A Comedy of Terror

A Comedy of Terror is a chilling book of fiction based on real events. Author and retired journalist John Scully uses grim humour to cover the lunacy of some of the endeavours and concocts nightmares to peer into hell-holes he could not reach.

The book covers two frantic decades from the 1970s to the end of the 1980s. It involves the trafficking of nuclear weapons by terrorists and power-crazed countries including Libya, Pakistan, North Korea, and Britain.

While the Vietnam War ended in humiliating defeat for the United States and its oleaginous keeper of the lies Richard Nixon, that endless catastrophe known as the Middle East also spewed an infamous peace treaty. But during these seemingly triumphant fallacies, terrorists’ eyes and money were elsewhere as they massacred and assassinated their way to secretly build A-bombs for the highest bidder. Few suspected Libya, the IRA, and British spies. Scully witnessed much of this horrific, heinous plot.

Scully was deeply involved in these events but is keeping his journalistic-based investigations secret. He has covered stories in all the countries named in this book with the exception of Afghanistan and North Korea. 

Available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Comedy-Terror-John-Scully/dp/1990589030/

The Spot Writers – “Is It Really Over” by Chiara De Giorgi

Welcome to the Spot Writers! The prompt for this month is “Is it really over?” It could refer to the pandemic, or the war in Ukraine, or anything else that lingers too long.

This week’s contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara is currently in Berlin, Germany, doing her best to catch up with semi-abandoned writing projects. Her YA novel “Mi chiamo Elisa” was published in Italy by “Le Mezzelane Casa Editrice” in September 2020. Her children’s book “Şebnem ve Schrödinger’in Kedisi” was just published in Turkey by Sia Kitap and in Italy with the title: “Chiara e il Gatto di Schrödinger”.

***

“Is It Really Over?” by Chiara De Giorgi

Day in and day out here I stay,

Watching humans live their troubled lives.

To gods and divinities they pray,

Hope is the one thing that survives.

They say curiosity pushed me,

But that is not the truth, my dear.

The moment when I chose to turn the key

I was aware I would unleash the fear

That Zeus had trapped inside this box

Onto the world, and life for you would never be the same.

And yet, one thing remained here, under locks:

It’s hope, that’s what you need to stand this game.

With hope you face all that is thrown at you,

Hope makes you think the best is yet to come.

If only you could see, if what I know you knew…

You’d wish as well as I to be forever gone.

It is not over, you shouldn’t fool yourself.

I’m opening the jar, prepare to run –

Although you cannot hope to save yourself.

This much I promise you: it’s only just begun.

*****

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

The Spot Writers – “Springing” by Cathy MacKenzie

Welcome to The Spot Writers.

April’s prompt: “spring has sprung.”

Catherine A. MacKenzie’s novels, WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, and MISTER WOLFE, the darkly dark sequel/stand-alone novel (18+), are available on Amazon.

Cathy continues with Melvin and his umpteen tales of woe… (Melvin’s voice is NOT the author’s voice; it’s his alone.)

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“Springing!” by Cathy MacKenzie

Spring: gala, celebrations, Oscars (let’s hope no more “slaps heard around the world)—see, this Melvin is always relevant.

It’s been such a long, hard winter, and my poor dejected kayak’s been in hibernation for what seems like forever. I need to get it out.
Out

Out

Out

Today is a mildish day here in Nova Scotia. Ten degrees Celsius. I’ll take it! The snow is gone. The lake never froze completely any day this past winter and invites me with its tranquillity. I proclaim today : “Kayak Day”!

It’s gonna be my first day back on the water since William died on that horrid kayak adventure last summer. I’ll never take my girls out again. Marie won’t let me even if I wanted to.

And I don’t want.

I don’t want to be responsible for another person ever again. The lake is mine. The kayak is mine. I need a third “want”—but can’t think of another (everything needs to be in threes; everyone knows the power of threes, but alas, I’m down to two). Suffice to say, I’m on my own from now on—at least as it pertains to the lake’s waters. Marie can handle house and home.

My Blue Origin Kayak (my name for my kayak) has been hibernating in the shed since William’s mishap. No remains of him remain. We never did find his body. Gone. Forever gone. Deep into the depths. Taken by selkies or the Lock Ness monster or another water devil.

Doesn’t matter who or what took my son. I just know he’s gone. As does Marie.

But life passes, right? Life goes on whether we laugh or weep.

I desire to laugh.

Hahaha.

No, not quite funny. My son died, after all. How can I laugh?

But life moves on…

Onward hoe to spring! And it’s here!

I open the door to the shed. My kayak is how I left it. The paddle ready and waiting. I haul out the kayak, leave it on the shore by the lake, and return to retrieve the paddle. A kayak ain’t much use without a paddle or an oar. Whatever the damned thing is called: oar or paddle.

I stand on the shore watching the water. It’s still. The air quiet. Not a breeze. I look up to Heaven. Not a cloud.

Nothing!

I can’t pretend I see William looking down upon me. I don’t want to pretend! You hear of grieving peeps so bereft who see their loved ones in the clouds. Truth be known, I don’t want him looking down. He’ll blame me for his death. Not sure I can handle that. Not like I’m a murderer. Yet…if I had a gun and were in Russia, I’d turn into an assassin. Kill that Putin dead to the curb. The news every night is horrid. Marie retreats to her room in tears; can’t handle it. I must remain stoic, though. Gotta have a man in the house; yet, inside, I’m tearing up for Ukraine. The world should be doing something. It seems no one knows what to do.

Horrid state of affairs. And I’m only one person. One! What the heck can I do?

Not much.

I truly wish I could do something. As I said, if I had the wherewithal, I’d become an assassin. Shoot the fucker dead. Dead! He deserves death more than my poor William, who did nothing to deserve his fate.

I shake my head. Gotta get horrid thoughts out. Out. Out. Out. Begone, thoughts. Go!

My kayak waits…

I shove it into the water. I wade into the water up to my ankles. Jump into the craft while clutching the paddle. Stick the paddle into the water.

And I’m off.

Oh, Spring!

Oh, Spring!

I love you so…

Spring,

Oh, Spring,

Meek and mild.

Oh, Spring,

I love you so…

Never leave.

******

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/