Tag Archives: he

Back from the war

Posted on by under 2022, Oct 2022 - The Visitor

I feel the air in the room change suddenly, like the slightest breath of a breeze on a summer’s day. The candle flames flicker briefly, almost imperceptibly.

He’s here. Soft, silent, catlike, he crosses the floor, and I pretend to ignore him, pretend he’s not there. After all, I’m not expecting anyone today, least of all him, who I sent off to The Great War many months ago.

He’d promised to come back, in that way that young soldiers often do, filling the hearts of those they leave behind with love and hope. Hope that, sadly, is all too often dashed on the rocks with a letter from whichever Government minister it is these days who’s happy to send others out to die, whilst he sits in restaurants with carefully curated menus spending public funds.

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Going Back

Posted on by under 2022, Oct 2022 - The Visitor

Kelleher was struggling to remember. He’d been walking for ages. Days? There’d been a wide river, a bridge, cars strewn across it, some in flames. Or had he dreamt that? There’d been towns, wrecked, as if a colossal foot had stamped on them. Fields, miles of them, just cinders. And his brain had just kept saying: go west.

            Was he in shock? He’d hunger pangs, felt as numb as a corpse, and his mouth was dry, aching for a drop of water. And now before him a road with a line of stationary lorries, some kind of building, and the sea. Was it a ferry port?

            At the entrance was a gaggle of humanity: fearful eyes, pinched faces, everybody seemingly distracted. Was that how he looked?

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And he didn’t live happily ever after

Posted on by under 2022, Sept 2022 - The End

“That’s,” Mrs Lupin said in her soothing tone, “the end.”

Five faces of varying comprehension looked up from their slender copies of Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, rewritten for the under fifteens. One kid was interested, two were indifferent, another was confused, and the last was… well…

This classroom was nick-named the Retard Ward, or Spaz Town by the normal kids, and to be sure, some pupils were hopeless. Jake Mears, for instance. Fourteen years old but already in trouble with the police for hot-wiring a motorbike.

Other kids were struggling with Asperger’s or dyslexia, and a few were… not that bright. They’d probably slide through the school system to start work at the local firestone factory because who else would take them?

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Will It Never End?

Posted on by under 2022, Sept 2022 - The End

I hadn’t meant to do it. I guess I’d just had enough.

Looking back over the years we were married, it’s hard to pinpoint when it all started. He’d always been a bit of a moaner, it’s just that I didn’t know that he would turn into a professional one.

Nothing was ever really good enough for him. That included anything and everybody. He could find fault where there was none.

I really don’t know why I went along with it for all those years. I suppose I thought I could change him, eventually bring him around to my point of view. I was wrong.

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Burial

Posted on by under 2022, Sept 2022 - The End
Priest with glowing eyes in front of crying children

That time in the quays when his da had gone to the toilet. O’ Flaherty, his smirk as big as the froth on his stout, had put his hand on his knee, then moved it higher to his genitals. Keegan had had the sense to stand up and follow his father.

            ‘Full bladder, son?’

            Keegan told the old man what had happened. The latter’s face became hard, dark like the exterior of Kilmainham jail. ‘And him a priest!’ On returning, he said, ‘There’ll be no more welcome in our house for that bastard.’       

            Now Keegan was the sole mourner at his burial. Why had he come?  

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Paintings of the Mind

Posted on by under 2022, August 2022 - Envy

Your two-up two-down is in a row of terraces on a scratch of land between Manchester and Stockport: a molehill overlooked by high-rise concrete. A secret pleasure is flicking through channels while he’s out at his club. A hundred stations yet nothing on. Then you are held by a figure, grey hair, less a face than a tombstone resting on a neck. An air of gravitas in that stony apparition. You pay attention.

            The figure, well-spoken, a smoker’s cough like brown smog, is talking about his ‘artistic evolution’. The Slade, the teachers and influencers, the bohemian friends: names are dropped like Pollock paint splashes. A commitment all his years to art and sculpture; up at six a.m., seven days a week. He mentions the well-off family he’d rebelled against. They’d come round when fame’s sprig had bedecked him. He could afford to rebel, of course. Opportunities in his palm like a purse of ducats.

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Chancer

Posted on by under July 2022 - Chance

A group of boys were pouring over the local paper, gasping as they read the article. ‘Local Boy Jailed For Armed Robbery.’

            Reminiscing, the boys thought back to their school days. Owen had always been a chancer. Selling cigarettes to anyone behind the bike shed for tuppence for one, nicking them from his brothers’ hoard in the shed. He unscrewed the clasp on the door, bypassing the padlock put on after an unfortunate incident with some mushrooms.

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Harry Cashman

Posted on by under 2022, July 2022 - Chance
Man in suit screams into the void. Woman lies dead in pool of blood.

Harry stood in the doorway, his jackdaw black suit hugging him like a second skin, a bunch of flowers dangling from almost limp fingers.

Two nights away. A conference in Bournemouth. Thirty blokes getting drunk and talking about writing down expenses. From day one, he just wanted to get home to his wife, Sarah. He spoke to her last night in the casual terms of long familiarity.

“Love you.”

“Love you, three.”

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I can travel through time

Posted on by under 2022, June 2022 - Time

“I can travel through time,” the murderer explained.

Ah, of course. PC Milo, the officer tasked with the interrogation, pondered if Roger Sheen had a brain tumour or was perhaps banking on an insanity plea.

Sheen had no history of violence or aggression, was an honours student at college as a matter of fact and hadn’t as far as anyone knew even met Luke Moore before.

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Nine Times

Posted on by under 2022, June 2022 - Time

Mam was in a jumpy phase. Carl had been hoping her new boyfriend would bring her some calmness. After all, Astro had been patient with him. He’d taught him songs, and school stuff like showing him how to remember his tables.

            ‘If you feel that way about me, you can go!’ Mam was saying. Her face was red, her eyes wild like that panicking horse he’d see on tv, and which he kept thinking about in bed when the light was off.

            There were days when Mam seemed to be in a hurry like a racing car round a circuit. Other days she was quiet, didn’t want to go out, was touchy. She took medication to help her condition, but she was still a different person from one week to the next. Was her medicine worsening things? He worried about that sometimes.

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The Nexterday Pot Affair etm.

Posted on by under 2022, June 2022 - Time

Inspector Camden Ironbell glared through the taxi window. He sighed and stroked his long beard. It would have been quicker to walk, he thought. He turned to his sergeant, who had her head stuck in a magazine.

“What are you reading, Lightwarble?”

Umros Lightwarble held up the magazine so he could see the cover. “Scientific Gnomus.”

“I see.” He raised an eyebrow. In his opinion, young Gnomes spent far too much time on human science and not enough on old-fashioned magic. “And WHAT is the article about?”

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When You Scratch the Surface

Posted on by under 2022, May 2022 - Hero

An obituary published in the local paper caught Martha’s eye.

“Poor Mr. Aldridge has passed away.”

Martha’s husband hid behind his Times, “Humph” his reply.

“Do you think we should attend his funeral. He doesn’t have any friends that I know of.”

“Humph.”

Martha knew Mr. Aldridge enough to say hello, him not being very social or active in the neighbourhood. The thought of his funeral being unattended was unthinkable. On a chilly but bright morning Martha wandered down to the church with a bouquet of flowers from her garden. Walking up the path of the churchyard, she noticed a crowd of military men all in full-dress uniform. She hesitated slightly, and a gentleman behind her urged her on. Walking into the church, she marvelled at the beautiful flowers; half the pews were full of military men. Sidling into the back pews, she watched the ceremony.

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Scottie the Brave

Posted on by under 2022, May 2022 - Hero

On his haunches outside the toilet, whimpering. Of course his mistress would return. But what if she stayed there for ever, studying the face she saw reflected in the tiny pool fixed on the wall above the sink?

            Anxious? Indeed. He hadn’t forgotten his first eight years, had he? Living in a shed, Mr Phillips cursorily leaving him food, then ignoring him. Occasionally the house dogs, big as buses, would come out and get angry with him. ‘Outsider!’ they would snarl. ‘Stay out of our house. Not welcome!’ One of them, an Alsatian called Farage, the head on him the size of his shed, bit him once him on top of his skull. Mr Phillips had put a bit of rag over the cut, muttering, ‘Now what’ve you been up to? Flipping nuisance!’

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Behind the scenes

Posted on by under 2022, May 2022 - Hero

I met with my hero twice a day, everyday. Morning and night. He wasn’t your average hero, he didn’t wear a cape, or fly, nor did he have highly advanced technology. He was small, white, round and tasted of talcum powder. He did have superpowers, he could fight against illness, look after me and was very strong.

Yes, he was a tablet. My hero was a tablet.

We first met when his fellow tablets couldn’t handle me. He was recommended by the doctor because he was so strong. I did some research on him. Found out what his strengths and weakness were. If I were to work with this fella, let him into my life, I needed to know who he was.

He seemed suitable.

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Your Friendly Neighbourhood GP

Posted on by under 2022, May 2022 - Hero

Mavis Potter reclined in her seat, her body visibly deflating.

‘That’s such a relief, Dr Parker. I was certain it was a brain tumour. Thank you for seeing me out of hours again. You really are a hero.’

            ‘Just doing my job. The migraine should subside soon, and the tablets will help. In future, remember that stress can be a trigger – that includes googling symptoms.’

            Dr Paul Parker’s smile reached the corners of his eyes, kindness radiating out of him. Mavis basked in it for a moment. A visit to the GP was as good as a holiday.

            She floated out of the surgery. ‘Thank you, Dr!’

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Fairytale 22

Posted on by under 2022, April 2022 - Magic

The credits rolled over the screen as he stood to turn off the television after their normal Saturday night animated film, as if it was a routine action.

“Do you think we need fairies?” she asked jokingly as she stretched after lying awkwardly for the past half an hour.

“No of course not,” he smiled as he started tickling her feet. “Our fairy tale consists of takeaways, laughter, cuddles and adventure.”

She giggled uncontrollably as she tried to wiggle away from her tickle monster.

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To The Lighthouse

Posted on by under March 2022 - Things aren't what they seem

It was a good day for it. The sea glimpsed through bare branches was grey, but towards the lighthouse it shimmered beneath the southerly sun. A long walk to the pier but, yes, it had to be today.

            He walked along the prom crab-slow, a dignified figure, like a priest approaching the altar. These last few months exhaustion had been his companion when he woke up, his antagonist as the day wore on, and his tormentor in the evening hours before he collapsed into bed again.

Before him the distant lighthouse was like a stub of drawing chalk in a sandcastle, and the small houses in Mumbles fought for light amid the up-thrusting copses. He knew his end was approaching. Perhaps his feckless son would empty his house afterwards, perhaps the council would. None of it mattered any more. Just Jane. He didn’t want Jane left alone in the house after he’d passed.  

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Almost

Posted on by under 2022, February 2022 - Wealth

Billy Thomas and the boys met at the edge of the village. Maldwyn, the farmer, had promised them sixpence each if they cleared a field of potatoes. Armed with sandwiches and bottles of water they wandered up to the field. Maldwyn showed them how to do the job.

Toiling away, they split the field into sections and a competition started. Billy really wanted to win, so he was tugging each plant and throwing his catch into the wooden crate. As the day wore on, they were all tiring; time for a break. Laying against the wall petty rivalry and squabbling broke out, each convinced they would win. 

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Pumpkins

Posted on by under 2022, February 2022 - Wealth

            Smayle’s concrete grey face was a Niagara of perspiration. War was ongoing with the slugs and snails. He had three large dustbins on his plot, where he mulched food waste into fertiliser. Little burrowing creatures got in there sometimes, and partook of dinner. Birds, butterflies, and he didn’t know what, slipped under the netting around some of his raised beds. But none of them had inflicted damage on his most prized growth: his pumpkins. His wheelbarrow bulged with them, fat, comfortable, like the heads of yellow turbaned oriental aristocracy.

None of the other allotment holders grew them in such volume Once fully grown these mighty plumped fellows were allowed access to his house, just yards from the allotment gate. Sometimes there were so many, he believed they could practically march down there in military columns.

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Djerik and the Magic Mirror – a Child’s Fable

Posted on by under 2022, February 2022 - Wealth

Tourdor stole a secret recipe book from a brewer and set himself up as the kingdom’s best innkeeper. Without it, he could not enjoy the wealth to which he had become accustomed, so he stuck a notice on his door: “Wanted! Three stout fellows to guard my secret.”

An old man with a white beard approaches him.

“I will guard it.”

Tourdor says he wants a stronger man.

The man points a wand at a barrel and lifts it across the bar.

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