Blog Archives

Interplanetary Inspiration, by Russell Conover

28/2/2015

“Man--I need some inspiration for this week’s story.”

Suddenly a round disc about two feet wide flew in John’s window. A door opened, and two strange creatures grabbed him, tied him up, and dragged him inside. The disc flew off and up into space, zooming among the stars.

It finally landed on a red planet. “Mars!” John thought. “Amazing!” He absorbed the sights and sounds.

Suddenly he woke up from his snooze. “How’s your writing going, honey?” his wife asked.

“You know, I think I’ve been inspired. By the recent news. Yeah--that’s it.” He turned to his computer.

The Medium, by Ann-Louise Truschel

28/2/2015

“I can feel his presence, Lon. Your father is in this room.”

“Is he saying anything? Is he talking about the attack?”

“Yes, I can sense his distress. I can feel his pain – acute pain. He is screaming: ‘No! No! Why are you doing this? What have I done? Please stop hitting me!’”

“What else is he saying?”

“He’s saying, ‘Stop, Lon. Please stop! Don’t hit me again.’”

“And if I were to pay you $2 million from my inheritance if I don’t have to share with my sister, Elaine?”

“Then I’d hear your father say: ‘Stop, Elaine. Please stop!’”

Hip and Hypochondriac, by Emma Baird

27/2/2015

Wincing, Caroline swallowed back a handful of pills with only a small sip of water. She felt them stick in her throat. Urgh…

Chromium for blood sugar stabilisation, milk thistle for liver detoxification, pantothenic acid for adrenal fatigue, raspberry ketones for weight loss, biotin for grey hair prevention, l-glutamine for cravings control and horny goat weed for, er… well, take an intelligent guess.

[Health guru number nine’s advice had included the last supplement.]

She jumped up and down. She jangled.

“And what have I ended up with,” she wondered to herself, “except for the world’s most expensive pee?”

Happy Anniversary, Darling, by Gordon Lawrie

27/2/2015

For their anniversary, they'd bought each other printed tee-shirts. She'd bought him a black shirt with a Harley-Davidson motorbike on the front; he'd bought her a specially-made white thing bearing his own face, gazing upwards Ché Guevara-style.

"Oh, how lovely," they said in unison, although she'd opened her present first.

"I thought you might wear me out," he grinned. "Get the joke?"

She reflected on the passing of another year. Five years of marriage, five anniversary presents: a mop, a toilet-seat, a year's car insurance, and last year's humdinger, a budgerigar. All things considered, she'd got off lightly this time.

The Snow Monster, by Russell Conover

23/2/2015

“Holy Toledo--look at the snowstorm from last night!”

“Wow! Looks like it’s covered the ground, the cars, and ... wait. What’s that?”

To their astonishment, an odd figure was rising off of the car. The figure did NOT look human, either, with six arms, a circle of legs, and teeth about six inches long.

“I am the monster of the blizzard, here to haunt you for the rest of your lives. Ooh, ooh! Scary, huh?”

“You want scary? Try driving the interstate, with its lunatic drivers, through THIS wintry mess during rush hour. That’ll toughen you up, ready or not!”

The Leaving, by Ann-Louise Truschel

22/2/2015

“It’s time for me to leave now.”

“No, Mom. Not yet. Let’s talk some more.”

“I can’t, Ron. You knew this day would come. Let me go. It’s time.”

“It’s just that knowing I’ll never see you again ... I’m not ready.”

“But I am, Ron. We talked about this. I told you that when it was my time to go, I would leave this earth willingly. I’m not going to change my mind now.”

“I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I know, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to be one of the first settlers on Mars.”

A Vicious Circle Of Agony, by Alison McHarg

21/2/2015

Treadmill, warm-up, sweat up then start the circuits.

Lift, lunge, straighten, lift, lunge, ouch.

Hobble home, shower, heat on lower back, then a heating liniment. Stinks like a combination of the pharmacy and a chemistry lab at school. Jagging, burning and slowly spreading relief –all will be well. Wry chuckles from hubby, I imperiously ignore his mirth.

Sit on the sofa, feel the pull of the soft cushions as I sink lower. Settle back to nurse my virtuous injury – well, no pain, no gain, right?

An hour later: “Help me up,” I yell.

Seizing up is so hard to do.

The Hit List, by Emma Baird

20/2/2015

Martin had his hit list – a list of the things he’d destroy should he be elected world leader.

It changed from week to week. This week, for example, it included HSBC bank for its tax evasion advice, the Daily Telegraph for its editorial policies and Jack White for his fussiness about guacamole.

The list was an exquisite mix of the moral high ground and his own pet hates, which tended to include celebrity wrong-doings.

Next week, a megastar was about to be caught with a tax-dodging HSBC account while giving an interview to the Telegraph on his charidee work.

Perfect!

The Red Planet, by Gordon Lawrie

20/2/2015

They'd travelled eight months through space. It felt odd finally being on Mars, but they weren't disappointed.

"Everything's so incredibly RED," Dave said.

"Just like the brochures," Ginny said. "Sun, sand, and..."

The other three completed her sentence. "Sex." Their colonising mission was to procreate: they weren't returning to Earth.

Every convenience had been prepared for them – even Skype to let them communicate with home. Mandy typed in her Mum's number on the touchscreen and waited. And waited.

"We apologize that we are not able to post your comment right now due to a system upgrade. Please try again later."

Friends, by Gordon Lawrie

19/2/2015

"Waaaahhhhh!"

She raced through – was he injured?

"Darling?"

"It's not fair," he yelled. "Eric won't be my friend any more. Nor Emma, Russell, Jan, Jane, or that new girl Tammy." He stamped his foot.

"What did you do to them?" she asked.

Silence.

She repeated, "What did YOU do?"

He tried to look away. "I called Eric a ✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷†." She waited. "I called them all that, actually."

"That wasn't nice, was it? I wouldn't want to be your friend either."

"Harrrummph."

"Go and sit on the naughty step. And I'm taking your iPad away. You spend far too long on Facebook."

†Password protected. This is a family show.

Libby, by Tammy Mezera

16/2/2015

“How many?” Libby asked.

“Approximately ten thousand” the doctor replied, steadying his gaze on Libby's reaction as she slumped back into her seat.

“Ten thousand dead?” Libby repeated without really questioning his answer, rather at the absurdity of such a reality.

“What am I going to do doctor...how do I even cope with this?” Libby asked.

Doc leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk. “I know all of this is shocking, Libby, but brain cells can reproduce themselves. If it were me, I would begin weaning from 'The Real Housewives.'

Libby gasped.

Traffic Jam, by Russell Conover

14/2/2015

“Man--traffic stinks. Especially on a Friday.” Dan rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t tell you the features of my new car?” Allison smiled. Dan looked curious.

Allison pushed a button on the dash, and the car started rising off the ground. Dan was surprised, gripping the armrests. A pair of wings shot out the doors. “Three, two, one, liftoff!”

At Allison’s countdown, the car rose into the air and zoomed forward, leaving the traffic jam underneath. Dan’s knuckles were white, and his bugging eyes looked at the driver. “What? How?”

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

Hmm..., by Jane Reid

14/2/2015

“Now I’m confused,” said G.

Chaos reigned. Unlikely musical compositions flourished. Worm holes could not swallow the mysteries.

It wasn’t enough that the most bizarre and irrational happenings were being described in stories. Stories were popping up in unexpected places. Stories were disappearing without explanation. Befuddled writers were perplexed about where to post which stories, and sometimes the stories seemed to take on a life of their own, skipping from site to site.

It was not only G. who was confused. One muddled writer picked up the Last Line, not of a story, but of one of G’s comments.

Rat's Don't Lie, by Sarah Hauck

14/2/2015

The boys shrugged off their heavy gear and hung their weapons on the wall. Blood still splattered the parts their gear didn’t cover. The doorbell echoed through the front foyer.

“Takeout’s here!” Cory announced as he hurried to open the door.

He returned to the kitchen where the rest of the boys were waiting.

“I’m starving.” Ben grabbed one of the takeout containers. “Three minutes to kill an Eligos, almost beat my record! Dragonaut-style!” He snorted and opened his container and paused. “Um. Guys?”

“Dude! Is that a rat’s head? ” Cory’s eyes rested on Ben, a confirmation at last.

A Race As Old As Time, by Alison McHarg

13/2/2015

Hooves drumming a salute, legs pistoning and mesmeric, manes lifting in the breeze, breath streaming behind, like aeroplane trails.

Bay, chesnut, grey, black – a kaleidoscope of equine colours shifts and reassembles as the race approaches the end. Tiny men in rainbow silks urge them on.

A solitary grey breaks forward, accelerating and stretching low.

Trackside bookies chew their pencils and fan their depreciating takings. This wasn’t supposed to happen. A rank outsider with a mid-range saloon’s chassis but what now appears to be a Ferrari engine.

They said she was a nice little runner.

Preparation is Everything, by Emma Baird

13/2/2015

On Friday the 13th it’s best to be prepared…

Alice had contrived to get her cat to walk across her path twice this morning already. She had ensured her new shoes weren’t taken out of their box on the table and she’d avoided all cracks in the pavement and scaffolding.

So far, so good.

There are some though, who say that luck is a combination of preparation meets opportunity.

Scaffolding in the Glasgow area was regularly used for drug drops. Dealer dropped drugs, customer dropped cash. Alice’s avoidance of scaffolding meant she missed the untraceable bag containing thousands of pounds.

The Call Centre Of The Future, by Gordon Lawrie

13/2/2015

(Ring-ring-ring-ring)

"You have reached EarthUniversal Internet Helpdesk. How can I help you?"

"My internet isn't working."

"Press 1 for bill payments, 2 for sales, 3 for technical enquiries."

(Presses 3) "My internet isn't working."

"Can I call you Gordon? Have you tried switching off and rebooting?"

"Of course."

"Are all the cables connected?"

"OF COURSE!!"

"Would you like to speak to our technical enquiries, Gordon?"

"I thought..."

(Forty minutes later...) "Gordon, have you tried...?"

"YES!!! Look, are you in India? The Phillipines? Outer Mongolia?"

"Pluto, Gordon. EarthUniversal Helpdesk recently relocated here... now can I help you, Gordon? – "

(Conversation terminated.)

Good Neighbours, by Alison McHarg

9/2/2015

“Can you take this parcel for Thomas, number 20?”

He looks so harassed, I agree. Being at home through the day makes me an unofficial depository for the neighbour’s online deliveries.

Some of them I don’t even know.

“I got this for you today.”

Proferring the parcel, I hand it to my less-than-grateful neighbour.

“Err, did you see which company delivered it?”

“No, I just took it from the guy.”

“Can you describe him?”

What is this? Parcel delivered, end of.

Later, I see Police in the street, drugs allegedly being trafficked apparently. Glad I passed the parcel.

No Tolerance For Pain, by Ann-Louise Truschel

8/2/2015

“I can’t do it!”

“You have to try. They’re coming for us! Try again.”

“I can’t. I can’t. It hurts too much. I can’t breathe.”

“They’ll be here any minute. You can’t let them find you like this! We have to go!”

“It’s no use. Please tell them that I can’t make it. PLEASE!”

“I won’t let you give up.”

“The pain is too great. I can’t take it! Please leave me.”

“Try just once more.”

A scream fills the room, followed by a gasp.

“I finally did it! I got into my new jeans!!!! I’m ready for my date.”

Making Toast, by Russell Conover

8/2/2015

Alan had called tech support countless times, eager as could be to make his toaster work again. Every time he pushed bread down, it remained for an extra six seconds, and then flew, full-speed, into the stratosphere. It was a miracle no casualties had occurred.

His latest call suggested that he slowly lower the lever, and remain close in case of any calamity. Tick, tick, tick. He could hardly wait. Then, the moment of truth.

The toast popped up regularly!

“Shucks. I’d wanted to tell them about whopping some aliens in flight. Another time, I suppose. Darn good toast, though.”

One Born Every Minute, by Gordon Lawrie

6/2/2015

The old man was fishing when a tourist came by.

"Successful?"

"Aye," the old man grunted towards some glittering pieces of rock.

"Is that gold?"

"'Salmon swallows it. River's fu' o'gold. Mak' twa hunner every day." With that, he landed a salmon, extracted a gold nugget from its mouth, then threw the fish back.

"Can I try?" the tourist asked.

"I'll want compensation fur ma lost earnins," the old man said.

Next day, the tourist returned, handed over two hundred pounds and caught nothing. There was no gold or salmon; merely a conjuring trick that earned two hundred pounds daily.

Nine Lives +, by Jane Reid

6/2/2015

Last week my boss, Felicia, died unexpectedly. One day she was here, micromanaging as usual, 10 days later she was gone.

Her temporary replacement, Phil, is much more easy-going. Honestly, life had been a bit easier around here -- until a cat showed up today.

I took my usual 15-minute break at10:00. At 10:17, the cat came meowing around my feet in the break room. When I tried to check Facebook, the cat sat on the keyboard. I reached for my coat to leave at 4:47 and the cat scratched me.

I had never believed in reincarnation . . .

Normal Standards of Behaviour, by Emma Baird

6/2/2015

Cathy, oh Cathy come home…

Not a chance! You’re a sadistic bully. There’s no incentive to like you at all!

Well, you married someone else so I can do as I want. Besides, you and I can only communicate through violent expressions of feeling – we can’t be judged by normal standards of behaviour.

Are you kidding me? You’ve just killed that woman’s dog!

Well, I did warn her there was no deceitful softness about me. Anyway, I’ll be master of Wuthering Heights soon enough, you’ll see.

Fine, I’ll haunt you, you wretch.

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