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Train Journeys

One day while I was away in place we holidayed with the children when they were small, we came to a level crossing and the barrier went down to say there was a train coming. For one moment I felt the rising excitement I had as a child.

Dad used to let us get out of the car and stand by the gates waiting for the train to pass. The mounting anticipation as we heard it approaching was so exciting. The smell of the steam as the chug-chug-chug that got louder and louder. It was an absolutely thrill when the train went past. It was always huge and loud, and apart from covering us in smoke, it made all sorts of noises as it trundled by.

The carriages all and a corridor and there were compartments all the way along. When we were teenagers and we caught the train, if it was empty we used to think it was fun to travel in the luggage rack above the seats. They were made of strong rope that looked a bit like a hammock. It was so much fun!

In The Magic of Stories, which is launching this week, I include two fictional stories that came from these early memories of trains.

Joanna’s Journey is my novel set in the 80s because that was when the original idea came to me. A a girl got on a train to London and as it was full the porter took her to the first class carriages. Inside was a handsome guy who didn’t want company but then felt obliged to share. There begins a three hour journey where strangers reluctantly get to know one another.

The first story in the book is called Stranger on a Train, and it was taken from the premise of Joanna’s Journey and written at a time when I loved having a twist in the tail kind of story.

In this one Jenny meets Nino in a similar way to Joanna. She then goes on to have an affair with a rising rock star, same again as Joanna but this is not what you expect.

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A Bus Drive Never Forgotten

We’ve all travelled on a coach or bus in our youth when we were young and carefree. For me I remember a train ride where four of us went on a day trip to Alderley Edge, in Cheshire. A area where the ‘Edge’ provides magnificent views as well as a few interesting caves along the way.

The train was in compartments and we went noisily into one. It was much more fun to travel in the luggage rack rather than on the seat! When ever I see those roped racks I’m transported back to being a silly teenager again remembering the rocky ride. Although, I might add, not tempted to do it again.

Author, C. A. Keith wrote a story about her bus ride, which brought my memory back. Hers was very memorable and so I thought I’d share it with you. I can just envisage the girls with their drinks, and a very obliging bus driver!

 

Click here to read the story!coach-3206326_1280

 

Stories Based on a Song

A while ago I read a book called Riddle by Elizabeth Horton Newton. I really enjoyed it and reviewed it on my blog.

It was only recently I found that it was based on the Richard Marx’s song Hazard. This was really cool because my own book Down by River was also based on the ninties song.

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Both books are very different from each other. For a start Riddle is a full blown novel, whereas Down by the River is a novella, a smaller read.

Apart from the actual stories, I thought it would be interesting to put my own thoughts down as to why I wrote it, and how the inspiration came to be. I asked the same of Elizabeth Horton Newton.

So, here for your delectation are two books, their descriptions, and an excerpt which should delight you, as much as they delighted me.


Riddle by Elizabeth Horton Newton

Screen Shot 2019-08-31 at 12.02.24From the first time I heard the song “Hazard” by Richard Marx, I knew there was a story to be told. Although I grew up in a big city I was well aware of how small-town gossip can ruin a person’s life. I wanted to tell the story of how a young man was viewed as an outsider by some of the townspeople and how those who believed him innocent of any crime remained silent, afraid of getting involved or being harassed because they defended him.

Around the same time, I was learning about discrimination against Native Americans or Indigenous People in both the US and Canada. Something just clicked and several years later I put together my book Riddle.

It seems in small towns there is always an outsider. It may be someone of a different color or nationality or religion. Sometimes it is because the individual dresses differently, holds different beliefs, or some obscure reason. I created Kort Eriksen as both an indigenous man who may have been railroaded as a teen for murdering a popular teenaged girl.

Returning to the town where the crime was committed he faces both people who believe he got off too easily and others who feel he was a scapegoat. Even the stranger, a young woman with problems of her own, arrives in town and develops a friendship with Kort can’t be sure of his innocence or guilt. This book remains close to my heart as it incorporates romance, injustice, and revenge in a suspenseful thriller.

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Excerpt

“Look, there’s a fun house,” Norma pointed out. Knowing it would be dark and probably crowded inside she realized it might be a good opportunity to ditch the rest of the group and once again have Kort to herself.

Grace hesitated. Mandy laughing, called over her shoulder, “Come on! It will be fun!”

As they all headed inside Kort maneuvered until he and Norma were near Grace. They made their way through a rolling barrel, and a maze of mirrors where everyone posed seeing their reflections as fat and skinny, short, and stretched.

Tony stayed close to Grace but Mandy and the other women rushed ahead. Then they entered a room that was totally dark except for dim glow in the dark wall decorations. Occasionally something would brush across Grace’s face and she lost track of where everyone was. She brushed at the spidery web like strings that seemed to grab at her.

Holding her hands out before her she tried to find a wall so she could follow it to the exit. All around her people were laughing or squealing. Once in a while a girl would yelp obviously startled by someone.

A body moved quickly past her and she jumped slightly to one side. Someone else bumped into her and a giggling female voice apologized before continuing on. Feeling disoriented, Grace was tempted to call out for help but didn’t want to appear silly.

Suddenly someone slammed hard into her knocking her off her feet. A boot connected with her cheek and she fell sideways covering her head with her arms and rolled to one side. There was no apology and Grace sensed whoever it was continued to look for her. She had no doubt it was deliberate and she kept quiet hoping he would not find her in the blackness of the room. As noiselessly as she could she began to crawl toward what she hoped would be an exit.

Then out of nowhere she heard a male voice softly call her name.

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IMG_6264.JPG When I first heard the haunting melody of Hazzard, I was hooked. On Top of the Pops they played a video to accompany the song and I was mesmerised. Apart from Richard Marx being really good looking, I loved the atmospheric storyline.It was so clever being shot in black and white that added to the mood.

I was intrigued about what happened to Mary and many of my questions were not answered. It always left me wondering. Although the song was released in 1991, it was played regularly for many years afterwards. Each time I heard it, I was blown away, absorbed once again in the story.

Being a writer, I had to do something about it, and felt the need to write about what could have happened that night.

It started as a very short story and included a character named Ricky, based entirely on Richard Marx as he was a key feature in the story.

My main character was called Shelby, because I felt it sounded American. Shelby had visions and could never understand why she could see many things, but could not see what happened to Mary-Jo.

I tried very hard to create an atmosphere similar to the one in the Richard Marx’s video. I wanted intrigue and mystery, with just a hint of something dark.

Shelby always had a hard time dealing with her father’s alcoholism, it was one of the reasons she left town. This time when she returns home, something is different; something has changed and it takes a while for her to put the pieces together.

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Excerpt

It was growing dark when she arrived home. Pa was banging around upstairs. Shelby took off her jacket and straightened her pale blue sweater. Mary-Jo had had one just like it. They’d laughed and joked that they were twins. It seemed very apt that she was wearing it today.

The coffee-pot was still warm. She was pouring a cup when something came crashing down the stairs. Rushing through from the kitchen, she found Pa lying at the bottom muttering a string of obscenities. He was drunk, very drunk.

“You!” he accused shaking off her offer of help. “What are you doing here?”

“Pa! What’s the matter?”

“You should never have come back, you little whore! Did you think I didn’t know about you and the sheriff? Get out!” He struggled to his feet and staggered through to the kitchen.

Shelby stared at him in shock and disbelief. “W-what do you mean?”

He laughed as he poured himself another whisky. “The whole town knows you were screwing Rawden. I’m a laughingstock!” He staggered through to the living room and slumped into the chair.

“You don’t need me to make you a laughingstock!” she cried, feeling the humiliation burning inside her. “Anyway, it ain’t true!”

He pointed his finger at her face. “Did you think it was easy for me after Annie-Clare died? I brung you up.”

“You didn’t bring me up!” she shouted back. “I brought myself up! You were always too goddamned drunk!”

“Enough!” he roared, rising from the chair. Shelby stepped back, frightened. He poked two fingers into her shoulder. “You wanna get out of here before the same thing that happened to Mary-Jo happens to you.”

“Pa…” Hot tears ran down her face.

“Get the hell out!” He roared. Shelby turned and fled.

Darkness was descending as she walked back towards town. She kept to the road and away from the embankment, feeling the chill of the night air. A car drew up beside her. Rawden got out.

“Can I give you a lift somewhere?” he asked.

“No, leave me alone.” She wasn’t in the mood to deal with him and his sarcastic undertones.

“Don’t walk away while I’m talking to you, Shelb.”

She lost her footing then and slipped down the embankment. Rawden came down as she got to her feet. “Now, that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t of run. I’m just offering you a lift, that’s all.”

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The Power of Love

by Karen J Mossman

It was a normal scene of children playing down at the sparkling brook. A brook that ran through the forest, except this was no ordinary boy as he and his friend squatted by the water, knees to their chins holding sticks.

Jorge’s gold coloured hair was mucky with dirt from the ground, the same dirt that covered his naked body. Josie’s ringlets carried specks of leaves and a tiny twig had caught in one. The children played happily in the water. People who didn’t know them would think they were siblings, but they weren’t.

Josie’s head shot up a moment before Jorge’s as music filled the air. “The King plays,” she uttered.

Jorge watched in awe as the colourful musical notes filled the surrounding air. Quavers, crotchet, minim, and clefts showered downwards entering the water with a slight hiss. Bubbles rose to the surface as if to receive them.

Josie stared at the popping on the water. “What is it?”

“It’s the music drowning,” he said.

Josie looked up and around not seeing anything. “Are they still raining?”

Jorge nodded wiping away one that had landed on her shoulder. Awe shone from their faces, although Josie only heard the sounds. She accepted that Jorge was the only one to see them. Perhaps it was magic.

Once, when Jorge was at home in the village with his parents, the music struck up and he dashed to the window to watch them fall.

“They are beautiful, Mama,” he sighed as they hit the ground, split apart, and vanished.

“What are?” His mother asked as she came to window to see what he was looking at. She was pretty woman, with an abundance of dark hair that she kept calm with a ribbon weaving through it.

“The music, Mama. Can you not see it?”

His mother looked at her husband, who was standing very still. Her eyes were fearful. Jorge was a special boy and she didn’t want him to appear different to the other children in the village.

“Son…” His father sat next to him placing his big hand on the boy’s shoulder. He was a robust man, a solid torso with short legs, so different from his son. “You must never speak of this to anyone.”

“But why?” Jorge asked earnestly. “They are so pretty and the music is so special. It’s the King playing, isn’t it?”

His parents again looked at each other. “Yes dear,” said his mother. “When the King, who lives in the castle, plays music on his pianoforte, everyone in the land can hear it.”

“But only you,” continued his father, “can see it.” The boy’s eyes grew wide.

“That makes you a special boy,” she said, her eyes never leaving her husbands.

“Yes,” he agreed. “You are our special boy, but never speak of this to anybody, not even Josie. Do you understand?”

Jorge nodded, not wanting to say he already had. “But why, Papa?”

“It’s our secret, and when you’re older, we shall tell you why it needs to be this way.”

His mother’s eyes filled with tears and Jorge’s hand rested on hers. “It’s all right, Mama, whatever it is will not take me from you.” He didn’t know what he had said to make her gasp and cry.

“Mama loves you very much and never wants to lose you.” Jorge still did not understand and frowned.

“Everything will be all right. Just remember our secret.”

Jorge never forgot the hurt his questions had caused and never spoke of what he saw to them again.

-O-

One day, several years later Jorge was out hunting with Josie. The King played his music and Jorge stopped and lowered his bow. The mournful song tore into his soul with its beauty.  Over the years the musical notes had become transparent accompanied by a myriad of rainbow colours.

Josie watched him for a moment and then said, “You still see them, don’t you?”

Jorge nodded. He could not be untruthful with the girl he would eventually marry. “One day I shall join the others and visit the castle to watch the King play.”

“But your parents forbade you.”

“I don’t want to hurt them, but the music calls me, Josie. I have no choice. I must go.”

“Then I will accompany you.”

Jorge went to his parents and told them his news.

“We have to tell him the truth now,” his mother said, as she looked at her husband for agreement.

“What truth is this” Jorge asked.

His father looked at the fine strong young man in front of him and knew the time had indeed come. They could not keep their secret any longer. “Sit down, son.”

Jorge stepped back and sat in the wicker chair his father had made many years ago. His parents sat on similar chairs and looked uncomfortable.

Jorge fidgeted, “I fear for what you are going to tell me.”

“Just know we have always loved you,” said his mother.

“I know,” said Jorge quietly. “Of that there has never been any doubt.”

“You were not born of your mother,” his father began, as Jorge’s eyes grew wide in shock. “We found you in the forest when you were a tiny baby. Your Mama fell in love with you and we brought you home.

“In those days there were many battles, as men came from foreign lands to claim what belonged to us and our kingdom. We found out much later that one such battle occurred whilst the King and Queen were travelling in their carriage. They lost their child, a boy.”

Jorge’s face changed as he realised what his father meant.

“They wounded The Queen, and some say she went mad for her only son who was never found. The King plays his music as a lament for what was lost. Not only for his son, but in truth he lost his wife as well.”

The silence hung heavily between them as Jorge looked at each of his parents. He lowered his head and said quietly, “I am that boy, aren’t I?”

“We fear so. Your Mama could not give you up despite a King’s ransom being offered.”

Jorge looked around his humble dwelling and just like the other people in the village they were a poor family. Indeed, to have turned away a King’s ransom they must have loved him very much.

He sighed quietly knowing he couldn’t change the path he must now take. “The music calls me, Papa, Mama,” he said looking at each of them again. “The music has always called me. I have no choice, but to go to the castle.”

Mama cast her eyes downward knowing she could not dissuade him.

“The King grants an audience to his music,” Jorge continued. “I must go and hope they will choose me to enter.”

“Maybe they won’t choose you?” his mama said hopefully.

“Then I will keep returning until they do. I will get in, Mama, and Josie will be accompanying with me.”

Jorge could see how upset his mother looked and went over to her. Kneeling down in front of her chair, he took the hand of this woman who loved him beyond doubt, and who had cared for him all his life. Despite their poverty her love was a rich as any King’s ransom.

“You will always be my Mama. You both will always be the people I return to, and the people I treasure most,” he told them earnestly. ‘This is not the end. It is just the beginning.” He stretched his hand across to include his father. “I love you both very much.”

-O-

They gave him and Josie horses and provisions to make the trip in case they had to camp outside until they gained entry to the castle.

Many people requested entry on a daily basis and Jorge was dismayed when he saw just how many arrived at the castle gates like they had. Each one having their own reason for wanting admittance. None would be as important as Jorge’s.

Only so many people were allowed into the castle at one time and people crammed towards entrance hoping they would be chosen ones. Jorge and Josie were turned away many times, not being able to get near enough. Josie knew it was just a matter of time. Jorge was confident of that and she remained by his side. Each day, they made progress and now they were near, Josie could see the music was having more of an effect on him. People outside listened in awe, but Jorge was lost in the sound, his eyes closed, his body almost rigid. He still saw the musical notes.

One evening as the sounds played, she watched tears form and spill from his eyes. Leaning over she wiped them away. “Please do not weep, my darling Jorge. We are here, we will get inside and see the music being played.”

“They are not tears,” he said. “The music is inside me now and pouring out making me as translucent as it.”

Josie could see the magical quality of his skin and it was like he was taking on a glow.

The following day Jorge and Josie were at the front when the drawbridge was lowered. Once inside they could only stare in wonderment. It was the most beautiful place they had every seen. The walls led up to high ceilings with carved elegant wood moulded into beautiful shapes. Some were even animal-like. People scuttled in beside them, their own faces looking around in admiration.

Inside the music room the walls were adorned with paintings of past and present royalty, animals, and musical events. Like Jorge and Josie the people had never laid eyes on such things and could only stare in wonder.

“Look,” whispered Josie as she pointed out candelabras made of cut glass and figurines made from finely painted china. “Have you ever seen anything as beautiful?” She drew in her breathe as her eyes glowed with the astonishment of it.

A murmur arose as the King entered. People lowered themselves to their knees paying homage to their monarch. Jorge saw the grand pianoforte on a raised platform in front of them. Josie gasped as she stared at the King, then turning she looked at Jorge with shock. “The… the King, Jorge, the King,” she stuttered. “He looks just like you!”

Jorge stared and realised he did. Even her could see the likeness now. It explained many things. One stuck in his mind and that was when the King and his carriage passed by Jorge was never allowed to attend.

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Questions he asked were evaded, and looks between his parents did not go un-noticed. Now it was clear to see why.

People rose to their feet, clapping in glee, all eyes focused on the rotund robed figure.  The King was a handsome man of middle age. His coiffure shone in its goldenness and on his head was a crown encrusted with rubies and diamonds. He wore a double-breasted waistcoat made from finely woven material, and a cloak of red velvet with fur trims held together by a golden button. His dark corduroy trousers finished below the knee and met white woollen stockings leading down to fine shiny leather shoes with a small heel.

The King bowed in acknowledgement waving a royal hand. His reddened cheeks crinkled as he smiled. He appeared happy to greet his people. Moving over to the piano, he sat down, pushing his cloak to the back of him.

Behind the pianoforte, the people could only see his head and shoulders and a little of his chest. He swayed as he began to play.

Jorge’s legs weakened and for a moment thought he would fall. Josie’s hand shot out to steady him. “Jorge? Are you all right? Jorge?”

Jorge blinked, tore his eyes from the King and looked at her. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, shocked of what he was seeing.

He had expected to see the musical notes arising, but instead, he saw the small transparent clefs, quavers, and crotchets descending like they were a living being. They were raining from the ceiling, at first settling on the instrument and then King. The more he played the more they rained down.

It seemed the King was not playing the music at all! Jorge moved around, with Josie following to see what the King’s fingers were doing. They were hovering over the keys but the musical notes were making it appear that the music was coming from the piano, so no one suspected. Only Jorge was able to see the notes settling around him and popping, like a bubble bursting. It was indeed like magic.

Jorge whispered in Josie’s ear, “Someone else is playing the music, it’s not the King.” Josie looked back and couldn’t tell. It sounded like he was playing, everyone around thought he was playing. “Stay here,” he said close to her ear.

To her amazement Jorge pushed his way out of the room. He eyes followed the dancing music. He walked quickly down a corridor as it lead the way leaving Josie behind.

Guards, who were standing nearby, didn’t seem notice him pass. Jorge’s skin shining and almost see through, as if the music was making him invisible. He felt a dampness it clung to his clothes and hair, yet his eyes were fixed on their movement to a small open doorway.

Passing through, he went up the dark narrow steps. The way lit up by clefs and quavers. The stairs moved up in a circular manner he went up a tower. Light-footedly he skipped up higher as the music became louder as it called to him. Reaching the top, he found a solid iron door. There was a rusty key sticking out of the lock. He turned it.

The light inside almost blinded him. The music was so beautiful, it made him stumble and as the emotion consumed him, he thought his heart might break. It was mournful, sorrowful and the notes contained a yearning that was beyond measure.

He stopped and the music suddenly ceased. The silence startling  as his eyes adjusted to the bright light inside.

There in the centre of the room was the biggest pianoforte he had ever seen. The silence was startling as he stared at the figure sitting on the stool.

The woman had long black hair tied back in a once neat style. Now it was matted together with ribbons that were already falling apart. Her once opulent dress was torn, and old. The vibrant green was faded and dull. She stared at him with bright blue eyes that looked almost out of place on her old face. Her dry lips parted and her voice sounded like it hadn’t been used in a long time.

“My son,” she uttered. Jorge couldn’t move from where he stood as he stared knowing she spoke the truth. “I’ve been calling for you for so long.”

“Mother, your son has come.”

The Queen always believed her son was alive and had not been eaten by some wild animal was it was suggested. The King had his guards searched but to no avail. Eventually the Queen was banished to the tower with her madness, and in truth many had forgotten she was still alive.

Rising to her feet, her body was bent from the long hours at the instrument. “I am the mad Queen they put in the tower,” she said, her voice becoming clearer. “I’ve been calling for you to give me the peace I desire.”

She held out long thin fingers to him. Taking her hand he was surprised to feel the strength emanating from the thin weak skin.

“Come,” he said. “It is time for you to take your rightful place beside to the King.”

At the top of the tower, they descended the dark staircase, she following behind him. As they emerged together through the door, the guards gasped standing aside as they saw their Queen and the tall young man by her side, her arm looped through his. The only sound, as they made their way to the music room, was the rustle of her dress on the floor.

If it hadn’t been for Jorge by her side, the people would have thought she was an apparition as they gradually parted to let them through. All eyes were wide in horror and fascination as they gasped allowed. “It’s the Queen! Isn’t the Queen supposed to be dead!?” People muttered as they began to curtsey and bow in awe uttering, Your Majesty.”

The murmur grew louder and as they moved passed Josie, Jorge caught hold of her hand and brought her with him to where the King was standing. A stunned expression was on his face.

“Sir,” said Jorge, with a respectful bow. “May I present my mother, the Queen?”

There was another audible gasp as people came out of their stupor and fell to their knees.

“My son!” said the King just as the Queen began to speak.

“The power of my love has brought him home. Just as I said it would one day.”

The King gasped again, this time he clutched his chest. As he fell to the floor, his courtiers rushed forward. They knelt beside him and sadly shook their heads. “The King has died,” said one.

The Queen reached her shaking arm out towards her son and with all the energy she could muster, cried. “Hail the new King!” Her legs gave way, and she collapsed dead beside her husband.

After a moment of shocked silence, the crowd shouted out and until their voices became one. “Hail the new King!”

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Time for A Tidy Up

by Karen J Mossman

Yes, it’s time to get organised and tidy up around here. The Magic of Stories has beern going for two years now and evolved and changed a lot during that time. As more and more things were added, even I didn’t know where everything was.

The menu has been improved.
MoS Newsletter – we now have an exciting monthly newsletter where you can sign up and download a free book for doing so..

Magic Posts – this is the main blog. Everything that gets posted on here goes under this title. That way, we can all keep up with whats new.

The Magic of Stories book – have you looked at this? Forty Six stories in different formats, poetry, flash fiction, shorts, and some have appears on this website. Well worth grabbing a copy for only 99c/99p.

The Adventures of Cassidy Newbold – my ongoing short story book featuring Cassie, who is a medium. Free to download for everyone who visits this site.

Stories and Flash Fiction – it’s what this site is all about. Each new one will be listed under Magic Posts, but if you are looking for a story to read, you can go straight here.

Family and local History and Island Life, are the same. You’ll find them in Magic Posts, but listed seperately here.

Most of all enjoy your visit, and comment on the posts, so I can reply back.




Save the World from Destruction!

by Karen J Mossman

Over the years I’ve found I enjoy TV Box Sets that are apocalyptic or science fiction. I’m not the same with books because those I’ve tried I struggle with the pronouncing of names and places. It’s like struggling to read through mud.

I was never a fan of zombies either, but watched The Walking Dead. It surprised myself by loving it. They are not what I’d call zombies; they were people affected with a virus, and nothing of them remains except the dead walking body. I moved on to the books, but the more I read the more the graphic violence seemed to carry the story.

 Read a book, or the watch the TV series? It’s difficult in knowing which to do first. Mostly, books are better, but there have been exceptions. Sometimes, as with The Handmaid’s Tale, you need to read the book to understand what is going on!

One of my favourites genres is time travel. I’ve yet to find a book that is not so overly complicated I could fall in love with. Perhaps you can suggest one?  I discovered Travelers, that’s one L, as it’s American and they spell things slightly differently to us.

I even wrote a time travel story of my own. It’s about a girl from the future who wakes up in World War 11 with no knowledge of how she got there. It’s called Distant Time, if you want to check it out.

Travelers is about beings from the future whose own world is failing and can send their consciousness back to present day earth. They land in the bodies of people about to die, and assume their lives. The team, who are on a mission to save humanity find each other, and their exploits make it an interesting programme. The five actors chosen to play the parts are very charismatic, and it is interesting to see how they adjust to their new lives.

When I find something I love, I binge watch, and covered the first two season pretty quickly. I’ve now discovered a third series is due on our screens this month, and I am so excited to watch it.

When it finished, I went on the hunt for something else and came across Salvation. An asteroid is heading for earth and when it hits, it will be catastrophic. They have 186 days to save the planet.

Tanz Industries run by Darius Tanz, played by Santiago Cabrera is a physicist and mathematician. He has already built an Ark. His young protégé works with him to find a way to knock the asteroid off its course.

The other two main characters work for the White House.. The very good looking Harris Edwards, and Grace Burrows who is having an affair with her him and who is also her boss.

It started well with lots of political intrigue, by the time it reached the end of the first series, a reviewer described it as a soap. Grace decides she loves Darius more than Harris, then her daughter starts seeing Harris’s son, while Harris gets involved with a woman at the bar, who turns out to be a secret agent! It gets even more convoluted and by then I was hooked.

Would the asteroid hit? Would they go into the secret bunker? Who will go in the Ark Tanz had built?

As with a lot of box sets, it gets more complicated as we headed into series two, and, to be honest, sillier, too. They overused clichés like –‘ Save the planet,’ ‘Save all humanity,’  ‘The lives of millions of people are at stake.’

I asked myself why these four people in America were taking the responsibility for the whole of the planet. Why it was up to them to save the world? What was the UK doing? China? Russia? India? They wouldn’t all be sitting back saying, “Ah, let the Americans handle it, they know what they are doing.”

Then Darius Tranz, the scientist became Present of the United States by default. Now I was struggling. The realism was slipping, and far fetched was creeping inti its place.

Then, at the last minute they discovered the asteroid was not an asteroid after all. It was on a set path to the earth. As the four main characters came outside to watch it arc across the sky, I wondered if it would smash into the moon. Now that would take the series off in a different direction.

However, the camera stayed on the faces of the four as one said, “What is it?” Another replied, “I don’t know, but we are about to find out.”

 Thenit finished. Is there goes to be another series? Will we find out just what it was? I don’t know, but if there is, I shall be watching!

Next, Continuum…….