a trickle of state cash for provisions and sustenance, dreaming of a day when all that would change, but for the moment he had to content himself with purchasing the London Evening Standard to begin the search for somewhere better to live. The bedsit was fine for now, but he needed somewhere that he could be alone. He had things to plan, work to do, and although he had yet to formulate quite how, wrongs to be put right... CHAPTER TWO THE TRIGGER It was a glorious summer's day and the clouds appeared to float majestically in the bright azure sky. A crowd of somewhat bedraggled feral looking children had gathered on a patch of seemingly untended recreation ground, some perched high upon rusting swings that squeaked wearily in the brisk summer breeze, whilst the remainder were either engaged in kicking a battered football around or feverishly pulling on cigarettes wrapped around their thin nicotine stained fingers. The youngsters looked on boredly as throngs of commuters filed their way past, through the litter strewn city streets, like an army of industrious ants, preparing themselves for another day of commercial toil, in a futile bid to keep the tax man sated and roofs over their rapidly balding heads. William Evans had always lived in London, although his new accommodation was a fairly fresh acquisition, thanks to his recently deceased Grandparents and a favourable probate. As his Mother had died during childbirth and his Father was unknown, (as his birth certificate readily taunted him every time that he was called upon to produce it) he was brought up by his Grandparents, who although did their best by him, were always quite frail and riddled with sickness. Whilst they had always ensured that he had food on the table and a roof over his head alas, they were from a different generation so could be of little aid to him during his traumatic and fearful childhood. Sometimes the generation gap had never felt so wide, but he still thought of them in fond terms, especially now as he was back living in the family home and thankfully well rid of the rodent infested bedsit that had been his place of sanctuary for the past few years. The family home was a narrow Victorian brick house with little natural light, situated at one end of a terrace of thirteen. Fortunately for Billy he had never been one for superstition. As Billy closed the door behind him and stepped out onto the street the wind ruffled his newly dyed raven mane, (which fell just below his shoulders) causing rogue strands to dance and sway like marionettes in the breeze. Alas the High Street never appeared to change, there were meandering queues at the cash machines, with kids tugging at their parents' sleeves, urging them to buy something once the seemingly magical machines had conjured up some paper money...
Friday, December 05, 2008 
Vinilian Press - Wayne Sharrocks Interview etc...

Please check out this fantastic 'zine (Vinilian Press) as it features an interview & photo-shoot with yours truly as well as a whole host of reviews/interviews & articles 'Goth' /'Vampyre' related...

PLEASE CONTACT VINILE COVEN (ON MY FRIENDS PAGE) OR ANY OF THE FOLLOWING LINKS FOR DETAILS...
VINILECOVEN.8M.COM
mailto:vinilecoven@yahoo.com
vinilecoven@yahoo.com
mailto:vinilecoven@hotmail.com

VINILIAN PRESS is a short E-Zine, which you would receive by email once every-other month (every two months). It is an emailing list and exclusive Zine, so you must provide your email address and your nickname in order to receive this E-Zine.
If you wish to be featured or advertise in VINILIAN PRESS, please email me, Vinile at VinileCoven@Yahoo.Com

The present issue includes:
1 Interview with Author: Wayne Sharrocks
2 Interview with Composer: Martin Bowes (of Attrition)
3 A Lady Bug Named "Hope" Exclusive (M. Rosko)
4 Interview with Musician/Vocalist: Ali of Queue Up

Next issue (January, 2009):
1 Head Story: SHINTO RECORDS
2 Interview with Music: MoodOrgan (LA)
3 Interview with Spider's Web Zine
4 Interview with Artist: Dark Angel Illustrations
5 Author: Carla Gerl
6 and many more...

I will advertise (or even interview) your skills/talents/genius if you help me with promotion for VINILIAN PRESS.

I will also post upcoming concert schedules, interviews, and more). All you have to do in return is post direct link the VINILIAN PRESS page and promote yourself! Easy, is it not?

A new issue of VINILIAN PRESS is due out every other month (January in this case). hen you register or join this "email list" E-Zine, you will receive the most recent issue of VINILIAN PRESS!

NOTE: FORMAT: ***The Newsletter arrives attached as JPEG files
Sunday, November 02, 2008 

Category: Writing and Poetry
www.wayne-sharrocks.ning.com

For all those who have recently enquired...

Signed copies with personal message £7.99 / $10 / Euro 10 *(includes p&p)
or £15 / $20 / Euro 15 (inc p&p) for BOTH.
*Drop me a line to reserve copies & for postal address.

www.amazon.co.uk/Dominion-Wayne-Sharrocks/dp/1843863855

www.amazon.co.uk/Redemption-Wayne-Sharrocks/dp/1843862549

Redemption

ISBN-10: 1843862549
ISBN-13: 978-1843862543

Dominion
ISBN-10: 1843863855
ISBN-13: 9781843863854

On sale at : Waterstones, Blackwell's, Jarrolds, Diss Publishing,
Whitby Bookshop & all good book stores...

Also available online via: www.amazon.co.uk  www.amazon.com  www.amazon.ca
 www. whsmiths.co.uk   www. play.com  www.blackwell.co.uk  www. waterstones. com www. tesco.com   www.pegasuspublishers.com

*Check Overseas availbility on: www.bookbutler.com

or place order at ANY bookshop by quoting ISBN Nos.
Sincerely hope that you enjoy them.

Wayne
x
Wednesday, October 22, 2008 

Category: Writing and Poetry

This was penned for the Film Premiere of 'Revival of Darkness' (which had a themed Masquerade Ball) & was read out at midnight, just before the guests unmasked...

A life too cursed for day
She awaits the decadent dark
A cloak of beauty drowns her sighs
This Angel in disguise...

The walls of her heart may crumble
As she feels her dreams unfurl
The conclusion ever nearer
As midnight chimes her goal...

The only time she can reveal herself
Is under nature's lunar light
And as the mask slips from visage
The moon offers her respite...

(Cliched, Goth?! Moi?!) lol

Revival of Darkness: Beyond the Grave
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

Revival of Darkness: Beyond the Grave

'The Suspenseful/Horror & Vampire Romance' by Randy & MarieAnn Rosko.

DoomAndGloom.8M.com

Featuring Music By: Attrition, The Vladimirs, Avernus, Kyle Wheeler, High Blue Star & others...

www.myspace.com/DoomAndGloomProductions

  A contemporary tale of forbidden love, mystery & betrayal ... 

 

Friday, July 04, 2008 

Category: Writing and Poetry

DOMINION

PROLOGUE

Sat hunched within the dark recess Karl Connor felt as small and vulnerable as a china doll. As what seemed like hours passed he could feel the welts from the cigarette burns rising up on his body, smarting, searing…

His body still hissed from the pain of her nails gouging his young and tender flesh. As dread washed through him, how he longed for a shining light in the great dark loneliness of human existence.

Terror began with the fact that he could hardly move. His mind wrestling with some unbalanced nightmare, whilst his body ached with cramps, knots in his muscles as the cupboard under the stairs was no more than three feet long, roughly the same in height and was crammed full of assorted bric-a-brac (a vivid testimony to his mother's car-boot compulsion).

As his panic escalated with him, all his desires diminished to just the need to move, a desperate, overwhelming need to free himself from the dark and cramped conditions. As his mind fractured he tried to scream but found that he could not even speak. The unbearable stress shattering his logic to pieces, finally breaking him from reality as thoughts like moths fluttered through his mind, seeking light in his darkness.

The punishment was as if a tourniquet around his neck, strangling the life from him. His pallor ghostly, he began to writhe and squirm as his shoulders began to shake. His grief vast enough to bring down an empire, as the waiting silence dragged him down like exhausted sleep and his wanting; longing to be freed filled the space oppressively.

Crippled by fear he was suddenly aware of the darkness sucking him down.

Although he had long since managed to spit out the rag that was stuffed into his mouth to stifle his earlier protestations, his breath was still very shallow, trapped by the dull suffocating heat of the blackness that had encroached upon him. He found that his palms were sweating. He had gnawed at his knuckles until they bled, sucking at the warm blood that flowed from them as it were comforting nectar. Recoiling, his mind snatched feebly at passing thoughts whilst above him, he could hear the sound of the splintering wood and the creaking floorboards. He could hear his mother's gin soaked voice echoing as she descended the wooden staircase, her rage biting deep.

'Filthy, dirty boy, I told you he wasn't right, he is the devil's child. I should have had him aborted when I had the chance…'

Moments later he heard the catch being slid from the lock and the cupboard door sprang open, battering his eyes with light.

Springing back from the sudden brilliance, he flinched as the light scolded his vision, momentarily dazzling him.

A torch shone in his eyes but all he could see was the glare, burning his eyes and dragging him still further into his mother's alcohol fuelled nightmare.

Her voice now seemed distant and slurred as she brandished the huge torch at him. Under the skin on the back of his neck, ticks of apprehension still burrowed and twitched, but heart pounding he unfurled from the fetal position that he had been forced into and achingly crawled out from the cupboard. His muscles and limbs screamed with every movement and the abrupt definition of sight stung his eyes, whilst his nerves were shredded and crippled by his own deceiving mind. Believing that to be the end of the punishment he began to apologize, even though he sensed that he done nothing wrong. As he spoke, there was a tremor in his voice, a fragility, not pain so much as emotional distress. The hardness of her heart frightened him. He had taken two faltering steps before he was doubled over, as if a hook had caught his stomach, knocking the air from him. The world had become too strange for him to fully comprehend, and as the large torch lay broken in pieces upon the threadbare carpet, he gazed meekly up at her, into a face set with thunder. He let out a cry of sheerest childlike terror but as he tried to kid himself into believing that life had a purpose worthy of his struggle he knew deep down that he would be made to pay further for his actions…

www.amazon.co.uk/Dominion-Wayne-Sharrocks/dp/1843863855

Available online (£3-£8) via: www.amazon.co.uk  www.whsmiths.com    www.waterstones.com www.amazon.com  www.amazon.ca  www.play.com  www.blackwells.co.uk

 www.pegasuspublishers.com  www.tesco.com

ISBN-10: 1843863855

ISBN-13: 978-1843863854

Friday, July 04, 2008 

Current mood:  creative
Category: Writing and Poetry

REDEMPTION

Extract:

Reluctantly and nervously I stepped inside the bunker as the gangs heckling stung my ears. Their hands pushed and shoved at my back, as I glanced around, urging me to descend the wrought iron staircase. They saw the terror in my eyes and drank it in, but by now their deferential manner and their mocking tones and words were barely penetrating my reverie as my mind had closed in around me.

The smell of the repellent bunker was acrid and musty with damp and I felt a waft of fetid air . I could hear water trickling down the walls, smell the damp moss on the stairwell and hear the scuttle of what sounded like millions of unseen insects on the floors and surfaces. Every nerve in my body screamed for me to just turn and run but I knew that it was far too late for that now.

My heart was now pounding so hard that I thought it may leave my chest completely, whilst my palms were already growing slick from perspiration.

When I had reached the earthen floor at the bottom of the staircase I saw that it was covered in dead withered leaves and threadbare old blankets, which I noted, much to my aghast, were swarming with colonies of ants and assorted bugs. A huge dead beetle lay in the centre of one of the blankets, like some bizarre new age sculpture. I felt as though I had just stepped onto the set of a Hammer Horror movie and prayed that at any moment a director would yell 'cut' !

Fear reached down within my stomach and squeezed tightly as, over the fanfare of laughter from above, I heard the sound of the metal cover being slid back into place. I stood static, trembling as I thought that I saw something move from deep within the shadows and felt the blackness encroach upon me, freezing my joints and dimming my vision. I felt claustrophobic as the engulfing darkness descended upon me like a veil and sheer panic overwhelmed me instantly. I felt a shortness of breath and my nose and eyes were already experiencing discomfort from the cascading clouds of dust. I felt a draft as I moved and I felt cobwebs brush against my face. Blinking rapidly whilst struggling against the darkness my hands moved quickly to wipe them away. My skin crawled just to touch them and this only added to my distress as I could not abide spiders and the thought of them even touching me led my blood to immediately turn to ice. The hair on my arms and at the base of my neck stood to attention. My previous show of fake bravado had now left me completely as years of pent up and agonized frustration erupted to the surface like a volcano of emotion.

Smothered in black, my distress was all too evident as I began to shake uncontrollably. Utterly terrified I screamed, howling at the top of my lungs to be set free as fear permeated from my every pore and turned my pulse to static. I waited for my eyes to readjust to the darkness . I felt as though the walls were closing in around me, suffocating me, as if absorbing my very soul.

Panicking I reached out for the stair rails, only to feel an unpleasant slippery liquid substance upon them.

Grimacing with disgust at the slime and the dirt I screamed out again. Flinching and repulsed , I quickly wiped my hand across the front of my faded denim jeans, as my mind worked furiously in an attempt to combat the fear and revulsion I felt. Carefully I began my ascent again, rising slowly, cautiously placing one training shoed foot in front of the other before I committed my full weight upon it as I feared losing my footing and balance on the dark, damp and slippery staircase. I glanced down at my watch but it was too dark to see its face. I could see nothing, just pitch blackness and fear shrouded me again. I stood shaking, bit my lip and tasted blood as fear cursed through my veins. Seized by the sense of urgency I began hammering on the metal door, screaming at the top of my lungs to be set free.

My cries were so loud that my eardrums threatened to split.

My scream was full of agony and desolation and continued for as long and as loud as my lungs and voice could sustain it . The sound of my anguish and despair reverberated off the walls of the wretched bunker, echoing my desperation. Amplified sounds of my own unbearable terror.

Surely they would not abandon me here, leaving me to meet my maker?

I pressed my ear to the metal seal but could hear nothing, aside from my heartbeat pumping wildly in my ears. Either the gang had gone or were successfully stifling their laughter. I tried to spy a keyhole but found none. I assumed that the keyhole cover had either slid back across the lock therefore masking it or they had blocked it up to cut out my only light source and intensify my distress.

Probably the latter.

Grim faced I pounded my fist on to the door again until my knuckles bled, but I received no aid and the formidable barricade to my safety remained unmoved. I winced at the pain my foolish actions had caused me and I felt tortured by the vagrant currents of air coming through the locked and barricaded door. As things stood I had no way of gaining my freedom from within this dark chasm. I was trapped and now felt as if I had been dropped into the bowels of hell.

The fact that this recent past would inevitably become a terrible future only served to increase my sense of sheer helplessness.

Inside my head I heard me scream again, with anger and fear, although I think this time no sound had actually left my lips. I chewed the skin around my thumb nails, eventually drawing blood, which I drank hungrily. There was something comforting about the warm nectar that flowed from my digit as my mind raced plotting an escape from this landscape of despair. The frail blue flame of hope deep inside was waning as what seemed like hours passed. The oppressive atmosphere pressing down upon me, the damp and darkness suffocating me, my head spinning as I seemed to flit in and out of consciousness. I felt completely disorientated and claustrophobic, feeling as if I had been buried alive .

The thought was like ice in my stomach as the blood froze in my veins. By the minute my mood was ever darkening. The sudden silence was deafening and a shiver ran through me as the temperature had noticeably dropped. The dank chill and musty odour had now enveloped me totally . I just could not stop shivering. I loathed being cold so I began to frenetically rub my hands up and down my arms to try and generate some warmth.

My heart jumped as I was gripped by panic and lip quivering fear. Anxiety was stretching at my every fibre as I sensed that they were still out there beyond the locked and barricaded door,laughing at my expense no doubt, chortling at my abasement and humiliation…

I felt totally degraded whilst my mind was plagued with doubt and insecurity.

Why were they keeping me waiting?

Surely the hour must be up by now?

Cold and fear had engulfed me again. A combined embrace that threatened to drive me insane. Down below I heard the scuttle of unseen vermin which filled me with dread and loathing. I stared down into the darkness, in the direction of the scrabbling sounds but I could see nothing. I feared that it may be rats and I was filled with repugnance and fear. I could almost sense their countless beady black eyes boring into me. The sound appeared to be closing in on me as I stood frozen in fear upon the staircase. I prayed that it was just an acoustical trick of the bunker. Revulsion tightened my throat and a crawling sensation spread across my skin. I could feel the onset of a terrible headache as my temple pulsated and my eyes stung. The air was dusty and acrid and I could feel it searing at my lungs.

These passing minutes seemed to be lasting a lifetime.

I felt my heartbeat quicken as icy fear held me in a vice like grip. I tried to urge myself to breath deeply and to relax as I could feel myself beginning to hyper ventilate. I felt as though I was being swallowed by the bunkers impenetrable darkness.

I was feeling tired and fraught and becoming prey to my own imagination.

Tears combining fear and frustration were suddenly flowing down my cheeks as I knew that I had no option but to wait in the dark. I could taste every bitter salty tear. I just wanted it all to stop.

For a long frozen moment time stood still. I could not move and did not dare breath as terror ripped through my bowels. I found myself sweating profusely but yet I was still shivering from the combination of cold and trepidation.

How I loathed the endless pockets of damp and darkness.

It was pure torture.

The gang had played on my torment and brought me to my knees. I was still rigid with fear as my temple throbbed like a drum and my heart began to pound so hard that for an instant the world turned black. The darkness that had now engulfed me was all too complete. My now frantic screams rang and echoed through the bunker.

Again I thought that I could die here, in this acrid, dark, damp abominable hell of a place.

No, my parents , if sober, would be worried, they would call the police, they would ring the school.

I would be found, I was sure…

I sat waiting in this abandoned subterranean bunker, immersed in darkness, the deafening silence only broken by the sound of my own pounding heartbeat and the scurrying atrocities below.

Huddled on the stairs, in an almost foetal position, with my arms clamped tightly around my body for warmth, I sat whimpering as agony and fright seeped from my every pore . The growing knot of despair tangled deep within me as a crawling sensation ran down my spine. I subconsciously began to regress and started rocking to and fro, as if I were a baby in a crib.

I began to cradle myself in the belief that I was alone in a world bathed in darkness.

Feeling desperate, I began humming and singing to myself in a vain attempt to while away the time and to try to belatedly inflate my flagging spirits. I sat huddled, but awake, desperately trying to fight off the unease that prevented me from closing my eyes. I had to believe that I would soon be free again and that my hunger, tiredness and raging thirst would then be appeased.

Everything was going to be alright...

At some point I must have passed out as I awoke from my limbo of darkness to find the bunker door standing ajar and the sound of shrill squawks of laughter and gleeful asides assaulting my senses. Rays of sunlight bounced off the blackened walls.

The howls of the gangs laughter was almost as loud as the screaming inside my head. I glanced down at my hands and saw that my palms were slippery from sweat and grease. My nails were shattered and caked in dirt and blood, whilst my back ached and twinged.

I noted that it was now daylight, and the realization that I had now been trapped here all night dawned upon me. I slumped with relief. My senses were being overloaded with a mixture of joy, relief, fear and foreboding. Joy and relief for my obvious release but fear and foreboding for the inevitable brutal punishment that awaited me at home for being out all night. I was trying to get my senses and feelings into some sort of context as, joints aching, I exited the shelter. I paused to try and compose myself as I ascended the bunkers short flight of stairs, as I felt my legs slightly buckle from under me and found that my vision was slightly blurred. It felt as though I were walking on a sheet of thin ice. I wearily rubbed the back of my aching neck. I had the shuffling gait of a geriatric as I was, for the moment, debilitated by the stiffness of having spent a long fraught night curled up on the hard staircase (my lofty position of sanctuary from the terrifying scrabbling creatures below).

My joints and muscles cried out in anguish. My shoulder felt badly jarred and my neck as though it had suffered whiplash. I felt dizzy and confused, obviously brought on by my tiredness and pangs of hunger which stopped me from thinking clearly.

There was screaming inside my head and my soul, which felt fractured to the bone. Even though I was now released I felt as if I were still being driven mad with fear.

The barrage of laughter, mocking and teasing increased as I stepped out into the light, averting my eyes. The dazzling abrupt definition of sight hurt my eyes. I squinted and raised my hand in an attempt to shield my eyes from the sun as they desperately tried to re-adjust themselves. I looked and felt as though I had just been vomited from hell itself.

I quickened my pace as the realization that it had all been a game to them and that I was never going to be one of their gang hit me like a sledgehammer. I knew now that I had been through this entire nightmare for nothing …

www.amazon.co.uk/Redemption-Wayne-Sharrocks/dp/1843862549

Available online (£3-£8) via: www.amazon.co.uk  www.whsmiths.com    www.waterstones.com www.amazon.com  www.amazon.ca  www.play.com  www.blackwells.co.uk

 www.pegasuspublishers.com  www.tesco.com

  • ISBN-10: 1843862549
  • ISBN-13: 978-1843862543
  • Friday, July 04, 2008 

    Category: Writing and Poetry

    www.myspace.com/shadowqueendoll

    Endless Dark Club 'Zine (Issue 17).

    Please check out my interview & the book-review(s) in this fantastic Gothic/Rock/Alternative 'zine.

    Copies are 3 Euros.

    Interested parties please contact Magda via her MySpace link or place order to:

    Endless Dark Club, A/C Magda Estrela, Rua Antero Nobre, No.16,3o dto. 8700-240 Olhao, Portugal

      

     

    Monday, April 21, 2008 

    Current mood:  creative
    Category: Writing and Poetry

    * PLEASE CHECK OUT THIS FANTASTIC 'ZINE & HOPE THAT YOU ENJOY MY INTERVIEW PIECE.
    Wayne

    SPIDER'S WEB ISSUE 9

    INTERVIEWS

    Black Roses, Poetry and Death (USA)
    Club Antichrist (London, UK)
    Crysalys (Italy)
    Wayne Sharrocks (Goth Writer, UK)
    Temujin (Australia)
    Second Skin (Italy)
    Frightdoll (USA)
    In Loving Memory (Italy)
    Ismini (Greece)
    Lace Me Up (Dublin, Ireland)

    LIFE AS A GOTH
    DJ Zynthexia (Finland)
    Amaranth (UK)
    Carlo (of Miriam, Rome, Italy)
    Electric Barbarella (UK)
    Chris (of V-Malice, Trieste, Italy)

    REVIEWS
    Black Roses, Poetry and Death (USA)
    GPKISM (Japan)
    Blood (Japan)
    Spectrum-X (Italy)
    Bloody Mary (Italy)
    Sinbeats (Germany)
    Katharine Blake (England)
    The Offering (UK)
    Virgins o.r.

    Pigeons (Greece)
    Wastescape (Sweden)
    Uninvited Guest (UK)
    This Void Inside (ITaly)
    Crysalys (ITaly)
    Ismini (Greece)
    Gotham 2008 (23rd March 2008 , London, UK)
    Anne Sudworth (exhibition, UK)

    ZINE REVIEWS
    Unscene (UK)
    Bubblegumslut (UK)
    Devolution (UK)

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