Tag Archives: his

Escape Clause

Posted on by under 2024, May 2024 - Escape
Man and daughter stand before a vault deep in the bowels of the Earth

Tobermory held his daughter’s hand as they walked along the corridor, their footsteps echoing from the stone walls. He sensed her looking up and gave her a little squeeze.

“Don’t worry, daddy,” Eleanor said, “I’ll be okay.”

“I know, Pumpkin,” he said, displaying a sad smile. “We’ll all be okay.”

“Did you bring Flibut?”

Tobermory pulled the stuffed, one-eared camel from his bag. “Yes, he’s here.”

“Because I couldn’t go without Flibut.”

He looked down at her earnest features, a pixie face in a halo of red curls. Just five years old, he thought, how could there be a god?

He could have scooped her up right there and bounded back down the corridor. But he knew the guards would pick him off before they got out. And a stranger would make the long walk with her.

Continue reading →

Faith, Hope and Clarence

Posted on by under 2024, March 2024 - Tomorrow

Clarence had been a disappointment to his mother from the day he was born. He had been expected to be a she, to fulfil the prophecy of the seventh daughter to the seventh daughter.

            Throughout his life, she had never forgiven him for spoiling her dreams. His sisters on the other hand, were delighted that they didn’t have a sister who would rule superior over them. He grew up, being showered with their love and also all the things they didn’t want to undertake themselves.

Continue reading →

Tomorrow

Posted on by under 2024, March 2024 - Tomorrow

How I came to be in McLaine’s commune on the shore of Puerto de la Valencia is a story for another time, because today, of all days, is about tomorrow.

McLaine was busying himself with his fishing nets in the courtyard at the back of the pre-civil war building housing his community, his wives, Consuela and Pamela were arguing in a mixture of rapid-fire Spanish and Surrey English about the best way to gut hake, and the writers, me included, were sitting on the garden wall watching the TV we rented for the occasion. We’d positioned it there because no room in the house was big enough to hold more than two of us and one of those would have to be standing.

Continue reading →

Sober Tomorrow

Posted on by under 2024, March 2024 - Tomorrow

            ‘How’d he get in this state?’ Potter protested.

‘You take that arm, I’ll take this,’ Evans directed him, murmured ‘Now’ and the two of them hauled the collapsed old man onto unsteady feet. They continued to hold him mistrustfully.

            ‘I’ll be alri`,’ the man said. His large jowls, as if transplanted from a boxer dog, wobbled with the rest of his plump body. ‘What was the sc…?’ Did we wn?’

Continue reading →

Perfect Day

Posted on by under 2024, Feb 2024 - Crossroads

Alfie disappears into the classroom without looking back. It swallows him whole. That’s good, I tell myself. He’s happy and I’m free to be ‘me’ again. It’s terrifying.

Turning towards the gate, I focus on the shiny new stilettoes that I hoped would bring me confidence. But I feel ridiculous. A pool of sweat is collecting beneath the too-tight waistband of my trousers, the material straining to contain my bulging flesh. Why did I let Ben convince me to pursue a career again, at my age? Asking his university colleagues to consider me for a job? They’ll see right through me. Inadequate. Embarrassing. Fat.

Continue reading →

THE TOSS OF THE COIN

Posted on by under Feb 2024 - Crossroads

Feeling totally confused, Jaxon lay there. He could hear lots of noise, occasional conversation that seemed to be about him. His eyes refused to open; where the hell was he? Drifting off, the bleeps seemed to soothe him.

Out of nowhere appeared a boy about his age, wearing funny clothes like you see in the black and white photos his mam had. When he started to speak to him, Jaxon’s mind went into overdrive.

Continue reading →

Sclater Street

Posted on by under 2024, Feb 2024 - Crossroads

Sclater Street, Brick Lane, and Cheshire Street don’t quite form a crossroads. There’s half a house difference, where 182 Brick Lane forms a dog leg with Cheshire Street. But that’s what the comrades called it.

“Meet you at the Brick Lane crossroads,” Mikey said at the branch meeting. “Sunday. Early. Make sure you get there before the trots.”

Rich and Larry nodded, joined in with the Internationale, then wandered off into the Whitechapel night, hoods high against the rain, not talking. Rich didn’t like Larry. He was flaky and didn’t have the level of commitment Rich thought appropriate for a true revolutionary, so it was no surprise when he found a note pushed through his door the next morning. It said, “Can’t make it, sorry. Larry.”hoods high against the rain, not talking. Rich didn’t like Larry. He was flaky and didn’t have the level of commitment Rich thought appropriate for a true revolutionary, so it was no surprise when he found a note pushed through his door the next morning. It said, “Can’t make it, sorry. Larry.”

Continue reading →

Of Fish and Fossils

Posted on by under 2024, January 2024 - A winters tale

Colonel Halcro considered the relative merits of the two options. “Accommodations comfortable and elegant, the surrounding countryside abounding with objects of antiquarian interest.” That descriptor would appeal to his lady-wife. His own preference was Flett’s Private Board and Lodgings, “reasonable rates, on-site availability of books for shooting and fishing, guns for hire, the Dog-Cart available for resident parties, refreshments good and cheap, and the plentiful supply of firewood.” The decision was made. Susan was a reasonable soul, hardened by the realities for military wives returned from the colonies. If Halcro was contented, she could almost persuade herself that she was. If both, then no contest. She envisaged a restful week together but apart, the short Scottish days, Halcro up to his thighs in waders, casting into the Sound, or lining up his sights for the grouse, whilst she, intrepid amateur female archaeologist, continued in the Dog Cart to the fossil site, pointing trowel and extractor hammer in hand. Cosy evenings before the blazing fire in the panelled drawing room would follow, then later maybe a rekindling of the passionate nights of their early marriage.

Continue reading →

The Snowman

Posted on by under 2024, January 2024 - A winters tale

Harry’s Nike Air Jordans branded the snow as he sprinted across the lawn. This time last year, when his only worry was whether he’d find said trainers under the tree, he’d wished for a white Christmas. Now, the weight of the world on his shoulders, he had bigger things to wish for. Like a Dad who wasn’t in prison, and an end to the creeping dread that something evil lurked inside him, too.

“Exciting, huh?” came a shaky voice. He turned to see old Mr. Morris from next door leaning against the gate, a silvery puff of breath escaping from behind his scarf.

Continue reading →

The Chimes of Freedom

Posted on by under 2024, January 2024 - A winters tale

‘Which one of us would do it?’

            ‘He targeted my daughter. It should be me.’

            ‘You’d really…?’

            ‘Could I actually just go in there and…? Let me think. Smother him? Yes, yes I could.’

            ‘We might not need to, Natasha. I’ve not been feeding him.’

            ‘You’ve been cutting back on his meals?’

            ‘I’ve not given him any food in seven days. Just water.’

            ‘He’s looking very gaunt, Annette. Do you mean you’ve been deliberately…?’

            ‘I want him dead. I hate him. This way we just say he wouldn’t eat, we say he…’

            ‘Refused food… we say he didn’t want to live any more with the pain of the cancer… we…’

            ‘We wait two more days. He can’t last out if we starve him.’

/

            In his studio they looked at the paintings, many of them of themselves in the first flush of puberty, thin, uncomfortable, unhappy, all naked. Natasha remembered him painting Annette many times, then her turn came. She didn’t quite know what was going on. It’s art, darling, her mother insisted, keep still for Daddy and stop complaining. Her mother had practically pimped her. Creation from exploitation? That wasn’t art. Post-Jimmy Saville his reputation had crashed. Now he was reviled by many, his works removed from galleries. Quite right. Burn them all. A vile paedophile.

His sister though believed they had aesthetic value, said each haunted portrait revealed her mixed feelings: fear of her father and her unbreakable connection to him.

/

Continue reading →

The Song for the Solstice Festival

Posted on by under 2024, January 2024 - A winters tale

Duke Donskoy spoke to his servant Ivan: “In wintertime the rare Almaz birds come to roost in our land. Their stay here is fleeting, only for a few days do they rest before departing to remoter regions. Since this is the first solstice festival that I will preside over, an Almaz shall sing its song for us.”

Ivan replied: “Ah sir, those birds are strong, nimble, and alert to everything around them. To capture one is an impossibility. Men of your father’s and grandfather’s courts tried and failed to achieve such a task.”

Continue reading →

All-in

Posted on by under 2023

“Do you remember… our games?” the old man struggled to speak. “I used to call you… Miss Fortune”.

On his first night at the casino, he was eager to play with the money his father gifted him. That’s when they first met. That night, as all nights that followed, she wore red: a slim-fit dress, high heels, and vibrant lipstick to match it. She was the goddess who joined them, mere people.

“Sure,” Miss Fortune replied, sitting beside his bed in the hospital. “And you were right.”

Continue reading →

The Seed and the Shell

Posted on by under 2023

Dimitri walked the beaten path from his small town in Hostre, to the familiar fields of grain that he’d admired since childhood. The fresh dew sat lackadaisically on a blade of grass; its slumber abruptly disturbed by the compression of Dimitri’s leather bound foot. His impact paled in comparison to the indelible impression bestowed upon the wider area. During the previous season, the land had been disturbed by heavy machinery, the earth turned over and upon itself, revealing the darker soil below.

“Big machines, operated by large men, led by those with gargantuan egos.” He pondered aloud.

 His fixation upon his outer surroundings caused a momentary lapse in perception. Dimitri’s foot discovered a deep puddle, which had been considerately filled with fresh rainwater. His right foot and shin now completely submerged and subsequently sodden.

Continue reading →

Fire Works

Posted on by under 2023, Nov 2023 - Fireworks

“How was it?” Alfie screwed his eyes in concentration and anticipating the usual sotto voce response, leaned forward in his riser-recliner. He had declined the invite to the Council’s Annual Fireworks Display. Storm Ciarán was rolling in.

            “Brilliant!; not the wash-out expected.” Fiona’s explosive response caught him unawares. Hovering on the remote (retaining maximum control over his environment was important), his hand reacted in a surprised tremor. The chair, rented courtesy of his son, responded to the manual “rise” command; Alfie slid to the floor, pinned under the strategically placed wheely frame, a gift from his daughter.

            “Fuck Me… Save me from this hell.”   On his back, glasses dislodged, Alfie surveyed the intricate cornicing and central rose of the “small lounge.” The tantalising mistiness of detail recalled to mind that entertainment he and his late wife had so enjoyed at the Couples Parties before any of the seven veils had been removed. Sporadic pyrotechnics of private parties continued outside; Roman Candles, Peonies, and Diadems were corralled in raindrops as they burst across the uncurtained picture window.

Continue reading →

I Am Lucy

Posted on by under 2023, November 2023 - Fireworks

A new message flashes. The little icon with her photo, all Bambi-eyes and dimples, sets his heart racing. And then there’s that other feeling. The one he shouldn’t have for someone her age. The one that twists his stomach and clamps his jaw tight.

The curtains are drawn, as always. His secrets fester like bacteria in the stale air, seeping into the furniture. They clutter every surface, filthy as the plates that litter his room. He cannot risk them spreading beyond the confines of this house. Not like they did in the old neighbourhood.

These new neighbours seem friendly. They posted that ‘Welcome’ note through his door, with the link to the community Facebook group. That’s where the fireworks display was advertised. And where he found the laughably easy to access local youth chatroom. Honestly, this lot could do with some internet safety training.

Continue reading →

That Wretched Mr. Linklater

Posted on by under 2023, Nov 2023 - Fireworks

The locals of East Hardwick made a habit of not burning a certain Catholic terrorist come the fifth of November as expected, but instead set alight whomever they disliked.

Mrs. Monks burnt a copy of her cheating husband, Charlie Lanker burnt a dummy modelled after his schoolteacher, who in turn set alight a many headed hydrae, bearing the faces of her worst students.

On this Guy Fawks night, Kevin Warick had built, a perfect likeness of the dreadful Mr. Samuel Linklater, down to that self-impressed, almost snarling smile.

Continue reading →

Carol

Posted on by under 2023, November 2023 - Fireworks

Watkins, a whole platoon in a single body, clumsily barged open the door. The committee room became a lot more crowded with his entrance. ‘They can’t deliver today,’ he said.

            Davies, his face communion wafer white, said, ‘Why not?’

            ‘Strike at the depot.’

            ‘For the best,’ said Jones.

            ‘This is going to be a success!’ Davies insisted.

            ‘It’s meant to be a do to celebrate Phil’s passing, for god’s sake.’ Jones sat up aggressively in his chair. ‘Why do we need bloody fireworks?’

Continue reading →

WATCHING THE FIREWORKS

Posted on by under 2023, November 2023 - Fireworks

While the world waited for Armageddon with tightly clenched fists, tear-stained faces, and racing thoughts, Sir Michael Peckham waited for morning.

He glanced at the silent smart-slab sitting insouciantly on his bedside table. It said “02:14 – 5 Nov” on its face, but it was the things it wasn’t saying he was most interested in. He wanted it to ring and not to. A conflict of such breadth it seemed analogous to the sabre rattling provided nightly on the talking head shows. The hawks and the doves making cases for greater or lesser annihilation.

For two weeks, the world stood on a precipice, while his world sank into the abyss.

Continue reading →
error: Content is protected !!