As people, we aren’t as alone as we choose to believe. Everybody has a link to another world that can remain hidden within the soul. Society has led us to believe that preternatural events have no place in our digital world. But what happens when something dark escapes?
Angels, demons and many others will appear when the circumstances are right.
Where To Start?
Tuesday 11th February
A basket-case, me? Always thought I was a fearless woman, able to cope no matter how much animosity and bitterness was propelled at me. A ‘nobody’s going to impune my lacessit’ look scarred on my face with my impenetrable steel knickers pulled up tight around my solar plexus and ‘nae bastard can hurt me’ tattooed on my forehead. Gemma Dixon, Tisiphone the Avenger, hear me roar…
But it’s all a lie. Under the surface bravado, I’m damaged goods, should have ‘FRAGILE, HANDLE WITH CARE’ taped all around me. You don’t get to be screwed up like me without having experienced some of life’s darker corners. I promise myself every morning that I will move on, not look over my shoulder, stop looking into the shadows. But that bastard got to me, found a fissure concealed in a hidden place, and as easily as slipping a key into a Yale lock, he got in. Played with my heart. Squeezed it. Caressed it. Punched it and finally ripped it apart. Add that to the mess and confusion already in my mind and you can understand why I’ve just had my own personal Hiroshima.
I always knew when I joined CID, a seriously fearsome and defensive creature, that I’d have to be able to stand my ground, and quite right too. It’s a tough occupation and nobody wants a woman trailing around a crime scene more worried about chipping her nail varnish than twisting some bastard’s arm up his back and getting him in the back of a cop car. To begin with, I worked hard to become a success, made an impact by showing I could kick and punch like any man and I didn’t take any sexist shite from ‘the good old boys’. I didn’t care if I was dealing with a sergeant or the bloody chief constable (heaven help us) but I wasn’t going to be derided by anybody and if I was expected to do all the ‘soft’ handholding jobs, well, my colleagues soon knew that wasn’t my intention.
Every day brought conflict, over two years, and just when I thought I was starting to get a bit of respect I got blasted sideways and now I’m left in pieces, wondering if I’ll ever be able to carry on, the very thought of going back brings on a panic attack. Whimpering, weak and useless. That’s me.