Blog Archives

Karaoke Night, by Russell Conover

17/3/2017

“Next up to sing is Bill!”

Bill eagerly climbed onstage, smiling at the cheering crowd. He grabbed the mike as the song started, and many audience members began to dance.

“Hold me closer, Tony Danza. Count the headlights on the highway.”

Sheila stopped her dancing short. “Wait. Tony Danza? That’s not right.”

Robert kept going. “Give him some credit. At least he’s trying.”

“Well, you dance like you have two left feet.”

“We both do, sweetheart. We’re giraffes.”

“So how the heck did we end up at karaoke night?”

“Who cares? Oh. Better get ready. You’re the next singer. Surprise!”

Enough Is Enough, by Bobby Warner

17/3/2017

Why should it have happened? They already had six children, mostly grown and gone. And Emmie would be leaving right after graduation.

Melba pushed herself from her chair and slouched wearily off to the bedroom. Norman watched her, a frown on his face. A seventh child, he thought. At Melba's age!

After the sounds of the baby's bath ceased, Norman heard the back door slam, then Melba returned to the living room.

"Call me wicked, if you must, but I've finally done as I've been threatening ever since this one was born. I threw the baby out with the bathwater!"

The Dancer, by Gordon Lawrie

17/3/2017

The Man On The Moor, by Guy Fletcher

16/3/2017

The figure is indifferent to the biting wind now, rat poison curtailing the elderly man's existence high up on Saddleworth Moor.

He possessed no identification but cctv at Manchester Piccadilly and metal in his leg from Pakistan completed the jigsaw, but only to a degree.

He had lived in Pakistan for a decade but then hurried back to England. He was religious yet deserted by God in his final hours.

Who knows what secrets and demons lie and fester in the frightening, lonely land of the soul and why he travelled from bustling Lahore to stare sightlessly on Saddleworth Moor?

22nd Century Deal, by Kirsten Cameron

16/3/2017

‘You got the money?’

‘Don’t I always?’

‘Yeah. Just making sure.’ Jim deadbolted the door, his head whipped back to meet my gaze, ‘were you followed?’

‘No,’ what had gotten into Jimbo? ‘Ya right?’

‘Yeah, course.’ He peeked through one of the slits in the venetian blinds, shifted his weight from one foot to the other and scratched absently at his head before suddenly shifting his attention back to me, ‘why wouldn’t I be? What’ve ya heard?’

‘Nothing, Jimbo. You sure you’re okay?’

He sighed, ‘sorry man, big shipment, just paranoid. What d’ya need?’

‘Some Maltesers if you got ‘em.’

Ashes, by Lysette Cohen

16/3/2017

Branches scraped against sooted marble as the woman emerged from a deserted close. Darkened windows stared in empty judgement as she made her way down the sidewalk. Two men huddled together in a vacant doorway, passing a bottle between them. One took a swig, the other followed suit, their voices lost in the rumple of orange beards. Under the glow of a streetlight a busker sang in melodic tones. The woman’s feet propelled her forward until she was enveloped in memories of peat and salt she hadn’t dreamt in years. As the notes faded, she slipped back into the void.

Which Options? by Rodney Goodall

16/3/2017

Okay, I need to consider the consequences if the deal doesn’t work.
How many people can we carry and for how long?
“Mum, what is for lunch?”
“Go away”
Hmmm, if the deal fails, it looks like we have three months to broker another contract elsewhere, so who are those options?
“Mum, can we play outside?”
“Yes”
Who are the options?
“Mum, can we go next door?”
Silence.
Who are the options again?
“Mum?”
Glare.
Who are the options again?
“Mum?”
“Go away”
They have gone outside.
Now, who are the options again?
There is a tap on the window.

Jump Off Point, by Bobby Warner

15/3/2017

It's a scary ride. You pass rugged-looking outcroppings that could tear the cage apart if the wind should swing you over that far. That could happen any moment. Birds circle overhead, looking for food. You grow dizzy watching them.

It's a one-way ride. It's been a damned expensive trip, but it'll be worth every penny! I've always had plenty money, anyway, and rarely has it been worth having.

The cage jitters to a halt, and I step out. I stop at the sign that says JUMP OFF POINT--and I stretch out my arms, sprint ahead--and do just that.

The Monastery, by Bobby Warner

15/3/2017

Thurber learned of the monastery in an ancient tome he found in an out of the way bookstore. "I must go see for myself," he said, and immediately made arrangements.

The guide who spoke no English took him from a small village in the foothills. They climbed into high places, he, the guide, and an interpreter.

Below the summit of the hill the guide showed them into an ancient cave where kneeled a man who looked older than the world. "He has been praying for 300 years."

"How is this possible?" Thurber asked. The answer came: "Through faith."

Do You Seriously Mean What You Say? by Sankar Chatterjee

14/3/2017

The newly-elected President, via Twitter at 7.02 am in the morning, accused the past President – a Harvard graduate on constitutional law – of wiretapping his phone during last election. He provided no evidence to back-up his claims.

Ramesh Murthy, an immigrant Indian engineer, watched the TV President’s henchmen defend him, saying not to take his Twitter-feed seriously.

Murty pondered, "But the hate spewed by The President during all those election-speeches against the minority groups was the main reason why a white supremacist gunned down one of my fellow Indian colleagues, shouting 'Go back to the country from where you came from!'"

The Piper Beyond The Hill, by Bobby Warner

13/3/2017

Dad told me about him, many year ago. Now I hear his sweet clear notes from beyond yon hill. I grabs my gun, my coat, my pouch and box of shells, stick my bottle in my shirt, for medicinal purposes, of course.

Then out I go, a-huffin' and a-puffin', climbing up Hard Scratch Hill. When I catches him, what'll I have? All the pleasures my pa said he'd give--or a passel of demons lurkin' in the trees?

Never mind. My mind's made up. I gotta see for m'self.

"Wait up, Piper. Wait up for a curious old man!"

The Rebuild, by Russell Conover

11/3/2017

The baseball team was struggling. Try as they might, the players just couldn’t regain their top status in the league. Therefore, athletes were replaced or traded, and the team even moved to a new stadium. The changes were big, and the team had high hopes.

The stadium’s location on Pluto, while not ideal for Earthlings, certainly attracted more inter-universe fans. An issue, though, was gravity--or lack thereof. Not only did home runs now travel miles, but players often sailed into the air during games.

Interplanetary baseball, a failed experiment, caused Earthlings to appreciate things they previously took for granted.

Suicide Mission, by Bobby Warner

11/3/2017

"Here they come," Jake said. "Sounds like a whole troop."

"Yeah," Bolger said. "The more the merrier. Guess they finally came around to thinking we really do know something they can use. Let's just hope the general comes with them."

The door burst open and a dozen uniformed men, armed to the teeth, crowded into the room.

"I am General Valgier," one of them said. "You will now tell us all that we wish to know!"

Jake and Bolger grinned at the general, then bit down on the tiny explosive charges in their molars and the world about them exploded.

Alternative Ending, by Bruce Howard

11/3/2017

“I’ve just heard from Him and He is not happy. Says there’s only one worm. Tell me it’s not true, Shem.”

“They’re hermaphroditic, Dad.”

“So?”

“You only need one for the species to be able to continue.”

“For the sake of an as yet non-existent Son of God, didn’t you realise that this was going to be a test of intellect as well as faith?”

“It’s no big deal.”

“This is bloody typical, Shem. You’re always cutting corners. I should’ve given the job to your bro_”

Noah's words are cut short by the sound of splintering wood and gushing water.

When A Dad Is Always Right, by Sankar Chatterjee

10/3/2017

Vice-Admiral Avi Maitra, son of an Indian father and a Jewish-American mother enjoyed chicken tikka-masala at home, while attending Hebrew pre-school. Teased at school for his name, he would explain its Sanskrit-root of “fearlessness,” as in “someone who faced the fear but conquered it,” instead of “not afraid of fear”.

Once overseas, an e-message from his dad arrived semi-quoting late Nelson Mandela: “courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”

Then the follow-up line: “Wasn’t I always right? Dad”.

The Watchers, by Fliss Zakaszewska

10/3/2017

"It was only a tiny sound, so faint. Was someone knocking to come in… or imagination? It was easy to roll over and go back to sleep on a balmy summer’s night. It was cosy and warm in the cottage, nothing to fear.

Fifteen years rolled by, and the cottage continued to be a hive of activity as the family grew and left home. Every so often, the gentlest of knocking could be heard.

The builder came to replace the cracked ceiling. He shook his head.

“Oh dear. Didn’t you hear the tapping? Deathwatch Beetle’s eaten right through your timbers.

The Empty House, by Guy Fletcher

10/3/2017

It was only last year I heard the pitiful cry of, "Help, help, help."

At first I thought it was a cat, and for one selfish second, even contemplated ignoring the plea.

"You saved my life!" she exclaimed weakly.

Now she has gone. The photograph of her horrible son, whom she adored, will have disappeared like a ghost.

He rarely visited, except after her death, piling "useful" objects into his van like a vulture.

The house has curtains drawn and sleeps, but soon a new family will move in, unaware of its past. Oh, that is the natural order of things.

Just Another Interview, by Gordon Lawrie

10/3/2017

In the end, there were only two candidates for the job. She was experienced, qualified and talented. He had no experience, was quite unqualified, and if had talent, he’d managed to hide it well thus far.

The interview committee asked the candidates all the key questions. Have you ever looked after the children in your family? Do you play golf? Can you make good apple pie? Do you know any good dirty jokes? Do you think women should wear trousers or skirts?

Of course he got the position. If she couldn’t accept that, it would prove she really was unsuited.

Up On Lemon Hill, by Bobby Warner

9/3/2017

It's so peaceful, so beautiful, and that's why we come so often. This is our beloved spot, here atop Lemon Hill, where we can see the landscape for miles around.

We hold hands, and some sometimes think back to the day we decided to stay.A storm came up, dark clouds rolled, lightning forked down from the sky.

We ran quickly, but not quickly enough. A brilliant flash, then no more pain, no more sorrow.

Sometimes we look down at the cemetery and the tombstones with our names. Now we no longer have need for names, up here on Lemon Hill.

Bob Graham on Your Right Just Climbed Mt. Everest, by Sankar Chatterjee

9/3/2017

Arjun Singh, the local guide led Robert, Rumi and Sam through the labyrinths of local markets of Kathmandu, Nepal to the second floor of Rum Doodle, an iconic drink-hole for mountain climbers. Inside, the walls were plastered with paper-cut footprints, adorned with messages from climbers. Arjun whispered to Sam “On your right, Bob Graham from Australia: just climbed Mt. Everest.” The trio, enjoying the experience, started reading the historic messages from famous climbers.

This was in 2013. After Nepal’s devastating earthquake in 2015, the place relocated. Sam, returning to Kathmandu, now worries whether the place still retained its historic charm!

Skullduggery, by N. O. A. Rawle

8/3/2017

Jason laughed as the soap bubbles formed a skull on his washed hands.

Pure coincidence when he noticed tiny death’s heads woven into the silken swirls of his boss’s tie.

“I’m looking for them.” He muttered when they surfaced in his afternoon tea. Two medium size tea leaves above a bigger one, duel rows of five beneath.

That night in the pub, the boys threw darts. Their indents mocked him. He raised his pint in a mock salute.

“Think I can’t face you?” he screamed, dazzled by headlights, two medium sized above a bigger one, duel rows of five beneath.

On An International Women's Day Some Time In The Future, by Gordon Lawrie

8/3/2017

Old Mr Jones, by Ian Fletcher

8/3/2017

Up and down our road he goes on his daily walk.

He’d like to stop for a chat and tell stories of the old days, but none of us have time for that.

We have jobs to do, kids to look after.

He hasn’t looked too good recently, his walk now a totter and his smile a little senile.

Yet, when we see him coming we still cross to the other side.

One day soon he’ll pass away, but no one here will care and we’ll go on with our lives as if old Mr Jones had never been there.

Hired Gun, by Bobby Warner

6/3/2017

Gerald's wife's driver stopped him on the way to his car.

"Good morning, sir."

"Hi, Howard. What's up?"

"Can't help noticing the tension, sir. Anything I can help with? I was with Special Dark Forces in the military."

"Could you – "

"Yes, sir I could. Quick but not painless."

"I'll pay handsomely."

"Not you, sir. Your wife has already paid me. She wants me to let you know what's coming. You've got about five minutes to think about it." Howard took an automatic from his jacket, pointed it at Gerald's stomach. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt – a lot."

Says Me, by Oliver Lant

5/3/2017

“Oh sweet Jesus, I can’t seem to think up a decent story. And I feel too tired to actually put any work into anything. It’s like I’m typing on pin needles, every press of the button putting a prick of pain up my fingers. I just wish I could skip to the part where I’m actually good.” Says me.

“Stop being a little bitch.” Also, says me.

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