- Rebecca L. Brown
- Rebecca L. Brown (25) is a British writer currently based in Cardiff, South Wales where she lives with her partner and assorted menagerie. She has recently returned to writing medium-length, short and flash fiction pieces (including micro-fiction), after a short break which felt considerably longer than it was. Rebecca specialises in horror, SF, humour, surreal and experimental fiction, although her writing often wanders off into other genres and gets horribly lost. More updates and examples of Rebecca’s work can be found on her Twitter page @rlbrownwriter
Sunday, 1 May 2011
This site will be updated in the near future with recent publications which were already in the offing when she made a start on the longer work.
In the meantime, Rebecca is currently editing and writing for the relaunched Pagan Friends Webzine in her spare time; well worth a look.
Sunday, 27 February 2011
The short story, 'The King of Cats' will be appearing in Pill Hill Press' upcoming Told You SO anthology.
We are waiting for confirmation on contract details for several other publications and will let you know as soon as these are okayed!
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
The Inner Child will be appearing at 365 Tomorrows.
A flash story entitled Cherry Picking will appear in the upcoming Crimson Pact Anthology.
The microfiction piece Shadows recently appeared at FlashShot.
Rebecca's children's poem Purple Goblin will be featured in April's edition of Stories For Children Magazine.
Thursday, 6 January 2011
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
Sunday, 2 January 2011
Saturday, 1 January 2011
Friday, 31 December 2010
Thursday, 30 December 2010
Wednesday, 29 December 2010
Tuesday, 28 December 2010
Monday, 27 December 2010
Sunday, 26 December 2010
Saturday, 9 October 2010
Monday, 13 September 2010
The (non-)poem Gremlins is scheduled to be featured at Danse Macabre's Du Jour section before the end of the year.
The short story Bringing Home The Beach will be featured in the upcoming horror anthology Seasons In The Abyss (Bloodbound Books).
Wishing, another short story, will be appearing in the December issue of Long Story Short
Another short story, Blinking, will appear in 69 Flavors of Paranoia, Issue 2 Volume 2 (the October/November issue).
And don't forget to look out for more articles by Rebecca soon to be posted at Butnu.co.uk and New Old Traditions.
Friday, 3 September 2010
Wednesday, 1 September 2010
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
The short story Remaking The Raven, will appear in September's issue of EMG-Zine (the Raven Issue).
Rebecca's photography and an interview feature are scheduled to appear in the Spring issue of Dark Gothic Magazine.
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Monday, 23 August 2010
Friday, 20 August 2010
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
Saturday, 7 August 2010
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
Sunday, 1 August 2010
Halloween… Faces caked in paint, fake blood and too much chocolate oozing down onto ragged bin-liner capes and pillow-case costumes. Fingers grasping (always grasping! always wanting more!) sticky sweeties, clutching handfuls of melted drumstick lollies, toffee coated apples, heat-deformed milk chocolate mice. Banging on doors with insatiable fists (trickle treat mister!). Throwing eggs while someone cowers behind the unwelcoming door. Viscous yolk and fragments of shell dripping onto doorsteps.
And Christmas? Shaking, poking, pawing at foil-wrapped boxes, sloppy kisses for distant relatives (on the cheek? on the lips? come kiss gran’ma precious!) with greasy turkey-smeared faces. Chocolate santas with chocolate reindeer melting under plastic trees to be smeared over walls, floors, faces… Even the snow (the crisp, clean, magnificent snow), torn up to make snowballs and snowmen, yellow snow, full of filth, turning to muddy slush in clammy mittened hands.
Even Summer days! Hours spent trailing sunscreen and melting ice-cream along overcrowded beaches, prodding demoralized donkeys with plastic spades and pawing at gaudy postcards (wish you were here…) with vinegar and chip-grease hands. Running in parks with muddy knees poking through frayed jeans or fixing bikes, smeared with brake oil.
Oh, and the parents! Oh god, the adults… Reeking of cheap perfumes masking stale sweat and desperation they oil their hair and paint their faces. Yellow nails chewed to the quick, flaking multicoloured varnish. Preening, pointing, smoking, stroking, scratching crotches and fluffing hair with ever-vacant faces…
The thought of them repulses me! Tugging on the hem of my sleeve with grubby hands, grimy fingers; ruffling my hair as they smile their wide, white smiles. I shudder even thinking about them. Kisses hello, kisses goodbye, greasy spittle-coated lips puckered out (pucker up!). Touching, touching, always touching… Unavoidable! Inescapable! Intolerable!
That is why I am going to wrap myself.
I start at the feet, pulling the clear plastic as tight as I can. I am wearing gloves so I am leaving no fingerprints behind. No defilement. I wrap the plastic around both legs, pressing them together, working up towards the knee.
I used to watch them from the window as they walked by; chewing gum like cows with cud, open-mouthed, blowing multicolour spit bubbles (pop! spit! start all over). Or taking loud gulps from brightly coloured bottles, passing them round, sharing spittle with a friend.
I bind the knees tightly, overlapping the plastic edges, round and round. Several layers thick; the roll is plenty thick. I will be impenetrable, untouchable in my armour. I will be like a paladin; pure and untainted. I pull the plastic taut over my thighs, my hips.
A plastic cocoon. My chrysalis. I am wrapping myself like a larvae. Once I am inside, tightly bound, maybe inside I will change, transform myself. Maybe I will emerge someday as someone else. Maybe then I will understand the joy of these little daily contaminations…
I wrap my waist, my chest. My feet are tingling. I ignore them. I wrap my shoulders, slower now, struggling to move. No more sticky fingers, no more grabbing, grasping hands, smearing, sticking, greasing my skin. I wrap my neck. My breath rasps in my throat (in…out...in…out…).
See what they have made me do? Squeezing every orange on the shelf, tapping every apple (here’s your change mister! wiping his face on the back of his hand). Licking the plate clean, gravy dripping down their chins. Licking their fingers when they turn the page. Sucking their fingers when they bleed. Kissing it better… Kissing only makes it worse.
I wrap my head...
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Rebecca's mixed media (photography/poetry) piece Crimson Moment will be appearing in issue 14 of House of Horror.
The short fiction piece Corpus Erotica will be appearing in Sex and Murder Magazine.
The poem Overlording, which has featured on this blog, will be appearing in Vox Poetica.
A review written by Rebecca on the classic short story The Vampyre by Polidori should be available to read at Anything Horror later today.
Monday, 26 July 2010
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Saturday, 24 July 2010
Friday, 23 July 2010
Thursday, 22 July 2010
You are the most beautiful one of all. That is what they tell me before they die, each and every one of them. They come towards me as if mesmerised, eyes glazing, arms outstretched. They have seen no other of my kind; I am unique in my perfection. I honour them with a quick death.
Once I have devoured them, they tell me other things, snaking around inside my head like little moments of madness. Becoming you was the deepest ecstasy, they tell me. Becoming you has made us complete. Now they are beautiful too. We have become vain together.
I hate the mirrors, though. Mirrors are liars, bitter liars with no true image of their own. They distort me with their dead, glassy eyes, slicking my body with oil and mouldering feathers, shaping my soft, red lips into a wicked, toothless smile. I like to smash them, their fragments reflecting back one hundred little pieces of cruelty as I picked the slivers out of my fingers. I like to grind the shards into dust with my heels. What do you see now? I ask them.
They are soothing me now, stroking themselves over my aching pride. There are no others who compare to you, they promise me. You are the most beautiful of all.
I believe them.