The Cascade

Recently, I took part in a short story writing competition, where the only guidelines you were given was to look at the painting below and create a 1,000-word story based on what you see. It was incredibly fun and challenging. This was my submission. I hope you enjoy reading it.

Credit for the painting goes to Maggie Chiang.

Everything ends.

It is the one absolute truth that every living soul can agree upon. No matter what type of existence it is, at some point, it must cease. Whether it be an insect, a flower, an animal, a human, a planet, a galaxy or the universe; everything dies.

This was a sentiment he was all too familiar with as his boots crunched across the blackened tundra. The ground was unsteady like walking on a sea of never-ending charcoal chips, it was the remnants and the shrapnel of what had been existence. This was all that remained of our civilisation and he was all that remained of life anywhere.

There had been more once, he’d even had a family, but as the universe came to an end the point of living had ceased for many. The only reason he carried on was because he still had purpose. It was the end of all things and he wanted a front row seat.

He squinted in the low light from the skies above trying to navigate the scarred and inhospitable landscape. He looked to the heavens and willed them to illuminate his way. He remembered stories and legends about two giants in the sky that held this planet in a delicate balance, but the sun and the moon had long since faded. Now, there was only The Cascade.

Suddenly, his left foot stepped out onto nothing. He paused and brought it slowly back. It was near impossible to see, but he could hear the tumbling of the disturbed rocks going over the edge into the abyss. He had arrived at the end of the world.

He slipped off his pack, as he let out a long satisfied sigh. What better place to see the astral show?

He looked up to The Cascade in the sky and felt an overwhelming sense of awe. It was a waterfall of starlight, swirling slowly downwards in magnificent fashion as if all the galaxies were bleeding and coming together as one. It was an elegant death for the universe and he knew he was fortunate to be standing there, silhouetted against it on the edge of oblivion.

When there had still been others, they had called The Cascade “The Tears of Angels”, as if Heaven itself wept for the end of all things.

He closed his eyes and listened to the vast silence, searching for something in particular. It had been told that if you were up close to The Cascade the sound it produced was a fierce, deafening vortex of colliding energy that was incomprehensible to a living ear; a galactic storm unlike no other. However, from here, across the vastness of space, all that noise became transposed into a lilting soft melody, a lullaby to see the universe to sleep. It’s like the song was the universe’s last breath exhaling in the same majesty as it had lived.

After a short time, he heard it and it’s symphonic beauty caused him to smile. Then a thought occurred to him; if it was just him and the universe left then maybe he could pose it a question. A question that has plagued the mind of any being capable of existential thought since the very beginning.

He considered it carefully, he wanted to word it just right. He was addressing a celestial being after all. What’s the meaning of life? No, too specific. Why are we here? No, far too vague.

“What’s the point?” He yelled out into the ether and then listened for an answer.

He wasn’t sure how long he waited. Hours? Days? There was no real way to tell anymore, just the constant tumble of The Cascade and a song that kept on playing.

Then, just as he was losing hope, the universe answered and not in a way that the man expected. The answer was delivered in a rather sublime way, by simply slowing the song.

All at once he knew, like the epiphany had opened his mind to more than he’d ever been able to comprehend before.

There was no meaning to life. A meaning is an outcome, a sum to an equation or an answer to a question. Everyone gets lost in the final notes of life’s symphony. The end and why is all consuming. When really the how’s and whys aren’t what is important. Everyone’s always been looking for the “answer” and not focussing on the “question”. It’s not about the reasons why we’re alive, it’s because we are. It’s having the ability to allow for satisfaction in the former, not searching for the latter.

The beauty is in living, in the first place.

He smiled at the irony of finally knowing this and having no one to tell. As he went to thank the universe for its answer, he realised his view had changed. His eyes were having to strain against the darkness around him. The Cascade was ending, the last light was fading.

He’d always known that the end would come, but the anxiety of impending death was buried too innately into him. It was out of his control and that made him feel helpless.

Not only that, but he was also the last remnant of one of the universe’s greatest miracles; life.

Life could easily not have happened, but against all the odds the atoms that made up everything at one point suddenly made up us and intrinsically bound us to the very fabric of existence.

In a way, having one last living person there to hold the universe’s hand as it began its eternal slumber was kind of poetic. It created us and saw us through our lifespans, so it only seemed fair that one stayed behind to do the same.

It was in that moment, he knew he was ready. He closed his eyes and listened out once again for the song, but through the darkness, he heard nothing. The last breath had been drawn. The song was over.

Everything ends.

Love’s Last Gift

As I mentioned previously, it will be the tenth anniversary of my Dad’s death this year and I wanted to do something. So, to honour him, I began something I should have started 10 years ago; the story of his life. Below is the prologue and first part of Chapter 1. Never will I forget how important an inspiration he is to me. The Hendrik before me was a Dutch man who lived through WWII in work camps, made a life in England and ran a successful advertising business. I could go on, but then what would be the point in his story. I hope you enjoy the beginning.

Prologue

Loss. It’s something every single one of us has to deal with at some point in our lives. It is utterly universal and in a way it connects us all. The moment we have loss in common with someone, we seem instantly develop the ability to understand them.

However, that shared emptiness is where the universality ends because what accompanies loss is predominantly grief. Now, grief is an unusual concept, as every person deals with loss in different ways.

There have been many people who have studied grief and tried to break it down; one of the most popular theories is the Kübler-Ross model, which states that grief is split into five stages.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

On a personal level, I do not believe that grief can be so easily analysed. I have experienced and seen others experience devastating losses throughout my life and not once have I ever seen a shared way of grieving. There are those who act outwards and those who retreat inwards, those who seem fine and those that are fine. Some people draw, do charitable deeds, write or wallow.

Grief has no set rules. I have seen people reach the stage of acceptance and others who never will.

And like all good segues, that brings me to the purpose of this story. As, I write this at the arguably still tender age of twenty-six, I enter the tenth year of being without my Dad. I have no remaining grandparents and a family that seems to dwindle with each passing year, but do I grieve?

No, for some fortunate reason I seem to be capable of dealing with death very easily. I often hazard guesses at why that is, but often draw unsubstantiated theories and conclusions. A reigning one for me is due to my father being a lot older than most, living healthily into his eighties. From a young age I always knew he wouldn’t be around for a great portion of my life, so maybe that early knowledge prepared me for the rest of my life. Who knows.

Now, do not mistake my lack of grief for a lack of caring. I feel the loss like everyone else, but I do not feel sad. The man I am today is a direct result of my upbringing, and I am proud to be that man. I may have lost my Dad before I turned eighteen, but his nurturing fatherhood continues to this day.

The reason I labour this point is so I can be clear. I do not write this book as a way to deal with my grief; I write it because all around me I see the disguised pain of the people I care about.

It would be impossible for me to write their loved ones’ stories, so I write mine, for them. It is a tribute to let everyone know that a person is never truly gone as long as you still tell stories of them, because that is all we are in the end.

This is the legacy of my father and although embellished, tweaked and fictionalised into novelisation form, there is truth to many of the events.

“Remember you are never really alone. Although it may feel like it for very long stretches of time.”

― Steven L. Peck, A Short Stay in Hell

One

Dordrecht, Holland 1935

It has always been a misconception that the country of the Netherlands is called Holland. Holland is actually a region in the west of the country and Dordrecht is the oldest city in that region.

This medieval city has always been known as a place with swathes of history and culture. Its beautiful architecture only rivalled by its stunning scenery, like the Merwepark.

In the centre of this park sits a large white building with the air of a mansion, but the feel of a secluded cabin. The reflection of this building is mirrored perfectly by the lake that is adjacent to it.

Suddenly, the water’s flawless recreation is disturbed by a single stone skipping across its glassy surface.

Mikael eagerly watched from the banks of the lake, as his stone bounced across the water as if by magic. Once it had sank, he bent over, frantically looking for another stone. He wiped sweat away from his glistening forehead as the summer sun, unrelentingly, beat down on him.

He checked his watch, knowing full well that his best friend Willem was late. With a sigh he walked up to the water’s edge and stared in. The ripples from his stone were still causing a skewed reality to be shown back to him and even though all his features seemed oddly distorted it was possible to make out his strong jaw line, straight brown hair and Roman nose. The caricature of himself staring back at him made a slight smile touch his lips.

From out of no where a hand appeared on Mikael’s back and his whole body tensed ready for the push; a gasp of surprised anticipation escaped his mouth. That’s when he heard the laugh, which caused him to spin around with his brow furrowed in annoyance.

“Willem!”

Mikael’s friend has obviously not been prepared for such a quick motion and held his hands up in faux surrender. Seeing this gesture and Willem’s smile, calmed Mikael’s temper.

“Hallo vriend”. Mikael greeted, before moving away from the lake’s edge to safer ground. “Je bent laat! Ik was bijna zonder je naar huist gegaan!”

Willem seemed to understand his friend’s frustration with his tardiness and tried to explain his side:

“Ik weet het, sorry. Mijn moe-<ther kept talking and talking. You know what she is like.>”

Avicii Lyrics

I heard a song the other day that reminded my of my Dad. It’ll be 10 years this year since he was gone, so hearing this song definitely stirred the ol’ emotions:

One day my father—he told me,
“Son, don’t let it slip away.”
He took me in his arms, I heard him say,

“When you get older
Your wild heart will live for younger days
Think of me if ever you’re afraid.”

He said, “One day you’ll leave this world behind
So live a life you will remember.”

Nice Job Avicii.

Another Short Story! 2000 words on the theme of ‘Joy’.

JOY
By Hendrik Harms

As the alarm sent gentle light pulses in the room, David began to stir. It was a much more delicate way to be awoken; especially over those shrills tones used in the past.

He slipped out of bed, leaving his wife to wake on her own and moved towards the bathroom. As he did so he clapped his hands once and then raised them in an upwards motion, which caused the blackout curtains in front of his generous windows to seamlessly ascend.

In the bathroom, he absentmindedly brushed his teeth, whilst using his free hand to fiddle with a large square encased in paper. It looked like a nicotine patch in a plaster’s wrapping, except it had the word JOY written on it in big yellow letters.

Once free of its packaging, David slapped it onto his bare left arm. He briefly stopped to consider that he could no longer remember what it was like not wearing JOY every day. He remembered why it came into existence; the early part of the twenty first century had been riddled with endless wars, economic crashes, vast unemployment, epidemics, terrorism, rising taxes, reduced quality of life and fruitless laws trying to control the general populace to the point that happiness just died. Whole countries descended into an unshakeable blackness and with morale plummeting on a global scale, a new drug was created that could instil an artificial feeling of joy in a person. People used JOY everyday. It became as normal as taking vitamins in the morning.

David just wished he could remember a time when he had felt a natural happy thought.

He was shaken from his daydream by toothpaste dripping from his mouth onto his arm. He cursed, realising he was running late. So, after swilling out his mouth, he darted back into the bedroom to put his suit on.

Frankie had never known her parents. They had both died when she was very young, which had unfortunately left Frankie in the world by herself and with no where to go. That had taken some adjusting to, but now she was in her late teens she had become quite adept at living on the fringes of society.

She often mused about how different life could be had they not taken their own lives; had they not lived in a world without joy.

Frankie whistled, calling her dog to her side.

From out of the shadow of an alleyway the dog trotted into view carrying a tatty tennis ball in his mouth. She thought his breed to be a Berger Picard, because she’d seen a picture of one once in an abandoned veterinary clinic, but she couldn’t be sure as they usually looked quite majestic in appearance, unlike her scraggy, dishevelled and well-loved dog.

Frankie didn’t know where he’d come from originally, all she did know was that he came to her at a time she had really needed someone who was loving and kind.

The two of them joined the bustling throngs of people moving about their daily lives on the busy high street. Every single person seemed to have a fake smile plastered on their face. That was the problem with the JOY patch, it made everyone look unreal. The smiles looked almost cartoony and out of place, like they only existed on the surface and all that pain and hurt still lurked underneath.

Unfortunately however, it was only the people who couldn’t afford JOY that could actually see through this tragic facade.

Frankie clicked her fingers and pointed at the floor. Her four-legged friend looked at her with penetrating eyes, as if almost willing her to not ask him to complete the task, but she clicked her fingers once more and gave him a stern look.

With great sadness the dog dropped the ball onto the ground and Frankie picked it up and smiled. “Good boy.” She cooed, whilst stroking his head. “We’ll take this to the park and play, shall we?” Frankie knew he couldn’t understand her, but at least his emotions were honest and real.

David stepped out onto the street and shielded his eyes from the blinding light. It hadn’t looked this sunny from his apartment.

Without a conscious thought, he joined the throngs of people moving about the street like mindless salmon all heading to their desired destination. He checked his watch and saw that he was running slightly late.

Looking ahead and craning his neck, David tried to see a break in the crowd in front of him. If he continued at this pace, he would definitely not make it to work on time.

Suddenly, he had an idea; he could cross the park. He was so used to avoiding the park, due to his wife’s view of it, that he was annoyed the idea hadn’t come to him immediately.

David understood why his wife avoided it; she said that it reminded her of laughter, games, picnics and gleeful children, but it had been a long time since anything like that had happened at the park. Now there was a hanging silence, as if in a library. Everyone smiling of course, but no really honest fun.

He smiled, remembering a phrase he’d heard his mother use frequently when he was growing up:

It’s the little things in life.

That had always been an easy way to sum up pure, unadulterated joy. Now the phrase was more attributed to the slogan of Radcott Pharmaceuticals, the manufacturers of JOY.

David cut across the busy street and made a beeline for the park. As he got closer he could see that he’d made the right decision to go this way; the park was almost empty. He couldn’t help but wonder if the reason behind this was that other people felt the same as his wife.

His musing was, abruptly, disturbed when a tatty tennis ball came flying out of nowhere, bounced at his feet and lightly tapped him on the chest.

Confused, he looked down as it feebly hit the ground a few more times, before coming to a rest. David cocked his head to once side, marvelling at the grubby little ball in front of him. It was such an unusual sight.

He bent down to pick it up, while also scanning the immediate are to see where it had come from. He didn’t have to wait long. A dog was galloping towards him at full speed.

Smiling, he put his hand out ahead of him in an almost defensive manner, as the dog closed the distance. It was at that moment a thought occurred to him:

Christ, am I actually smiling?

David didn’t have time to substantiate that thought any more, however, due to the dog already bowling him over. David held the dog’s inquisitive head as it sniffed all over him, paying special interest to a particular spot on his left arm where the patch was.

“Stop!” He heard a young girl’s voice yell out, and the dog turned instantly to obey.
David dusted himself off just as the girl reached him.
“I’m so sorry.” She tried to help brushing off the dirt from his suit, so worried about his reaction that

she had missed David was properly smiling. It took her a couple of glances before she realised and thought: Christ, is he actually smiling?

Frankie had felt her whole body tense when the ball had hit that man. In the past people wouldn’t have been very understanding, these days even less so.

Although, as she stood next to him now she almost felt foolish that she had. He was being really nice and it was the first time she had seen someone of his standing with a genuine smile for a while.

“He’s a Berger Picard isn’t he?” The man asked, which took Frankie aback.
“Yeah. I think so.” She answered, warily.
“I used to have one when I was a kid.” He continued, absentmindedly stroking the dog’s head

wondering if the memory of his old dog was what happened had caused him to find a genuine smile. “Mister,” Frankie interrupted, “I gotta ask, why are you walking through the park? You’re wearing

JOY aren’t you?”
“Of course I am.” The man looked utterly bemused. “Are you not?”
Frankie just shook her and rubbed her thumbs and fingers together, indicating that she had no money. “Extraordinary.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I guess I just never really thought about that side of

it. Tell me, why did you seem surprised that I was going through the park?”
“It’s the patch.” Frankie shrugged. “Happiness these days is a fallacy, it’s fake and the only thing that

reminds them of what unmanufactured happiness did feel like are the places they used to go to experience joy. Can you remember any place you’ve been since wearing the patch that ever used to make you happy.”

David stood there thinking for a moment and then answered with a strained look on his face: “I used to walk by the docks on the way to work. I don’t go that way anymore.” “That’s JOY. It won’t work if you can remember what joy actually is.”
“Oh my God.” David exclaimed. “Work! I forgot I was late.”

He spun on his heel and turned to leave, but then stopped.
“What’s you name?” He asked the young girl.
She looked at him with that wary look again, obviously unsure whether or not to trust him. “I’m Frankie.”
David smiled and extended his hand for her to shake, which she did.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Frankie, I’m David. Will you be here tomorrow? I’d very much like to continue this chat.”

The girl nervously nodded.

“Good.” David nodded back to her. “One more question before I go though. If you don’t use JOY, then how are you…” He trailed off, because he thought his point was self explanatory.

This was the first time that Frankie properly smiled. She beckoned David over and then pointed to her dog’s collar. David bent down and clasped his little name tag, tilting it towards the sun to get a better look at the name.

He laughed in understanding, before standing up straight and smiling once more to Frankie. “Thanks.” He waved to her before starting on his way to work.
Suddenly, being late didn’t matter so much.
As David walked away he looked back to Frankie and her dog playing fetch. He thought to the three-

letter name on the little silver disc around the dog’s neck and smiled at the irony of it. Even though there were people out there who couldn’t afford JOY, it didn’t mean that they couldn’t find their own.

To Make Up For My Absence Here’s A Treat. The Prologue Of My First Novel!

Prologue
Dayna Hart had finished her third lap of the nightclub and could not find her friend anywhere. She pulled out her phone and tried to get a phone number up on her screen, but she couldn’t understand why all the digits kept moving. Then the answer came to her when she stumbled forward.
Yep, she thought, I ammm pretty drunk.
Hart propped herself up against a wall to take her black wedge heels off and pull down the little black dress she was wearing before she attempted to do anymore walking. She noticed a mirror across the way and caught a brief glimpse of her long wavy brown hair looking like it had been dragged through a hedge backwards and quickly turned away, refusing to see anymore. Now was not the time for vanity; now was the time for finding her friend.
Dayna looked at the time on her phone as best as she could and determined it was sometime just past midnight. She concluded that this was far too early for her friend to have gone home and so decided the best course of action was to go outside and try to call her to find out where she’d disappeared to.
However, this was a bit more of an effort than Hart had originally anticipated when she came face to face with a seemingly never-ending staircase that lead to the club’s exit, but eventually after much grumbling she made it to the bottom. Hart then caught a waft of a temptingly enticing takeaway and really had to fight the urge to stop for a brief snack and press on outside.
The next hurdle she had to overcome was convincing the bouncers manning the doors that she was still in a fit enough state to go outside and return afterwards.
Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime long quest, she was pushing the double doors open and letting a cool breeze surround her. Hart wandered over to a bench opposite the doors and perched on it. She pulled out her phone again to see how long that whole endeavour had taken her. She sighed exasperated when she saw it had only been three minutes.
Now there was less distraction around her she was able to find her friend’s number and hit dial. Hart waited, but the phone just rang out. She cancelled the call and tried again, but just received the same result. Annoyed, she tried one last time and this time let it ring out till the answer phone prompted her to leave a message.
“Assley… Ashley Summers.” She raged drunkenly down the phone. “Where the bloody hell are you? I’m outside the Union, so jus’ come out and fineee me when you get this. I’ll wait fiffeen minutes and not a second longer, then I’m goin’ home. I’ve gots a lecture first thing in the morning, so hurry up and come see meee. I swear if you’ve just gone back to your room with that… um… that Billy again, you’ll have me to answer to lady! You have fifteen minutes annnnnd GO!” Hart hung up the phone and put it back in her bag.
It was at that moment she noticed a young man had slowed his walk as he went past her and was giving her a judging look. Hart looked the man up and down and sneered at him:
“Don’e you judge me. I am shtill rocking this look.” She made a exaggerated gesture up and down herself, before pointing at him. “Whish is more than I can say for you.”
The man looked down at himself and opened his mouth to retort, but Hart held her hand up in a silencing motion to stop him.
“Do not bother.” She warned. The man walked off shaking his head in annoyance, whilst she slowly leaned back in the bench to wait for Ashley, inwardly congratulating herself on the scolding she’d just given.
She would wait there for fifteen minutes, but Ashley would not come and meet her. Hart would go home, bang on the door of Ashley’s empty room, which was adjacent to hers, hurling abuse and then she would collapse, exhausted and fully clothed, on her bed.
At no point in the night would she hear from her friend; neither would she the following morning, but there could be no blame attributed to Ashley for this because by now, Ashley Summers was already dead.

Trying My Hand At Short Story Writing. 100 Word Limit Is Tougher Than You Think..

There was a rumble and Patrick was jolted awake. His senses were groggy, but he could still make out the drone of the airplane’s engines. Above him there was a ominous, blinking yellow light and klaxon. He looked out of his window and saw the sea approaching at pace.
He sat bolt upright in his chair, panicking for a few moments before accepting the inevitable. His mind drifted to his loved ones, to his accomplishments and then to all he’d miss.
A serene disappointment washed over him, helping to stave off the tears, until there was nothing but the dark.

Time Off

Well, it turns out I wasn’t as capable of keeping up a blog as I’d first hoped, but it never hurts to try again. After my simply astounding amounts of posts, I figured it was only fair to give this another go.

So, either this time I’ll be able to keep it up… Or I’ll see you in another year.

A Brave New World

I have never really been one for blogging. I’ve never really seen the point, but that was probably just because I felt I had nothing to actually talk about that had any form of validity. I mean who am I to waste people’s time.

However, then something strange happened. For the past year I’ve decided to throw all caution to the wind and go for my lifelong dream of being an actor, against the better advice and judgement of some people in my life.. Now I fully understood what I was undertaking. I’d have to top up my training and push myself into every square corner of existence to get noticed in an ever suffocating medium, but to me it was all worth it for the journey and experience.

To pay the bills, I started doing background work to hopefully work my way up into more featured parts. This opened me up to the world of film and television making and I have gotta tell you; it is an eccentric place!

I started to accumulate fascinating stories to tell my friends, and one day I wrote one of those stories down on Facebook. Depressingly, this pseudo-comedic/self deprecating story got more like than anything I’d ever written before. I know! Crazy right. Even more likes than hilarious cat pictures of find.

So, then it got me to thinking. Maybe this is a good idea… To write about my exploits on set and the amazing people I get to meet as my day job. It’s a win-win. I get to promote myself to hopefully get more noticed and everyone else gets a bit of humour in their day.

In conclusion, this is me. My name is Hendrik Harms, aspiring actor and writer. My job is going to be to brighten your day. Yours is to sit back relax and hopefully watch an ascent to greatness.

For this evening however, in lieu of any said rising, I give you a funny cat picture.