Short stories

These are some of my published short stories….

Published by 1000 words in July 2013

All Out of Sorry

It was 45 degrees and there was no air conditioning. Nothing, nada, not even the dribble of a breeze from the vents.

“Would you quit it? Banging isn’t gonna do much use.”

“At least I’m trying to do something. Not just lying there in a heap.”

Caroline was spread across the bedspread using her dress as a fan. Each lift showed off a pair of pink lacy knickers.

“Well what would you rather I did? Join you in your drumming exercise until the thing falls off the wall and we get landed with a huge bill?” She squirmed on the covers and pushed herself upwards to sit against the headboard.

“Okay then what do you suggest I do?”

“I dunno, Alex. Take a cold shower, do star jumps outside, get some bloody ice. I really don’t care.”

She only said bloody when she was mad. It was her version of shit or fuck and she delivered it with the same ferocity despite it being full of flat consonants.

“Geez, relax.”

“What did you say?” Her face became a mangle of lips and eyes, one taut and the other gleaming.

“Nothing. I just think you should calm down, you know relax.”

“Relax. You want me to relax? Are you bloody kidding me? After all you’ve done. After all we’ve had to go through just to get to this craphole. And all you can do is go on about the bloody air conditioning.”

Crap was another word she used as a substitute for real curse words. A fact I was not about to bring up at that moment.

“If you’re hot, Alex, I suggest you go outside, drive to the nearest beach or swimming pool and drown yourself.”

I wanted to laugh but couldn’t. Feared that any hint of hilarity would send her totally over the edge.

“Fine. I’ll go get some ice.”

“You do that.”

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Published by Wordlegs in their Summer issue 2012

The Americas

Quiet, that’s what it’s meant to be. I thought that’s what libraries are for. Fuck knows I can’t get it at home. They’re not even trying to be quiet; that loud whisper people usually do to be polite or stop others listenin’ to what’s being said. They do it at school, hear the swish of words as I pass, knives in my back. Not that I care. Let ‘em talk – it’s not as if I haven’t thought it myself or heard it before.

The phone’s ringing now, pounding my brain.

Is anyone gonna answer it?

Can you just fuckin’ answer it?


What’s the point in Spanish anyway? It’s not as if I’m ever gonna use it. Have the cash to go anywhere they speak it.

“You can use it loads of places not only Spain. There’s the Americas you know.” Johnny always gets things wrong, facts back to front like he has dyslexia only with information not letters. He thinks he knows everythin’, a master of knowledge. Intellectual is what he calls himself. He even has a profile picture of ‘The Brain’ on Facebook. I keep telling him nobody watches that cartoon, it’s ancient. But he doesn’t care. Is happy havin’ a mouse with an oversized head that wants to take over the world as his identity.

I hate it, all this technology crap. People bangin’ on about how many friends they have, taggin’ each other in pictures – doing nothin’ but look bleary eyed with a pair of fingers over someone’s head. What’s the point? It’s not as if they have anythin’ interesting to say, anythin’ that really matters. Fuck it, most of them live in a world I don’t know – can’t recognise. If they lived my life that would be somethin’, really somethin’ to go on about.

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Published by Wordlegs in their Winter 2010 issue

Mission Improbable

Alan, Carl and John are positioned at the starting line. The three have been friends for as long as they can remember. Now they face the ultimate test. The difficult terrain and dangerous obstacles mean that the chance of success is slim. Despite the high risk a mass of bodies pour out and around the ticker tape. Anticipation pulses through the crowd and determination masks the face of each competitor. This is what they have all been waiting for. In fact it is what they were born to do.

The trinity have agreed that friendship will not get in the way. The race is wide open and each plan to play to their strengths. The largest and oldest, Alan is broad and strong, a formidable opponent. Tall and muscular, Carl is built like an Olympic athlete both in agility and stamina. The smallest of the group, John is lean but speedy making him difficult to overtake.

The tension is palpable as starting time approaches. Each contender casts their line of vision from left to right, sizing up the myriad of opponents.
“Welcome to the race of your lives gentleman.”
A melodic voice booms from deep within the cavern ahead. Consonants and vowels rebound off the thick walls.
“As you know, only one of you can win. Rules do not exist, and it can be ugly and brutal. The only piece of advice I can give you is to use every advantage available.” The voice pauses for effect.
“The majority of you will not make it. Get ready and good luck.”
The stark pep talk seems to unnerve the crowd, and disgruntlement spreads like a virus. Not to be distracted, the three friends use the opportunity to weave through the throng and position themselves in the front row.

From beneath a rumble sounds. In unison they turn to each other and incline their heads in a nod. It is a gesture filled with so much; camaraderie, hope and resolve.

A series of tickling waves make the ground quake. The floor becomes unsteady and starts to shake violently. Mayhem ensues as half of the rows are catapulted forward into the darkness and the others are pelted backwards. Amidst the confusion a gun shot roars.

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