Author Archives: binkyproductions

About binkyproductions

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Binky Productions is a video production company that produces Films, Commercial Videos and Multimedia for artists. Binky Ink is the writing division for freelance and fiction writing, as well as screenplay formatting. Celinka Serre is also a YouTuber for Dragon Age gaming, and Green Healing for alternative and natural healing from abuse.

Legacy Takedown — Part 1 – Fiction Short Story — Thriller — Romance

Warnings: Language, Violence.

The following short story deals with the subject matter of slave trafficking, reader discretion is advised.

Danno entered the casino where his father had instructed him to go. Finally, he was being trusted with something big, he knew, though his father had not told him the details. He had merely said to go and retrieve the package and then bring it to him at the business hotel.

Since his father, brother and he had moved to North America, Danno had been left in the dark for much of his father’s affairs, being the youngest son. Now he was in his early thirties, wondering what the hell he was going to do with his life if his brother were to inherit the business. Danno had always wanted to be part of his father’s hotel chain, wanted to learn how his father managed to negotiate so many deals that had made him the billionaire he was today. And yet he just felt something was missing.

He had turned to security and had trained to bodyguard his father as any loyal son would. He had worked hard to show his father that, just like his brother, he was ready to take on more responsibilities with the business.

‘Good evening, Mr. Igoshimi,’ a tall burly fellow said, ‘right this way.’

The American led Danno to a door at the back and into an elevator that took them down a few levels. He then led Danno into a backroom where stood two men, armed with repeaters, hovering around a computer. Danno noted the lack of security cameras down on this floor, and an uneasy feeling crept up his spine.

Danno’s escort bowed politely and left the three men alone to confer.

‘Mr. Igoshimi,’ one who had a southern accent said, ‘your father told us to expect you.’

‘Yes. I’m here to pick up the package,’ asserted Danno. Though he still had no clue what the package was.

‘Your father will find that she matches all the specifications indicated by him, except for a few details,’ said the other man. He winced. ‘But I assure you, your father will be more than pleased with her.’

Her? Danno wondered. ‘May I see her?’

‘Certainly, Mr. Igoshimi.’

The Americans led Danno through another door to a small room where sat a woman, wrists bound behind her, ankles bound, and mouth gagged.

Danno froze, his heart rising to his throat. He balled his hands into fists.

‘What is this?’ he hissed. ‘This is the package?’

The American men winced further. ‘We apologise that she is not as young as the others we provided for him,’ began one of them. Danno clenched his jaw, feeling disgusted at the realisation before him. ‘But I promise she will not disappoint.’

Danno slowly walked to the woman. She looked no more than a few years older than him, perhaps mid-thirties, with dark wavy hair falling below her shoulders; her face was stricken with sweat.

Danno gently removed the gag from her mouth. ‘What is your name?’

‘Aliana,’ she replied.

Danno swallowed, knowing instinctively what he had to do. After years of trying to prove to his father that he was just as worthy as his brother, he now understood what this life meant if he walked down that same road.

‘Aliana,’ breathed Danno, ‘close your eyes for me. Can you do that?’

She nodded and closed her eyes.

Danno whirled on the two men, whipping his gun up, and shot them in quick succession in the chest. They fell dead before they knew what was happening.

Danno spun around to face Aliana. ‘I’m going to get you out of here.’


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Gauging the Murderer – Fiction Short Story — Detective — Mystery

Igby pored over the documentation regarding the evidence of the agency’s latest victim.

‘What are we missing?’ he asked his colleague.

‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ replied Sylvie. ‘We’ve got a body, no prints, no murder weapon, we searched the crime scene thoroughly.’

‘And we questioned all possible suspects the victim was in contact with recently,’ completed Igby. ‘Do we know anything about him, aside from the fact that he was an early retiree bodyguard who worked with many prestigious figures?’

‘He moved to the U.S. a few years ago,’ replied Sylvie, ‘but nothing indicates that during his time living here he made any enemies.’

‘Could someone from the U.K. have followed him, wanted revenge, maybe an enemy of someone he worked for?’

‘He worked for so many important people; ministers, C.E.O.s, the Princess,’ Sylvie listed. ‘It would be hard to pinpoint any link to any of their enemies and we know all these folks rack up a number of people who want to take them down.’

‘A large number of people, who are already behind bars or six feet under thanks to our victim’s diligent work,’ concluded Igby. ‘All right, maybe we missed something at the crime scene. Let’s go back, see if we find anything new.’

‘Lead the way!’

After several hours of going over the same scene, and finding the same evidence, Igby and Sylvie still came up empty.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said slowly walking around the rich home’s living room. ‘He’s got all these elaborate weapons on display, and yet none of them is the murder weapon.’

‘Our murderer went for something small and simple, something that doesn’t stand out…evidently.’ Igby continued to look around as he spoke. ‘A few millimetres in diameter, that’s the size of the puncture wound in the neck. Nothing here fits that.’

‘And there are signs of minimal struggle,’ added Sylvie, ‘meaning our victim was caught off guard. Maybe he knew his murderer.’ Sylvie stopped and stared at the couch where the struggle took place. ‘Mr. Preston bled out. Probably had a few moments to realize he was done for before he died.’

‘Probably saw his murderer’s face,’ mused Igby, as he looked at his reflection in the lavish mirror that hung on the wall next to a great broadsword that looked like something out of the sixteen hundreds. Through the reflection, he saw dawn was minutes away. He turned to Sylvie. ‘Maybe, we need to search outside the box.’

‘We’ve gone through this crime scene and searched the entire house thrice over,’ noted Sylvie.

‘But did we search outside thrice over?’

‘You think we missed something out there?’ asked Sylvie.

‘It’s worth taking a look.’

‘You’re the boss.’

They headed outside. Igby let out a low whistle. ‘Every time I see that barbecue it baffles me. It’s huge and looks so elaborate. Look at it.’

‘They’re called eggs,’ Sylvie replied, a teasing smile on her lips. ‘They’re considered the best charcoal barbecues on the market.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t look so astonished, Mister I-Only-Cook-Craft-Dinners.’

‘Hey, that’s not true and you know it!’ Igby protested, pointing at her.

Suddenly the wet spray of water splashed Igby’s pants as the sprinklers went off. ‘Oh, for the love of…’

‘Hey, Igby? Are sprinklers supposed to sputter like that?’

Igby looked about the backyard. The sprinklers had started, but the sound and rhythm seemed inconsistent, as though something somewhere was blocking the water from flowing properly. He glanced at the bunched-up hose.

‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ Sylvie pressed.

Igby smirked. ‘Small in diameter, long and slender enough to fit inside a hose? It’s worth a shot.’

‘Hopefully, we can get something from it, if it’s in there, the murder weapon. Water will have washed out all the blood but…’ Sylvie turned off the sprinkler system.

Together, they unravelled the long hose and began feeling it.

‘Gotcha!’ Sylvie breathed, pressing down on a section. She cut the hose open and pulled out a long, thin barbecue thermometer gauge. ‘Well, what do you know?’

Igby grinned. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’


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The Scoop About My Non-Existent Boyfriend

Can’t call him Fake if the guy doesn’t even exist, right?

Fake, Invisible, Non-Existent, Invented…they all have their nuances, and so did my boyfriend.

I was starting 6th grade and I was one of those girls who had never kissed a boy before, let alone held hands with one. I was dreading all the other girls teasing me, even friends at the time made fun of me.

I didn’t want to be singled out as a loser.

So, I invented a boyfriend. And everyone believed me! Because I’m that good at character building.

So get this:

My dad at the time worked for a company that would contract him outside of the province, oftentimes in other countries, like Mexico. He got to travel loads during his time working with them. And he often worked with other folks, in association, for a said contract to sell the product the company made.

So it was totally legit when “an associate of my dad’s from Quebec City visited our city for a few weeks over the Summer with his family.”

I’ll have to ask my dad if he ever was contracted in Quebec City for a time.🤔

My boyfriend was the son of that associate. His name was Jean-François. Very common name and totally legit. (Translates to John-Frank in English, just about.)

I’m sure there are tons of men called Jean-François from Quebec City.

Uh, hi. (waves sheepishly) Sorry I used your likeness.

So anyway, they drove down from Quebec City to spend the Summer here, and my dad and his non-existent associate arranged some family outings for us all to meet and hang out. It actually wasn’t uncalled for my dad to do that with folks he worked with.

  • So they came over for an afternoon in the yard and supper.
  • We joined them to go to the Botanical Gardens. (That’s when we held hands for the first time.)
  • We hung out with our dads while they had meetings so we could sit around and chat.

Talk about fleshing out a character’s whole backstory.


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I Was Abused! – An Introduction To Sharing More About Abuse on Medium

I am thrilled to be a writer for Dark Are the Secrets Behind These Walls publication by Wendy Geers.

I have so much to share, but where to begin?

Which anecdote do I start with? What helpful tidbit of information about abuse do I share first? What might help other survivors of abuse recognise what they lived or are still living through?

I suppose I should begin with; I was abused.

It took me ten years to tell people, besides family and close friends who were there when it happened, that I was abused. There is fear in saying it, toxic shame from the inner critic repeating the words of the abuser, embarrassment, and all sorts of negative emotions.

But it’s so freeing to be able to say these phrases.

  • I was abused.
  • I’ve been in an abusive relationship.
  • My ex abused me.
  • My ex is an abuser.

Take any variation you like; today, I can say them. Correction, I can’t just SAY them. I can ASSERT them because I have healed so much, and I am confident in taking back the sovereign power of my individuality. I can assert what I’ve lived, but it was a dark place, and for a long time, I was in that dark place.


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