Happiness slouches at the reception desk, legs akimbo. The phone rings and her eyes roll. She monotones “Goodmorninghowcanihelp?” into the receiver before saying “no Dr Mohammed’s not here now, call back later” and jams the phone down. She rocks gently in the swivel chair, a nasal inhaler dangling from one nostril. Dr Mohammed is standing in front of her, patiently waiting to give her some scanning. Continue reading “Clinic”
As featured on the Volume Magazine blog.
It’s Friday. I’ve got my ticket. The jackpot is £112million. I could win it all.
“Have you got your ticket?” I ask Sue who sits across from me.
“Ticket for what?” Sue says. She looks at me.
“The Euromillions. It’s a rollover. You could win £112million. Aren’t you going to buy a ticket?”” Continue reading “Release The Balls”
Given an honorable mention by the Five Stop Story competition Oct 2011.
Cars were crying in the road. Sorrowful Mazdas sobbed shrilly, tears collecting in their bumpers, while smaller vehicles, one Ford Ka in particular, let out piercing bouts of electronic histrionics. It was the rain, throwing moist boulders down to street level, lolloping parcels of saliva from a heavenly mouth that slooped on contact with metal roofs, boots and bonnets. Despite the screeching, Karen would have given anything to be in a car right now. Continue reading “159”
Story for Issue 7 of The Read Horse: Silence, Obsession & Daytime TV.
Outside it is cold but bright, a perfect November, but inside it’s snowing sideways. White noise is coming from Dave’s wood lacquered TV set. It’s so old and swollen that the legs of the stand are buckled and it barely stays upright. Nonetheless, static snow is flaking outwards from the glass dome on a collision course for Dave’s face. The heater is on full flow so the heavy atmosphere captures each flake and the static moves slowly as if held in setting resin. Like the universe expanding; like Dave’s universe expanding. Continue reading “Mania, He Wrote”