Gwil James Thomas

by Horror Sleaze Trash on February 23, 2013


“Gwil James Thomas was born in Bristol, England in 1987. Gwil developed an interest in writing at 19 after leaving education and entering the world of work. Whilst in various jobs he first felt a compulsion to write and jotted down notes on anything from sick bags to napkins – hunched over a keyboard, the collected notes would develop into his first writing effort, a novel called “Captains of Sinking Ships” . Since then he’s contributed everywhere from 3:AM Magazine to More Noize: The Worst Fanzine in The World. He generally dislikes writing about himself in the third person, though seems to spend a considerable amount of time doing so.”

A Big Day For Patricia

It seemed that not even the mighty Zeus could please them. Now that summer had finally arrived, the city could hardly cope. Through the smog, dogs died in parked cars, ice cream melted onto the pavements, discarded food and waste reheated itself in the bins, businessmen removed their jackets, the people pacing the streets as the sweat rolled down their backs and thighs. Some elderly passed away under the sun, some went to the parks, headed to the beach, others spent the afternoon in the cool dark of the cinema.


But she span through the air, her fly legs swaying, dancing through the atmosphere. Not all were having a bad time. She’d found her way into that kitchen through an open door and had been having a great time ever since. It had been a productive day, so far – she’d gotten there early enough to pace the chopping board a couple of times, before regurgitating on a block of cheese that had been left on the side.


She then flew and landed on a plant, with a certain magnetism to her landing. Maybe it had been the excitement of everything else, but there had seemed something so appealing about the plant. It was something short lived and like some femme fatale, it had seemed unthreatening, even inviting. The sides closed in, like jaws, everything tightening… Fading light… Ingestion…


Above, the hands on the clock on the wall continued to tick. It had been a while since Patricia had consumed a fly. As the latest pride to enter that house, Patricia stood tall on the windowsill – the city behind like some open cesspool. People sounded their horns at one another, sirens went off in the distance, as a plane drifted through the sky above. There would be more to come, Patricia would be waiting. It was only nature after all.

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