Phone rings. I'm busy. Such a nuisance. Two eggs mixed, coffee's on, butter melting in the pan. The grill's warming, two slices of bread, ready to go. A crucial moment. Why does this happen? Waking drowsy is painful. Torn between the desire to flake or rise, you figure , get up now, gain that time…Read more Short Story
Three teeth dislodged with the impact of her kick, and my nose gushed with a shit load of blood, I clenched my hands into fists and forced myself up from the ground. She started jerking off in front of me, going on about how she was going to beat the living shit out of me, […]…Read more Stonking TONKS
In the same second as the distant flash, Hector's arm exploded in a burst of flesh and tissue. As his assailant hesitated, distracted by his target's pitiful howling, Hector leaped from his crouched position and crushed his opponent with the shattered limb, as artificial as his reaction to its loss.
Writers worry about words they write, how they're spelled and arranged, their shape, form and meaning but most of all - and this is a secret fear shared by all, but rarely spoken - the number they can write, even if it's millions, that will have an impact and meaning that lasts.
(part 3 of The Rise & Fall of Donald Trumpet Esq.) Thomas Wellspring II found Bench waiting for him, as arranged, in the back room of a small alehouse, down a laneway near the dockside. It was a deceptive location, he noted, barely noticeable in the alley gloom but inside, so much more spacious than…Read more Trumpet’s Downfall, part 3
part 3 of The Rise & Fall of Donald Trumpet Esq. Jack Connell had everything stacked against him; an Irish born Romany migrant worker, married to Consuela, a Spanish Romany woman. He worked for Trumpet Fisheries and eked a miserable life out of digging razor fish and clams from the shallow salt marshes on the…Read more Trumpet’s Downfall, part 1
Last week, I read a story about Charles Dickens and the names he chose for his characters in his books. That got me thinking what Mr Dickens, himself a campaigner and great philanthropist, would make of the name 'Trump.' So I decided to write a Dickensian style story with a character named Trumpet, a bombastic…Read more Trumpet’s Downfall
He stepped outside, went downstairs and then, checking the weather, left the building and walked out the gate. It was his first time out in ten days but he'd run out of milk, the bread turned blue and he wanted to breathe fresh air. Considering his agoraphobia, it was daring.