The Clamps is a story taken from one of my own childhood nightmares, and by that I don’t mean the dubious goings on at the Angel tube station in Islington; although on match days prior to the building of the Emirates Stadium, it wasn’t always a great place to be.
No, I had a recurring nightmare for a good five years or more about my bed coming to life in the middle of the night and trapping me there, and if I moved it would eat me. Perhaps that says more about the inner-workings of my brain than it does about anything else, but I’ll run with it, because that’s how this story came to be.
A writing ambition of mine is to one day write a good, well-developed dystopian story. Dystopian fiction has been my go-to for a long time now, and I’m still at the awe stage, where I don’t think I could do the genre justice. So here’s a small offering, a stepping stone if you will, into that kind of fiction.