Tag Archives: his

Sclater Street

Posted on by under 2024, Feb 2024 - Crossroads

Sclater Street, Brick Lane, and Cheshire Street don’t quite form a crossroads. There’s half a house difference, where 182 Brick Lane forms a dog leg with Cheshire Street. But that’s what the comrades called it.

“Meet you at the Brick Lane crossroads,” Mikey said at the branch meeting. “Sunday. Early. Make sure you get there before the trots.”

Rich and Larry nodded, joined in with the Internationale, then wandered off into the Whitechapel night, hoods high against the rain, not talking. Rich didn’t like Larry. He was flaky and didn’t have the level of commitment Rich thought appropriate for a true revolutionary, so it was no surprise when he found a note pushed through his door the next morning. It said, “Can’t make it, sorry. Larry.”hoods high against the rain, not talking. Rich didn’t like Larry. He was flaky and didn’t have the level of commitment Rich thought appropriate for a true revolutionary, so it was no surprise when he found a note pushed through his door the next morning. It said, “Can’t make it, sorry. Larry.”

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Of Fish and Fossils

Posted on by under 2024, January 2024 - A winters tale

Colonel Halcro considered the relative merits of the two options. “Accommodations comfortable and elegant, the surrounding countryside abounding with objects of antiquarian interest.” That descriptor would appeal to his lady-wife. His own preference was Flett’s Private Board and Lodgings, “reasonable rates, on-site availability of books for shooting and fishing, guns for hire, the Dog-Cart available for resident parties, refreshments good and cheap, and the plentiful supply of firewood.” The decision was made. Susan was a reasonable soul, hardened by the realities for military wives returned from the colonies. If Halcro was contented, she could almost persuade herself that she was. If both, then no contest. She envisaged a restful week together but apart, the short Scottish days, Halcro up to his thighs in waders, casting into the Sound, or lining up his sights for the grouse, whilst she, intrepid amateur female archaeologist, continued in the Dog Cart to the fossil site, pointing trowel and extractor hammer in hand. Cosy evenings before the blazing fire in the panelled drawing room would follow, then later maybe a rekindling of the passionate nights of their early marriage.

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The Snowman

Posted on by under 2024, January 2024 - A winters tale

Harry’s Nike Air Jordans branded the snow as he sprinted across the lawn. This time last year, when his only worry was whether he’d find said trainers under the tree, he’d wished for a white Christmas. Now, the weight of the world on his shoulders, he had bigger things to wish for. Like a Dad who wasn’t in prison, and an end to the creeping dread that something evil lurked inside him, too.

“Exciting, huh?” came a shaky voice. He turned to see old Mr. Morris from next door leaning against the gate, a silvery puff of breath escaping from behind his scarf.

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The Chimes of Freedom

Posted on by under 2024, January 2024 - A winters tale

‘Which one of us would do it?’

            ‘He targeted my daughter. It should be me.’

            ‘You’d really…?’

            ‘Could I actually just go in there and…? Let me think. Smother him? Yes, yes I could.’

            ‘We might not need to, Natasha. I’ve not been feeding him.’

            ‘You’ve been cutting back on his meals?’

            ‘I’ve not given him any food in seven days. Just water.’

            ‘He’s looking very gaunt, Annette. Do you mean you’ve been deliberately…?’

            ‘I want him dead. I hate him. This way we just say he wouldn’t eat, we say he…’

            ‘Refused food… we say he didn’t want to live any more with the pain of the cancer… we…’

            ‘We wait two more days. He can’t last out if we starve him.’

/

            In his studio they looked at the paintings, many of them of themselves in the first flush of puberty, thin, uncomfortable, unhappy, all naked. Natasha remembered him painting Annette many times, then her turn came. She didn’t quite know what was going on. It’s art, darling, her mother insisted, keep still for Daddy and stop complaining. Her mother had practically pimped her. Creation from exploitation? That wasn’t art. Post-Jimmy Saville his reputation had crashed. Now he was reviled by many, his works removed from galleries. Quite right. Burn them all. A vile paedophile.

His sister though believed they had aesthetic value, said each haunted portrait revealed her mixed feelings: fear of her father and her unbreakable connection to him.

/

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The Song for the Solstice Festival

Posted on by under 2024, January 2024 - A winters tale

Duke Donskoy spoke to his servant Ivan: “In wintertime the rare Almaz birds come to roost in our land. Their stay here is fleeting, only for a few days do they rest before departing to remoter regions. Since this is the first solstice festival that I will preside over, an Almaz shall sing its song for us.”

Ivan replied: “Ah sir, those birds are strong, nimble, and alert to everything around them. To capture one is an impossibility. Men of your father’s and grandfather’s courts tried and failed to achieve such a task.”

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All-in

Posted on by under 2023

“Do you remember… our games?” the old man struggled to speak. “I used to call you… Miss Fortune”.

On his first night at the casino, he was eager to play with the money his father gifted him. That’s when they first met. That night, as all nights that followed, she wore red: a slim-fit dress, high heels, and vibrant lipstick to match it. She was the goddess who joined them, mere people.

“Sure,” Miss Fortune replied, sitting beside his bed in the hospital. “And you were right.”

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The Seed and the Shell

Posted on by under 2023

Dimitri walked the beaten path from his small town in Hostre, to the familiar fields of grain that he’d admired since childhood. The fresh dew sat lackadaisically on a blade of grass; its slumber abruptly disturbed by the compression of Dimitri’s leather bound foot. His impact paled in comparison to the indelible impression bestowed upon the wider area. During the previous season, the land had been disturbed by heavy machinery, the earth turned over and upon itself, revealing the darker soil below.

“Big machines, operated by large men, led by those with gargantuan egos.” He pondered aloud.

 His fixation upon his outer surroundings caused a momentary lapse in perception. Dimitri’s foot discovered a deep puddle, which had been considerately filled with fresh rainwater. His right foot and shin now completely submerged and subsequently sodden.

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Fire Works

Posted on by under 2023, Nov 2023 - Fireworks

“How was it?” Alfie screwed his eyes in concentration and anticipating the usual sotto voce response, leaned forward in his riser-recliner. He had declined the invite to the Council’s Annual Fireworks Display. Storm Ciarán was rolling in.

            “Brilliant!; not the wash-out expected.” Fiona’s explosive response caught him unawares. Hovering on the remote (retaining maximum control over his environment was important), his hand reacted in a surprised tremor. The chair, rented courtesy of his son, responded to the manual “rise” command; Alfie slid to the floor, pinned under the strategically placed wheely frame, a gift from his daughter.

            “Fuck Me… Save me from this hell.”   On his back, glasses dislodged, Alfie surveyed the intricate cornicing and central rose of the “small lounge.” The tantalising mistiness of detail recalled to mind that entertainment he and his late wife had so enjoyed at the Couples Parties before any of the seven veils had been removed. Sporadic pyrotechnics of private parties continued outside; Roman Candles, Peonies, and Diadems were corralled in raindrops as they burst across the uncurtained picture window.

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I Am Lucy

Posted on by under 2023, November 2023 - Fireworks

A new message flashes. The little icon with her photo, all Bambi-eyes and dimples, sets his heart racing. And then there’s that other feeling. The one he shouldn’t have for someone her age. The one that twists his stomach and clamps his jaw tight.

The curtains are drawn, as always. His secrets fester like bacteria in the stale air, seeping into the furniture. They clutter every surface, filthy as the plates that litter his room. He cannot risk them spreading beyond the confines of this house. Not like they did in the old neighbourhood.

These new neighbours seem friendly. They posted that ‘Welcome’ note through his door, with the link to the community Facebook group. That’s where the fireworks display was advertised. And where he found the laughably easy to access local youth chatroom. Honestly, this lot could do with some internet safety training.

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That Wretched Mr. Linklater

Posted on by under 2023, Nov 2023 - Fireworks

The locals of East Hardwick made a habit of not burning a certain Catholic terrorist come the fifth of November as expected, but instead set alight whomever they disliked.

Mrs. Monks burnt a copy of her cheating husband, Charlie Lanker burnt a dummy modelled after his schoolteacher, who in turn set alight a many headed hydrae, bearing the faces of her worst students.

On this Guy Fawks night, Kevin Warick had built, a perfect likeness of the dreadful Mr. Samuel Linklater, down to that self-impressed, almost snarling smile.

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Carol

Posted on by under 2023, November 2023 - Fireworks

Watkins, a whole platoon in a single body, clumsily barged open the door. The committee room became a lot more crowded with his entrance. ‘They can’t deliver today,’ he said.

            Davies, his face communion wafer white, said, ‘Why not?’

            ‘Strike at the depot.’

            ‘For the best,’ said Jones.

            ‘This is going to be a success!’ Davies insisted.

            ‘It’s meant to be a do to celebrate Phil’s passing, for god’s sake.’ Jones sat up aggressively in his chair. ‘Why do we need bloody fireworks?’

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WATCHING THE FIREWORKS

Posted on by under 2023, November 2023 - Fireworks

While the world waited for Armageddon with tightly clenched fists, tear-stained faces, and racing thoughts, Sir Michael Peckham waited for morning.

He glanced at the silent smart-slab sitting insouciantly on his bedside table. It said “02:14 – 5 Nov” on its face, but it was the things it wasn’t saying he was most interested in. He wanted it to ring and not to. A conflict of such breadth it seemed analogous to the sabre rattling provided nightly on the talking head shows. The hawks and the doves making cases for greater or lesser annihilation.

For two weeks, the world stood on a precipice, while his world sank into the abyss.

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Billy and the curse

Posted on by under 2023, October 2023 - The Curse
Granny Herbs House

As the bell rang young Billy Thomas barged his way out. Racing off he headed into the woods above the school Megan’s words echoing in his head: ”I’m sorry Billy we can’t be friends anymore.”

She had  just walked away from him.

Gasping for breath he threw himself onto the floor. What had he done? He and Megan had been like brother and sister. They had played together for as long as Billy could remember.

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My curse is …

Posted on by under 2023, October 2023 - The Curse

“I don’t fear death,” said Polypherous, “I fear not being able to say something original about it.”

As he sauntered across the freshly blackened road, its newly laid tar still odorous, to Quinit’s bakery on the corner of Beach Street, where the paving stones were still reddened by the blood of martyrs, and overflowing flowers in iron baskets bedecking the sills of tiny apartments filled with shouting boat-wives, hung like curtains, affording cool in the midday heat, he turned to Archegoron walking alongside, and asked him, “Do you fear death, Arch?”

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Fulfilling the terms of the Curse

Posted on by under 2023, October 2023 - The Curse

Carmichael’s curse came true.

She proclaimed in her base voice that Angus, Sean, and Ian would never see their twenty first birthdays.

“You’re all going to die,” she cackled.

And sure enough, they did.

Angus was the first to go, dropping dead in Spain, whilst partying with his college chums, Sean meanwhile died during his missionary work in China. Both croaked at the stroke of midnight on the eve of their birthdays.

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The Krill Bay Mysteries: chapter 1.

Posted on by under 2023, Sept 2023 - Music

The Krill Bay Mysteries: chapter 1.

Brian knew a good deal about Eric’s life story from the first research interview. What he didn’t know was that Eric’s life (but definitely not his story) was going to reach its final destination in one hour and thirty minutes. Nor did Brian know that Eric’s account of his past in the next forty-five minutes would contain (if anyone cared to listen and adequately interpret) the answer to why he died. This, the second interview, began at 2:30 pm Eastern Time in a small room in Krill Bay’s large central library.

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Still Life

Posted on by under 2023, August 2023 - Loss

He strokes the canvas. With his eyes closed, and with a gentle enough touch, he can almost convince himself that he is feeling her skin, petal-soft, beneath his fingers. How he misses the feel of her. He can look at photos, listen to recordings, smell her perfume. But the sensation of his skin on hers, that can never be revisited. He swallows the lump in his throat.

In front of him, a meticulously mixed palette of colours – her colours, matched to the exact shade of her eyes, skin, lips and hair – glistens in the hazy garage light. It is as though she is here, all the parts of her, just waiting to be put back together. The thought brings him comfort. She has not gone, not really. Not when she can be re-created again and again, each time a greater likeness. If he just keeps going, perhaps he can conjure her back from the dead. He wields his paintbrush like a magic wand. A super-power, that’s what this is. This artistic gift of his. Dare he say it, he’s a God of sorts, if you really think about it.

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Losing the Lumps

Posted on by under 2023, August 2023 - Loss

Randolph Crow remembered his boy Martin as an excited ten-year-old, leaping out of bed Saturday morning and hurrying to the local library two miles away, before returning arms loaded with books on moths and roaches. His bedroom was transformed into a museum of mounted bugs.

An obsession that, Martin’s old man noted with some relief, was replaced with a love of chemistry in his teen years.

At an age when one should be sullen and moody, Martin had the bright-eyed look of a curious toddler, treating the world like a big playground, his bedroom now a laboratory of powders and test tubes.

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Perplexed

Posted on by under 2023, August 2023 - Loss

Mike Hoban was sitting in the armchair of his apartment in Finchley, London. At his feet, Amanda Abraham, his girlfriend, was working on a quilt she’d started just before Christmas. Mike is reading “The World According to Garp”.

“Is that good?” Amanda asked without looking up.

“Very,” Mike replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever read anything like it.”

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