American Psycho by Carolyn Glass

Amoral

Mercurial

Erudite

Reprobate

Insolent

Charming

Arrogant

Narcissistic

Profligate

Salacious

Yuppie

Carnal

Hedonistic

Overwrought

Yes, that was a good summing up of his prospective business partner, just like every other New Yorker he had had the misfortune to meet this week.

American Psycho by Lesley Whyte

The thing you have to understand about me is that I'm a good guy. I am. You've probably heard all sorts of things, terrible things, but you don't understand. I can explain everything. Every single thing you've heard, I have an explanation.

A perfectly simple, perfectly innocent explanation.

Penelope is a liar. She's lying about me. I don't know why. Why would she say such awful things about me? Why? I don't understand. I never did anything to her, you have to believe me when I say that. I knew her, of course, everyone knows Penelope, but I didn't do anything to her. We had a couple of drinks. It's not a crime to buy a pretty girl a couple of drinks, is it?

I didn't think so.

We flirted a little, perfectly innocent, though I could tell she wanted more. I suppose I was happy to oblige. So sue me. She was pretty and flirty and unattached, as far as I knew. She didn't have a boyfriend, I didn't...well, my own personal situation is beside the point. It is not a crime to go home with a pretty girl. It is not a crime to buy her a couple of drinks, it's not a crime to find her attractive and it's not a crime to want to go home with her. It's not a crime to go home with her.

Penelope's a liar.

We dated. I can prove that. Ask anyone that knows me. She was my girlfriend. My girlfriend. And yes, all right, she did end things with me and I did not take it well, but I didn't hurt her. I didn't harm her in any way. I haven't even seen her since that night in the restaurant. I go past her house sometimes, yes, but it's on my way home from my favourite bar.

What am I supposed to do? Drive home instead? I can't help it if I walk slow when I've been drinking, that sometimes I linger outside her door and think about how much I miss her. But to accuse me of stalking her, of harrassing her is crazy.

I mean, yes, there was that incident with the brick and the window, but as I told the police at the time, that wasn't me. I just happened to be there when that homeless man threw it. I chased after him, for Christ's sake! I tried to catch him so he could be brought to justice! And instead she accuses me of the most awful things, the most awful. We were dating, I was in love with her.

I still am.

I can't believe she would accuse me of trying to harm her, of frightening her. A restraining order is completely unnecessary. I'll find another bar if necessary, just to placate her, but really, I'm not a danger. Not to Penelope or any other woman. I'm worried about her. I'm afraid...well, I'm afraid that this is all in her head. I'm afraid that she's not well. All I want is for her to be well. I'd never harm her. Never.

American Psycho by Nick Trussler

…and she knew when she saw him that he was different and she knew she would end up back at his place but she realised she didn’t care. She enjoyed the hunt. And he came over, as she knew he would, and he gave the same story as everyone else and asked the same questions and she replied like all the other girls did and laughed at his teasing which, when she really thought about it, wasn’t funny at all and a very easy thing to do but it made him look clever and made him feel confident and was supposed to make her feel insecure so she let him think she was, for that was how the game worked. And so the inevitable happened and he leaned in for a drunken kiss and his mouth tasted bitter because of the beer but she tried to ignore it and they continued like this for some time until he whispered in her ear, slurring, to go back to his dorm and she agreed and then the hunt truly began. And she followed him back like a shy and nervous freshman, who had had too much to drink and a long distance boyfriend, should follow a confident and drunk senior and she entered his room and there were socks and boxers littered on the floor and there was an unusual aroma of processed cheese in the air. And he pushed her down on the bed and pulled down his jeans and she gave it a few tugs and he murmured something about the alcohol so she put it in her mouth and it soon became hard and it tasted salty which was a better taste in her mouth than his tongue. And after her jaw had become sore and he had grabbed and pulled at her hair she pushed him gently onto the bed and pulled down her panties and took off her top and bra and climbed onto him and he grabbed and slapped at her ass and she pretended to be lost in ecstasy and her hands ran over his chest and then rested on a pair of scissors on his bedside table and she wondered why he kept them there and then looked down and realised he trimmed his pubes and she couldn’t help but laugh to herself and he laughed too and called her a bitch and she carried on laughing and didn’t stop even when she had picked the scissors up and plunged it into his chest and stomach, her hand rising and falling with each thrust she gave him and though he screamed and tried to get her off him she pinned him down with her thighs and carried on laughing and with each fresh spray of blood that covered her bare breasts and body her orgasm grew and before she climaxed she slit his throat open and finished as the cloud of blood that had erupted from this last cut fell down onto his body and through into the soaked bed sheets beneath them.

Day Four

And today's prompt is...

American Psycho

Flesh and Bone by Ben Hayward

"I was thinking-"

"That's never a good idea."

"Shut up. I was thinking we should write a murder mystery."

"Um, ok, why?"

"Well there's a lot of money in fiction."

"I'm not sure about that."

"Well, you have to be successful of course."

"Not to mention lucky."

"Enough of the negativity, have you got any ideas?"

"Right now, no, isn't it your idea?"

"Yeah, but I need your edgy cynicism; the crowds love that shit."

"I don't think pessimism is edgy, it's more asymmetrical."

"See that's why you're key."

"I am?"

"Where would CSI Miami be without Horatio Kane?"

"I assume it would probably be better for one thing."

"That does depend on how you measure quality."

"Granted."

"So you're on board?"

"Yes, but I'm not quitting my day job."

"That makes total sense, of course."

"Good."

"So I was thinking, and stop me if I sound crazy, that it should be about these two guys who solve mysteries for people in purgatory."

"What? That sounds-"

"Great, I know. One of them could be an edgy badass who doesn't play by the rules, and the other can be strictly by the book, all he wants to do is get that long overdue promotion."

"I'm not sure I like how much thought you've given this."

"It shows that we're serious. We could have vampires and werewolves-"

"Angels I can just about take, I'm not having any Team Jacob or Team Edward shite."

"Ok, we could have it as a series of isolated stories. The kind where these angels can dish out old
fashioned street justice."

"Remind me why do they have to be angels?"

"They just do."

"No need to get shirty. It was just an honest question, why?"

"That way we can have them travel across space and time. They can go anywhere and anywhen."

"Best idea I've ever heard."

Flesh and Bone by Solomon Blaze

She is so fucking gorgeous; my gorgeous girl...

I hate that fucking prick: the guy in the window, who’s eating the face off my ex.

That fucking bitch...whore...I sniff and wipe the snot on the worn sleeve of the jacket she gave me, I wish I could end this...I clutch my chest as if reaching for my soul; as if there’s anything left to reach for anymore...

I cock the revolver; let’s end this...

My steps across the road from the beach front feel heavy – they see me through the window before I’m halfway way; panic flashes across her face and frustrated fury on his...

Despite the warning, he takes a surprisingly long time to answer the door – ya’ lose sight as you come up to the front door, so I figured they had to freaking out; I feel myself get a little turned on...

We – he and me - end up answering the at the door at the same time...or maybe he was watching me the whole time, either way, I put the gun straight to his forehead, silencing the fucker with shock, you’ll get a real fuckin’ shock inaminute mate; proper Horror Show like...

My new best friend and I waltz into the living room together – no need to close the door, this’ll be over soon enough – and my ex, my beautiful, horse faced ex girlfriend, screams her shrill fucking head off...for about three quick seconds, before I bust a cap in the bitches left knee cap – then she really starts to holler!

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOIIIING?!?!’ the whore screams at the top of her church-girl lungs.

‘What does it fucking look like?!’ I shout back sarcastically, with the biggest grin I’ve had on my face for months.

‘Please don’t do this Mikey!!’ shouts the very daring companion of our young – five years older than I – little bitch.

I turn to him.

‘What, the fuck did you just call me?’ I say through gritted teeth, with the crazy eyes.

‘Nothing...’ he says looking to the floor like a mongrel that’s just been shouted at for jumping on the sofa.

I whirl round suddenly and confront my nemesis/saviour, ‘WHY DID YOU DO IT?!’ I bellow, with high pitched and desperate cry.

‘I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ she screams...

...

......

.........

‘WHAT?!’ I shriek.

‘What am I supposed to have done...?’ she squeaks timidly; she’s pissed herself; yes!

...I spend what feels like five lifetimes, just looking into those vast, colourless pools of nothing; she really has no clue what I’m talking about...

...everything I am, was and every could be, has just faded to nothing in that single moment, she has no idea, I repeat over and over again in my head, flabbergasted at how completely and utterly vapid she is...

‘Fuck this,’ I say to the ceiling, ‘and fuck you,’ I say, turning back to my end ...

In goes the gun and out goes the bullet, out through the other end of all the most precious Flesh and Bone in my entire body...

...darkness...a crazy and euphoric dream...

...I don’t think there’s a God...

...a tear...

:

:

:

Flesh and Bone by Lesley Whyte

"You see that? You see how clean the cut is? Your hand should glide along the bone."

"You mean the scalpel should."

"The scalpel is an extension of your hand."

"Sure, because that doesn't sound creepy."

"Can you just...you know? Please?"

"Fine. So, my hand should glide along the bone."

"Watch me. See how I do it? You have to cleave the flesh from the bone. Carefully. Delicately. There's an almost surgical quality to the movement."

"That'd be the scalpel."

"Do you want to do this?"

"This? No. Not even a little bit. When can we get started on the real stuff? You know, the stuff we actually get paid for?"

"You're not ready."

"And you need my help."

"I know! I know I need your help, okay? So can you just shut up and watch what I'm doing here? The sooner I see you make this cut, the sooner we can get started properly."

"Like on an actual person?"

"You know we're not actually going to kill anyone, right?"

"Of course I know that. But still. People, right?"

"Just cut!"

Katy looked down at the raw rack of ribs on the table and sighed, but she picked up the scalpel anyway. "Like this?"

Flesh and Bone by Sara Travis

“Now listen here, you piece of shit,” he spits through gritted teeth. “This is the last time I’m gonna be havin’ this conversation with you. You get me?”

He plants a heavy fist in the corner of the man’s shoulder, shoving him back into the wall. He moans lightly, his eyes tiny slits, his arms held out in defense.

“I need the fucking money. So where is it?” He brings his face in closer, saliva dripping from his lips.

“I … I don’t have it …” he whimpers, trembling.

“You don’t have it,” he sighs, shaking his head in disappointment. “He don’t have it, boys. Flesh, Bone … you know what to do.”

He slowly removes his dark gloves and with one last shake of his head, turns away. In his place stand two, great, burly shadows, silhouettes in the dark, slimy alley. From the shadows, the man hears the crack of knuckles, and his legs give out beneath him.

Flesh and Bone by James D. Irwin

In hindsight he probably shouldn't have run. He was guilty, but he wasn't that guilty.

He thought he’d probably be in all the papers. He pictured his mother reading about him, maybe even seeing his face on tv. She’d be proud, he thought. He smiled.

He didn't think he’d really mind being dead. And he wouldn't die, not whilst people still remembered him-- a man is more than just flesh and bone.

He wished it weren't so cold.

Flesh and Bone by Nick Trussler

Cannibal wanted. Must like flesh and bone. Previous experience not required, but please bring your own knife and fork.

Day Four

And today's prompt is...

Flesh and Bone

LATE ENTRY Luna Landscape by Matthew Tomlin

“I really wish you’d stop calling me that.” Alice rolled her eyes, a tell-tale sigh drifting from her lips.

“But you look just like her.” Mark laughed, moving to poke her in the arm but being repelled by the swat of her hand.

“Literally speaking, that’s not the actresses’ real name. How ridiculous you’re being, I mean really.” Alice drabbled on for a while longer, but Mark wasn’t paying attention.

“It’s your night tonight.” He jeered, pulling her closer.

“Lunar eclipse, yes, how amusing.”

The forest was oddly quiet, even for the middle of the night. Mark kept his eye trained on his lover, waiting for her cold demeanour to break.

“I really wish you would show some maturity.” Alice kept her arms folded around her mid-section, refusing to reciprocate.

“You’re getting pretty high maintenance; all these wishes.”

“I’m being serious.” She turned to meet his gaze. Mark still couldn’t supress his smile. “I’m sure your parents are waiting for the day when you’ll show a bit of sophistication.”

Anyone else would have been hurt. Mark would sometimes be put off by comments like that. He was enjoying himself too much this time. He stopped, while Alice continued on for a few paces. He stretched his arms out as she turned around.

“Listen.”

Listen she did, but she could hear nothing.

“Look.”

Mark gestured towards himself. Alice was confused.

“All we can see, all we can hear is each other. What’s with the serious?” He walked towards her, the forest floor crunching beneath his steps.

“There’s not often time in the real world for silliness-“Alice began, but was silenced with some annoyance by Mark’s finger pressed to her lips.

“We’re not in the real world right now. You’re here, with me, in mine.”

For the first time that evening, Alice found herself unable to process a comeback. She understood what he was trying to say.

“Are you saying that I’m too serious?”

“Yes.”

Alice stood in silence for a moment, unable to tear her eyes away from Mark’s. She couldn’t tell him he was right. That just wouldn’t do.

She jumped. They fell. They kissed.

Luna Landscape by Emily Chadwick

The astronaut stands at the bottom of the lunar mountain, his eyes fixed on his goal: the summit. He had sworn long ago that he would one day conquer this mountain, and today will be that day.

Thus begins the arduous climb. It may seem like it should be easy with the weaker gravity on the Moon, but no! The astronaut wears special boots to simulate the gravity of the Earth. His breath comes slow and heavy; he reminds himself of Darth Vader, except he is on the side of good. Good always triumphs.

A moon worm! It rises from the summit of the mountain, shrieking as the dust slides from its body like water. It writhes this way and that, blue eyes ablaze against its white skin. The worm snarls, displaying rows and rows of long jagged teeth.

The astronaut raises his sword and –

“Michael, it’s time for dinner!”

The small boy pushes the coliander back from his face with a sound of dismay.

“But, Mum! I need to climb the mountain!”

His mother, standing at the top of the stairs, puts her hands on her hips.

“Come on, now. It’ll still be there after dinner, I promise.”

“Okay…”

The harsh, towering mountain has defeated the astronaut once again, but there is always tomorrow.

Luna Landscape by Kim Warren

Being born on Neptune was a complete accident on my part. Well I guess most babies can’t help where they were born, but I stick to my guns when I say that mine was genuinely not planned at all. However, my parents saw it differently and have been punishing me pretty much since that day for being born on a lower class planet; apparently it was frowned on at the club. In fact, they were so embarrassed by my place of birth choice that for the first six months of my life they told everyone I had been born on a shuttle craft, which is unheard of. But of course this was swallowed completely by their idiot friends on Mercury, that is until I turned one and they could no longer hide it. My palms were the first to turn, my arms and chest followed and before my parents could do anything about it, I was blue. A blue baby, what a shameful disgrace, especially seems Carol had just given birth to the most beautiful purple baby. Venus was a popular birth choice for expecting mothers. So, to hide me during my shameful childhood they took me to the most deserted place they could find. The moon orbiting earth, and that’s where I stayed for 18 years until finally adulthood struck and I turn bright silver. Oh how they envy me now. So if I have any advice for you all, don’t follow the trend and have a baby on Neptune.

Luna Landscape by Samuel Gore

‘Ok Solar, I don’t know why we have stupid names.’ Luna said.

The two sisters were sitting in the corner of their local Costa, drinking black coffee.

‘Seriously though, what was mum thinking?’ She poured another two packets of sugar and stirred furiously. ‘I can’t even talk to a guy when I’m out because of this ridiculous name.’

Luna looked at her sister. ‘I think it was dad actually. It seems like his kind of humour. We should probably visit them, it’s been three months.’

‘Four, it was Christmas. Damn this coffee, it doesn’t matter how much sugar I put in.’ Solar said.

‘It sits on the bottom,’ Solar went for another sugar packet. ‘No you’ve put so much in, it’s insoluble.’

Solar huffed and sat back in her chair. ‘Should have got a hot chocolate, I hate social pressure.’

Luna laughed, ‘What?’

‘You know, adults drinking hot chocolate in public. You get funny looks.’

‘You’re just being stupid. No-one cares.’

‘They would if they knew I was called Solar. Anyway you done?’

Luna nodded, and drank the last of her coffee. The two girls stood up and left. Outside, the sun had disappeared behind a snow threatening cloud. Solar smiled.

‘I guess it could be worse, at least I’m not Ular. He’s such a brat.’

‘Handy for when you want ice though. Remember that time he covered the entire kitchen in the stuff, Dad threatened to flood his house. Ah, I miss those parties.’ Lunar said. ‘Are you cold? I should have dressed warmer.’

Solar gave her twin sister a condescending look. ‘I’m sorry, stupid question.’

After a quick glance to make sure no-one was watching, Solar moved her hands in a wide circle. The clouds above disintegrated, letting the sun shine through.

‘Warmest April on record, if only they knew.’ The girls walked down the high street, basking in the warm glow.

Luna Landscape by Sam Smith

She wouldn’t stop looking at the moon. One night, as we were putting her to bed, our daughter asked her mother to leave the curtains open so she could see the sky. Charlotte smiled at me and said that she would only close them a little bit. 

I walked past her bedroom later that night and heard her talking. I opened the door and found her out of bed, stood at the window with the curtains wide open. She had her nose pressed up against the glass and was starring up at the moon. 

‘What’s wrong, Susie?’ I asked, sitting down next to her. 

She poked a small finger up at the sky. ‘The moon.’ 

The moon looked like it had a big bite taken out of it. It was still bright. ‘What about the moon?’ 

She squinted and furrowed her light eyebrows. She looked far too serious for a child. ‘It’s not very well.’ 

‘What’s wrong with it?’ I pressed my own nose on to the glass. 

‘It’s small. It was big, but now it’s small. It’s ill.’ 

I hummed. ‘It’s past your bedtime, Susie. The moon can look after itself.’ 

‘Okay,’ she said quietly. She scooted to her bed and I pulled the covers up to her chin. ‘Can you leave the curtains open?’ 

I kissed her forehead, closed her bedroom door and went downstairs to tell Charlotte what happened. 

The next night, I heard Susie talking again. I walked into her room and she was in the same place at the window. I sat down next to her. 

‘It’s smaller,’ she said sadly. It was. There was only a thin sliver of moon left. 

‘Maybe the moon is tired,’ I said. ‘It has to stay up all night, flying across the sky. It’s probably very sleepy.’ 

‘Why doesn’t it sleep in the day?’ 

I thought for a second. ‘Because it’s too light outside. The moon doesn’t have any curtains, so it can’t go to sleep.’ 

She looked at the multi-coloured curtains hanging down next to her. ‘I’m worried about the moon.’ 

I hummed. ‘It’s past your bedtime, Susie. The moon can look after itself.’ 

The next night, I heard her talking again. I sat down next to her and asked what she said to the moon. 

‘I was telling it about the time I was ill and that I got better and that it will be okay,’ she said, never taking her green eyes off the moon, which was almost completely gone. 

‘It will be okay,’ I nodded. 

‘Moon, it will be okay. Dad said so,’ she whispered. 

I hummed. ‘It’s past your bedtime, Susie. The moon can look after itself.’ 

Before we put her to bed the next night, I closed her curtains. I couldn’t hear her talking when I walked past her room later. But when I opened the door, she was stood at the window on her tip toes, looking all over the sky. I sat down next to her and pressed my nose against the glass. 

‘It’s gone,’ she said. There were tears in her eyes. 

I hummed. ‘It’s past your bedtime, Susie. The moon can look after itself.’ 

She kept looking. ‘But it’s gone.’ 

The sky was much darker without the moon. The stars were glittering slightly dimmer that night. I put my arm around Susie. ‘Don’t worry. I can fix this. Remember when you were ill? Me and your mother helped you get better.’ 

She sniffed loudly and nodded. 

‘Right, I think I can do that for the moon.’ 

‘What are you going to do?’ 

I looked up at the sky, heroically. ‘I’m going to help it get better.’ 

She sniffed again. ‘I hope so.’ 

I hummed. ‘It’s past your bedtime, Susie. The moon can-‘ 

She glared at me and I held back a little laugh. 

Before we put Susie to bed the next night, I carried her over to the window and proudly opened the curtains and pointed to the thin, silver curl sat in the night sky. 

Susie jumped up and cheered. ‘The moon is okay! The moon is okay!’ 

After she calmed down, Charlotte tucked her into bed and asked if she wanted the curtains left open. 

‘Not tonight, Mum,’ said Susie. ‘The moon can look after itself.’ She beamed at me. We closed the curtains. I kissed her forehead. 

‘I’ll tell the moon that you helped it get better,’ she whispered. I smiled and closed her bedroom door. 

And that’s how I tricked my daughter into thinking that I’m a magician.

Luna Landscape by Meg Burrows

Page. 4 Arrival Procedure


On arrival guests will receive free steam masks; a unique method of both oxygenating and regenerating the skin, this mask will offer guest instant rejuvenation and refinement of those tired eyes suffering from the thirty-eight day trip to the planet.


(WARNING: we advise that guests await instructions to use these masks, there is risk of offending the local community by wearing them in the initial zone of Luna.)


Winds can be moderately high here; guests will be provided with small weights to attach to their boots (please read instructions of use on page 17) and also small, foldable hats to tie hair back and under (this is VITAL to health and safety of Luna, human hair can cause severe diarrhoea epidemics to the Lunui.)


Please trade in your ID discs at the entrance of Zone 2, this will determine where you will be housed for the period of your stay (Luna Logs have selected availability, please make sure that you have clarified your booking order online before your depart from Earth.)


A regular shuttle service will run throughout the lunar cycle, every fifteen minutes, travelling the entire circuit of the complex. Children under eight MUST be accompanied at all times by an adult and with their personal guard. Any child that comes to harm during this time who is WITHOUT their personal guard will NOT be medically covered by Luna Lakes ltd.)

Luna Landscape by Ben Hayward

Henry Bayward, international man of mystery. Some say he doesn’t exist, others say that he’s a little like Batman and only shows his face when he has to. Only a few of us know that he lives on the moon.

From his lunar base, his fortress of solitude, he watches us, surveys us and judges us. He knows when we’ve done wrong and he knows what we’ve done wrong. He won’t necessarily punish us immediately, but then again he can’t exactly enact swift justice given the distance. It depends on whether or not he’s on Earth already to be honest and even then it’s weighted on the gravitas of the crime.

He’s a guardian angel that watches us from the skies and only comes when humanity needs him most. The computers on his moon base know all and tell all, he’s a little like Father Christmas in that respect.

When man needs him most he might come to Earth if he isn’t otherwise engaged and subjugate those who would do us harm. Really it’s a matter of timing though, he has a very strict sleep cycle and can’t really defer from it, and it’s a medical thing before you ask.

Luna Landscape by Lesley Whyte

"I have a surprise for you," Will said the moment he walked through the door.

"That sounds ominous," Beth replied. "What is it?"

"I booked us a holiday. You deserve a break."

"Definitely ominous," she said, frowning. She hated to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he wasn't usually that thoughtful. "Where are we going? And if you say skiing-"

"No! Not skiing."

"Then where?"

"Just...just promise you'll keep an open mind, okay?" Will said, coming over to the sofa. He 
perched beside her and handed her a brochure. "Page seventeen."

Beth riffled through the pages until it fell open on a double-page photograph of a stunning, 
futuristic city. All glass and chrome and fluorescent blue bits. All sitting on a pockmarked, silvery surface. "The moon? We're going to the moon?"

"Open mind, Beth. Open mind."

"Fine. My mind's wide open."

"Just look," he said, taking the brochure and turning the page. On this side was another picture, very similar to the first, but with buzzwords sprinkled over it in a white font. "See? It's fully 
inclusive, flights and everything. Our own luxury suite with Jacuzzi bath and a hot-tub on the balcony."

"The bath's on the balcony?"

"No, just the hot-tub. And look, they're the only company that guarantee full access to the luna 
landscape."

"Wait..." Beth said as Will started to turn the page.

"What?" he asked, a hopeful grin on his face.

"It's spelt wrong."

"Sorry?"

"Luna. It should have an R on the end. L-U-N-A-R."

"Oh, come on. You really think that matters?"

"Am I going to travel to the moon with a company that can't even spell the word lunar? No, 
absolutely not," Beth said. "I mean, are you kidding me? This is you getting your tattoo lasered away by someone that couldn't spell the word tattoo again. And you remember what happened then?"

"I got a third-degree burn."

"Second-degree, actually."

"But this is completely different. It's-"

"It's non-refundable, isn't it?" Beth asked heavily. He nodded. "Well," she said, a slight grin 
stretching across her lips. "Get me the small print. If they've misspelled the word 'refundable' as well then I'm sure that'll count as a loophole."

Luna Landscape by Alison Wink

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘But there’s absolutely no way you are submitting a science fiction piece with the word ‘luna’ used spelt like that. It’s not spelt correctly if it’s referring to anything to do with the moon. That would be l-u-n-a-r.’

I took in a large breath of air, about to argue my case. I can be forthright too y’know.

‘Unless, of course, it’s for proper nouns. You can call something whatever-the-hell-you-want in that case,’ she intervened before I could respond. ‘If you want to write about Luna the Roman goddess of the moon, you go right ahead.’

‘But, it’s also got to incorporate landscape, so it’s got to have something to do with the moon. A goddess can’t have a landscape can she?’ I argued, feebly. I knew I was going to lose, but I had to make some effort at maintaining artistic control over my piece.

‘Come on. I’m a writer, an alchemist of words. I can make them do anything I want, and that including misspelling a word. That’s the joy of being a creative writer, don’t you see?’

‘Not on my watch you don’t.’

I was getting desperate now. I’d written the bloody thing. Was I going to have to write another piece, just because some stupid name inventor at Dulux or Crown or whoever, had left the flipping ‘r’ out? I know it’s only a short story, but still it’s taking up time I should be spending on my Creative Visions piece that still doesn’t want to be finished.

I made one last attempt although I knew my argument was feeble. ‘It says in Wikipedia that the Soviet lunar space-probe was called ‘Luna’ so they must have been happy with the spelling.’

‘Wikipedia? Really? Anyway that’s a proper noun. I told you proper nouns are okay. And the Russian’s use the cyrillic alphabet so we don’t know how they actually spell, do we? It’s no good arguing. My word is final, I’m afraid.’

I know when I’m beaten. It’s back to the metaphorical drawing board for me.

‘Luna, the luminous goddess of the moon gazed as far as her eye could see over the landscape...’