Category: Short Stories

A Match made in Heaven: Short Story Competition.

Scene One: Castel Sant’Angelo, the Library.

He looked at Simon, the picture of despair, his elbows resting on the other side of the desk, his head in his hands.

What the hell are you going to do, Simon? It’s make your mind up time, I need some sleep. Are you going to marry her or what? Frankly, it’s a bit bloody late in the day to be having this conversation. We’re supposed to be at the church in precisely seven hours.


Ed, I just wanted to be normal, you know, not the target for stupid jokes from bigoted nutters. Jesus, I haven’t done it since I was seventeen. Do you know what that feels like? Always hiding, pretending to be something I’m not.  Look, Edward, just give me the bloody key; this may be my last chance!

Edward shook his head sadly as Simon just groaned again and poured himself another brandy. Edward took the key from the desk, opening the windows and raising his eyebrows, stood clear, and tried again to get through to his brother.

Who was it said “The one charm about marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.”. Just don’t do anything stupid, and I really think you should tell Kate if you are determined to go through with this. It’s her life too, you know.

Oscar Wilde? Simon responded automatically.

No, I can’t let her go and I can’t …

Simon hurled the glass in the direction of the fireplace , unfurled his wings and flew slightly unsteadily out of the open window. Continue reading “A Match made in Heaven: Short Story Competition.”

Aunt Lisl comes to stay

He was the sole occupant, his left hand grasping the remains of a pint that was resting on a small copper-topped table, its polished surface weakly reflecting the evening sun through a puddle of what looked like blood, but was probably only Campari. The key was placed carefully away from these dregs, lying half concealed by his leather driving gloves. Nobody wears them any more, but in the early sixties they were still an accessory to be admired, an indication of a certain wealth, or at least of breeding, in the owner.

I had followed his instructions to the letter, turning left off the A3 at the Malden roundabout, and heading south towards Worcester Park. His directions had been accurate, The Plough coming into view on the right almost immediately after I had passed under the railway bridge. I had pulled across the traffic into the car park and rushed into the bar. Mine host had looked up expectantly, but I had already seen what had to be the Snug; a small room half-hidden behind the fireplace. Progress has since replaced it by a modern extension of the restaurant, but in those days it was a lovingly preserved adjunct to the old building, roughly built from local stone, with two tiny windows and ancient wooden bench seats, now comfortably covered with deep red cushions. Continue reading “Aunt Lisl comes to stay”

Withering Heights

Seats were scarce in the café as queues of tray-laden customers circled the room looking for a place to park. Those already seated sat smugly with their meals. There were a few plush couches in the establishment whose patrons would leisurely, aristocratically pick at their lunches. Even in a greasy spoon you’ll find snobs.

One window stool facing out to the main road stood empty. This sticking out like a sore thumb location was sub-prime. Windows to the world are for writers only. From this spot they can observe humanity in all its guises giving them reams of future material. I gave it a miss. Continue reading “Withering Heights”

The Imminent Wedding

Zorb of Klig slithered across the room on five of his tentacles, swiveled his single green eye towards her and bid a hearty hello to his inamorata, the lady Billa of Arachnia.  She had curled her millipedal self into a perfect spiral in the middle of her favorite armchair and was awaiting his arrival with interest.

Continue reading “The Imminent Wedding”

Short story competition relaunch – October 2011

It is time to restart the short story  competition and as I raised the subject this time I have I stepped forward to set the ball rolling…

The short story should be posted as a separate blog and linked to this one.
It should be up to 2000 words long on the theme of ‘wedding.’
The first scene will start with two people in a room. There’s a key on the table. During the story you should include the words ‘football’ and ‘armchair’.

The closing date is October 31st at UK midnight. I will judge the entries and announce a winner. The winner will set the next competition.

Have I missed anything?

The War Journal : Three Spartans


The Muse gig campaign was a Stonewaller. With great inspiration we laid a trail of destruction in our wake, living off the land, taking no prisoners before triumphing without any casualties. We had reached our goal within a few songs. In front of us, swelling as big as a carpet burn, stood the mighty legions of fans of the medieval torture instrument. They would be a more formidable foe.

Our numbers were only three: Chibber, Steff and me, sometimes less is more as stealth can win out in a crowd of 10,000. None of us knew the difference between tactics and strategy, all we knew was that our objective was to get to the front row. The front row is the ultimate in concert-going. Continue reading “The War Journal : Three Spartans”

May Creative Writing Competition

Inspired by Pseu’s intriguing story, the subject will be “The Royal Wedding“.

The connection may be as tenuous as you like, but it must be there, somehow.   The words ‘grace‘ and ‘shovel‘ must be included, and each entry should contain a minimum of 1,250 words; there is no upper limit.

The Competition will close at midnight on Sunday the 15th May, AEST – so get your skates on!

Alternative Gilly

Mr Chandrasekhar’s top of the range Mahindra scattered the stones in the car park. I guided the roller in his direction and called out a greeting, touching my cap respectfully as always, “नमस्कार महोदय, आप कैसे हैं  ?”

He grinned and winked, replying – “नमस्ते गिली, हार्ड काम करते हो ? … and  I must say your Hindi accent is improving; well done!”

We strolled together to the clubhouse, reviewing the arrangements for the match against the touring team on Saturday.   He lowered himself into a deck-chair on the veranda and sighed.   “I may have to miss the match.   I shall probably have to fly back home tomorrow; the riots are getting worse and I need to arrange protection for my family.   Why do all you Christians cause so much trouble all the time?” Continue reading “Alternative Gilly”