This may well be my last post on this or any other site. Until last Friday, I was a typical, fairly dour Scot who shared our deep national scepticism about anybody or anything. All that changed a few short hours ago when I uncovered a deep secret about which certain international dark forces do not want us to know. It may be that I will go the way of many others and that I and my knowledge will be as ruthlessly and efficiently suppressed as they were. Nonetheless, I will do my utmost to spread that knowledge in the short time that I may have left to me. Continue reading “‘Things Are Seldom What They Seem’ (The Da Vinci Cod Revisited)”
Category: Short Stories
’Things are seldom what they seem…’, Writing Competition November 2010
The major turning point in Dennis’s life started with an innocuous enough comment.
“We should get a dog,” said his wife Madeleine one Wednesday morning over breakfast. Continue reading “’Things are seldom what they seem…’, Writing Competition November 2010”
Creative Writing Comp – October
My eyes play tricks on me again. It’s not the first time this has happened but I don’t have the medication with me. When I stumbled a man and woman came to help me. As I sit here now on the bench in the graveyard, the lights are bleeding into the dark stone of the church. They confuse me. They drip down in long lines and then they flash like fireworks.
October Short Story Competition: Pandemic
Science News: Pandemic, exclusive interview.
Unlike the 2009/2010 ‘Swine Flu’ epidemic which was long predicted, over-hyped and claimed many months of media attention, the virus that mutated abruptly into a potential worldwide killer in December 2010 was almost completely unpredicted and until now not reported. Experts we consulted with these newly disclosed facts about the ‘Measles Mutation’ estimate that this virus had the potential to wipe out 75 -80% of the population worldwide. Continue reading “October Short Story Competition: Pandemic”
The Dreaming
Evie’s Totem lies quiescent in the shallow waters, his mind half awake, half asleep; dreaming and waiting.
She walks down to the sea, her brown toes splayed to gain purchase on the dry, shifting sand. The hot air is fragrant with salt and seaweed. This place is Bethany, home of her ancestors and final resting place of the Blessed Jo and Flo. Thousands of pilgrims visit Bethany each year to visit the Shrine and partake of the Holy Pumpkin Scones and Boiled Peanuts. She is thinking about the Gathering of the Tribes in the Bunya Mountains next month, shortly after her sixteenth birthday. He will be there, of course, the special boy with the beautiful eyes and chestnut hair. She shivers with excitement. She can’t wait to see him again and her many friends and relations, including auntie-mother and sister-cousins who live in Cherbourg. She hasn’t seen her family since mother and father were taken by the floods, a year ago. Continue reading “The Dreaming”
The Place: October Short Story Competition
The Place
They met at the usual bar. It was open 24/7, and it was a place to hang out, chill and meet people. There were the regulars of course, but people came and went, and although some were missed, their places were occupied by the newcomers and trade was brisk.
They were all exceptionally beautiful people, rich and successful. They oozed charm and sophistication; even white teeth and a confidence which always amused him.
Barista watched the room, dispensed cocktails with a quiet efficiency and listened. He responded to the regulars, laughed politely at their jokes but to most of the punters he was invisible; just someone behind the bar. Continue reading “The Place: October Short Story Competition”
Wrecked
It was not so much that they were kindred spirits, they were in fact quite different in temperament and outlook; Robert was more cerebral and preferred books and board games while John was gregarious and liked the outdoors. It was more a force of circumstance that had drawn them together and which provided the basis of their friendship. Theirs was a relatively isolated community and there were few other children with whom they could socialise. They could scarcely remember a time when they had not known each other and for much of their childhood, if they were not alone, they were in each other’s company. It was only when they went away to the same boarding school that they began to establish their own social independence, each with his preferred group of friends. During the holidays they would reconnect without any acrimony concerning their school alliances. They understood and respected each other’s differences. Continue reading “Wrecked”
The Chariot Play (October C/W)
In the late sixteenth century a travelling troupe of actors descended on Cornwall, the land that was responsible for some of the greatest pastoral poems of all time. The scenic heartland of the country would be the venue for the debut of their new play. Continue reading “The Chariot Play (October C/W)”
Love in a warm climate
“Fancy a swift dop, later, I have some hot int?”
“Yea, lekker, man, what you got?”
“A plane load of Ozzie chicks flew in this arvie. They’re bound to head for the Frog and Toad for a bit of a piss up later.” Continue reading “Love in a warm climate”
Manicured to death: September Competition
She looked at her hands. The broken nail marred the perfection of her beautiful manicure. She hated the jagged line and the sheer horror of it all struck her again.
It had been stupid, careless and unnecessary. She knew what was at risk as she looked at the parcel in front of her. She thought it was flowers. Well, when the postman had asked her to sign for the package she had examined it carefully and Interflora was quite obviously what she had noticed. It couldn’t wait; there were flowers inside and waiting until tomorrow, her birthday, was not an option.
The scissors were obviously and annoyingly not in the designated drawer in the kitchen so she had attacked it with her bare hands. Damn the children, they never ever replaced these things in the right place. Could have been the cleaner, she mused. Whatever, they were not to hand and this was not unusual.
The beauty salon were understanding and appreciated that she really could not contemplate turning up at her birthday party with one nail awry. Quite out of the question they had agreed and her appointment was arranged for ten. At least they understood the ghastliness of the situation; something that her husband singularly failed to grasp when she phoned him to explain why she couldn’t stay at home to have the boiler fixed.
Continue reading “Manicured to death: September Competition”
Boadicea's Chariot 
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