This is the eternal, half-finished novel. At about the 60,000 word mark real life intervened in my writing in a drastic fashion. I may go back to it some day…
Deborah de Selby works in a city where everyone has amnesia. Nobody remembers their lives before arriving in the isolated city in the middle of a desert. Nothing ever changes, even the sky is a constant dull grey. She helps process the ‘new arrivals’ which turn up as bodies floating in the river and people occasionally disappear without a trace. Martin Johnson is one such arrival who will do anything to uncover the past he has lost, no matter what the cost.
A door swings open.
‘Oh it’s you. Well? What are you doing just standing there gawping like an eegit? Come in.’
I step over the thresho-
‘Wipe your feet! Do you think I’m running a stables or something?’ The wrinkled little man wanders away muttering ‘No respect, at my age and they show no respect…’
In a show of defiance I step over the welcome mat. Not wiping my feet for that cranky old- Guilt drives me back. Embarrassed at this change of heart I scrub my feet hurriedly then go after him. The room is dark but large. Or at least full. Low pink and blue lights create puppet silhouettes, like some monstrous marionette master is hiding in the rafters.