Tuesday, 5 January 2016

Flight of Destiny by Francis H. Powell

What better way to put all my angst into short stories. Born in a commuter belt city called Reading and like many a middle or upper class child of such times I was shunted off to an all-male boarding school aged eight, away from my parents for periods of up to twelve weeks at a time, until I was 17. 

While at my first Art college through a friend I met a writer called Rupert Thomson, who was at the time in the process of writing his first book “Dreams of leaving”. He was a bit older than myself, me being fresh out of school, but his personality and wit resonated, despite losing contact with him. I had a stint living in Austria, where I began writing. 

It wasn’t until I moved to Paris, that my writing began to truly evolve. I discovered a magazine called Rat Mort (dead rat) I sent off a short story, in the hope it would match the seemingly dark world the magazine seemed to embroiled in. I got no answer. Not put off I sent two more stories. 

Finally I got an answer. It seemed the magazine editor was a busy man, a man prone to travelling. It seemed my first story really hit the right note with him. His name was Alan Clark. I began writing more and more short stories, some published on the internet. A bit later my anthology Flight of Destiny slowly evolved, published April 2015, by Savant publishing.

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About the Book


Flight of Destiny is a collection of short stories about misfortune. They are characterized by unexpected final twists, that come at the end of each tale. They are dark and surreal tales, set around the world, at different time periods. They show a world in which anything can happen. It is hard to determine reality and what is going on a disturbed mind. People's conceptions about morality are turned upside down. A good person can be transformed by an unexpected event into a bad person and then back again to their former state. The high and mighty often deliver flawed arguments, those considered wicked make good representations of themselves. Revenge is often a subject explored.

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Keep reading for an excerpt:


Maggot was enraged and banged his fist on the table! Knives, forks, spoons and plates flew into the air, tossing food everywhere. Up to this point, the banquet had been cordial, even good-humored. Necessary pleasantries and toasts had been exchanged. But as soon as the serious negotiations had begun, indeed when money was brought into the equation, everything quickly went wrong. Where before congeniality had bound them, blood-lust now welled, taunts were being whispered and enraged voices were promising vengeance for inexcusable slurs.

Excellency's face reddened and his eyes glistened with anger, his men reaching for the handles of their scimitars.

In response, Maggot's goons eyeballed them angrily, and reached for the lethal weapons they had hidden in strategic places in their !87 Flight of Destiny clothing, ready to react ferociously at the slightest additional provocation. Maggot's agitated thugs, severely outnumbered, were prepared to lay down their lives if it meant spilling the blood of their adversaries. A hush fell about the grand hall as Excellency, still seething in anger, slowly and calmly stood, gestured nonchalantly with his bony hand bedecked with expensive rings to his hair-triggered guards, who, in turn, reluctantly let go of the handles of their weapons. Judd, Maggot's main henchman, playing the diplomatic foil for his master, laughed and tried to play down his master's indiscretion, as if a miscreant joke had gone awry. He reached forward and straightened Excellency's cutlery on the table and smiled sweetly, like a penitent child after a foolish prank.

Maggot, still vexed, snorted, mumbled something inaudibly, then wagged a finger at Excellency. Maggot was little more than an overtly maladroit oaf, with a permanent scowl of dissatisfaction fixed upon his fleshy face. His baggy clothes, emblematic of a circus performer, had seen better days, being constantly patched and re-patched over the years by his adoring wife. His other standout feature was the trademark medallion that hung about his neck, which he claimed he acquired from a celebrated pirate's plunder. Ever boastful and vulgar, Maggot was a man unlikely to make friends, one who induced mainly fear and loathing in those who came into contact with him. "It's my daughter, Apollonia we're talking about, not a bag of grain or a mule!" he roared, still smarting over Excellency's derogatory offer. "She's my own flesh and blood!"

Excellency turned menacingly towards him. "Watch your tongue, man! I've had men's tongues cut out for less!"

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