Jonathan Townend
Bio
I love writing articles & fictional stories. They give me scope to express myself and free my mind. After working as a mental health nurse for 30 years, writing allows an effective emotional release, one which I hope you will join me on.
Stories (62/0)
Train Ride To Oblivion.
March 2156, final testing date fast approaching. The test dummy, the mannequin, call it what you will, had been positioned, slumped upright, restricted into the one sole and lonely seat in the entirety of one carriage, by a standard five-point safety harness, emblazoned with the typical yellow & black zigzag markings all over it. The mannequin was a typically adorned, in an all-in-one cream-colored jumpsuit, it's size around that of an ordinary 5' 6" human, which had been in use as the industry standard 'crash test' tool for the past few centuries. Typically functional and inanimate with no humanistic features whatsoever - its face, simply a yellow-red-black colored diamond symbol.
By Jonathan Townend4 days ago in Fiction
The Air Bubble - Part I of II.
Silently in a moment of brief solitude with her bedroom light turned off, her bedroom door recently slammed shut, the teen was slumped across the large bay window, knees held tightly together up against her face, with both her thin, pasty-colored arms tightly wrapped around her legs, her hands interwoven so tightly that they were even whiter than her skin showed usually.
By Jonathan Townend2 months ago in Fiction
Myth, Reality, Or Simply A Bad Nightmare?
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Time had governed that history should have stayed where it had been. Forever to reside within the minds of historians, only to be given the breath of new life through the fresh, youthful, innocent minds of school kids, eager to learn about their ancestors' lives. The same kids that had never before been faced with those same fears & misfortunes that had long ago befallen those primitive humans of a tragic existence ravaged, and long forgotten by time itself.
By Jonathan Townend3 months ago in Fiction
Have You Ever Entered A Writing Competition?
A successful competition for me is always going out there and putting 100 percent into whatever I'm doing. It's not always winning. People, I think, mistake that it's just winning. Sometimes it could be, but for me, it's hitting the best sets I can, gaining confidence, and having a good time and having fun. Simone Biles.
By Jonathan Townend5 months ago in Journal
NaNoWriMo Personal Challenge.
‘Failure gave me strength. Pain was my motivation.’ Michael Jordan. I love writing, and everything that comes from putting meaningful words together to make each & every story. This mere act supports me positively through my daily fight against my pain…
By Jonathan Townend6 months ago in Motivation
💖What It Took For Me To Learn The True Meaning Of Love💖.
Everyone says love hurts, but that is not true. Loneliness hurts. Rejection hurts. Losing someone hurts. Envy hurts. Everyone gets these things confused with love, but in reality love is the only thing in this world that covers up all pain and makes someone feel wonderful again. Love is the only thing in this world that does not hurt… Mesa Selimovic
By Jonathan Townend7 months ago in Motivation
The Concealed Culture Deep Within (part ten.)
Just a few floors above the hospital cafeteria, the ward was eerily silent, but for the incessant 'bleep bleep' noises being emitted from the electronic monitoring equipment all lit by an array of red, blue, green, and yellow, status panels, that were dotted around the 4-bedded independent bay areas, giving the bays more of a sci-fi spaceship-type appearance, rather than simply just one of the many hospital wards. Darkness had long ago shrouded 'Hawthorne 2' ward into night mode. There was a total absence of the usual bright luminescence that otherwise bathed the ward through its waking daytime hours. A slimmed-down complement of staff, every couple of hours, could be noted to be milling around the nursing station areas outside of each bay, tapping inpatient reports into the numerous computers, giving a short respite from the noises of the monitoring equipment in the bays by adding to them with an almost rhythmical 'tap, tap, tap' as fingers met with keyboards. Many a night was much the same as the last, nothing untoward would usually be happening. The night shift had long before nicknamed the nighttime as the graveyard shift, the only difference being was that graveyards never displayed flashing neon-type lights on top of tombstones but save for the main ward corridor where the nurse stations could be found, each bay was cloaked in darkness. Every physical patient check and monitoring check was met by the staff equipped with torches to light their way around each of the beds.
By Jonathan Townend9 months ago in Fiction
The Concealed Culture Deep Within (part nine.)
The little girl had been lying in the hospital bed where she had been transferred up from the emergency department, for just about a little over an hour now. Her mum had been sat fast to the typically uncomfortable hospital chair, next to Josie's assigned bed all that time, willing for her daughter to show some sign that she was coming round. But so far, nothing. No flickering coming from the girl's eyelids, which for all the years up until recently, had been so bright and cheery, normally wide with bright green pupils the color of sparkling emeralds, interlaced only by tiny gentle flecks of light blue in their centers, which had almost always glistened when Josie had been excited or happy about some part of her life.
By Jonathan Townend9 months ago in Fiction
The Concealed Culture Deep Within (part eight.)
"On it, I'll bring the slider board too!" shouted Ellen, as she fast-paced back to the ambo to fetch more blankets to wrap Josie in, who might well be responding through indications of the existence of a pulse at the time but, unfortunately, was still not in a position of providing any outward physical responses. Her heart rate was back in regular sinus rhythm right now, however, so her body was back in the land of the living, so to speak, but her eyes remained closed and her extremities were unresponsive to any outward stimuli. To all intense purposes, the young girl was really in no way safely out of the woods yet, not by a long shot.
By Jonathan Townend9 months ago in Fiction
