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Submitted to Contest #258
Ivan steered the beautifully smooth Mercedes E220 between the close kerbs of the single-track lane that led to the Long House, slowing for speed bumps and potholes, mindful of the fine machine’s low profile tyres and lean ground clearance. The car seemed to get smoother and quieter every mile he drove it. Right now, it was a few minutes after seven thirty in the evening. The early July Solway sun shone golden from a clear blue sky. The six-hour drive from south-west London had been the easiest he could remember in more than thirty years on t...
Submitted to Contest #238
Far within the dark panelled, richly furnished, insanely, recklessly safe lair of the Predator, the Client raised the lead crystal tumbler, luxuriating in its delicious heaviness, swirling the smoked amber nectar, inhaling the Islay malt’s rich, woody bouquet as the flickering flames from the hearth danced in its fiery depths. “Show me the tools of your trade,” she said. The Predator smiled. He had been anticipating this moment. He set down his own glass. The Client had probably guessed her host was drinking apple juice, or something equally...
Submitted to Contest #236
The Bains are a happy family of three. It’s a typical Saturday. Carl Bain and his twelve-year-old daughter Sylvia are having a day out at the local museum. Sylvia is intrigued by the cow cream jugs, moulded ceramic farm animals with a hole in their back for filling, and an open mouth for the spout. “Dad, it’s like the cows vomit the cream up,” Sylvia laughs. Carl smiles and gives his daughter’s shoulder a fatherly shove.In the next room, Carl stops. “Well, I’ll be…”Sylvia asks him what’s wrong.“Nothing,” he says. “It’s just the things in her...
Submitted to Contest #225
Sensitive content: Incest as a manifestation of evilIt was one minute to midnight, on Wednesday, 25th April, 1979, the eve of Oyna’s eighteenth birthday. Unforgiving and unblinking, Oyna’s ice-cold gaze slid, slowly and carefully, up and down the naked female body on bold, fully frontal display before her. Complemented by raven black, shoulder-long straight hair, her perfect, alabaster skin gave onto mathematically pure, smooth-shaded curves of breast, waist and rounded rear. Be it in the eye of the beholder or out there in the objectiv...
Submitted to Contest #141
Sometimes, Tony Gordon reflected, the best pleasures in life are simple, and free. He basked in relief as he drained his bladder, visceral satisfaction enriched by the long, exquisite fart he simultaneously let rip. Just as well he was alone in the restaurant’s bathroom. The dark, heavy fetor embraced him like a lover as he finished and zipped.Washing his hands, his deflated colon and de-stressed waterworks lending him a strong sense of well being, he marvelled at the restorative power of simply emptying a couple of body cavities. Tony’s deg...
Submitted to Contest #136
“You’ll never know unless you try,” encouraged Gordon Ramsay, as they watched the silver streaked water bubbling in the moonlight. They were a little way off from the rest of the group, the gurgle of the burn mingling with the distant chatter and laughter. A faint tang of smoke - bonfire, tobacco, and other substances - drifted across in the still air. It was Friday 12 August, 2022. Kirkton Burn had become a regular weekend gathering place for the group of friends, all in S5 at Thursfield High. Aged 17, they were due to take their Highers t...
Submitted to Contest #135
Simeon Dharsh twirled his glass and shook his head. “I don’t buy it,” he said, with decisive finality. “I mean, if the universe is run by an all-powerful deity, why is there suffering and death? Who makes bad shit happen?”Shona Drien tried her best not to look condescending. “Simeon, it’s way more complicated than that. God is all-powerful, yes, but there is still evil, sin and wickedness in the world. That state of affairs is reconciled by theodicy, the vindication of God. You see, it has to be that way. There simply must be suffering, for ...
Submitted to Contest #134
2068: Destination I got the best view in the god-damned solar system. From here, I can pinch the whole shebang between my thumb and first finger; sun, planets and all. And I got the rest of my life to enjoy it. Human eyes have never before seen this blue and black horizon. It goes from pale sunrise to full dark every forty-five minutes. The Sun is pretty weak here, though you still wouldn’t want to stare at it without your shades. At this distance, anything I send home takes four and a half hours, more or less, at the speed of light. I su...
Submitted to Contest #133
Friday, 7 May, 2021Behind tightly clenched eyelids, Bastian Schulz summoned a painful vision of ash blonde and sapphire blue, pert, cheeky and gorgeous, beneath a white woollen cap. Their last winter, a mere memory now. And there would never be another. He dared not open his eyes, for he knew his tears, already hotly prickling, would flow down his face and betray him.A sudden explosion of breaking crockery shook his resolve. He blinked as everything swam into focus. Another crash, as a teacup shattered, hurled with considerable force to the ...
Submitted to Contest #132
In the garden“Are you there, Lord? It’s me, Amelie.”It has been a long night in the garden. She has spent every hour in prayer, with barely a break.The gnarled olive trees stay mute, save for the hiss of the dawn wind through their branches, upper twigs waving like the thin, sharp-nailed fingers of a demented witch as she casts a hex on one who threatens her peace.And then Amelie sees the tall figure, at the far end of the grove, throughthe limbs and foliage. Smiling, bearded, white-robed, hands clasped, glowing in the morning sun. Open-arme...
Business Class Lounge, Saudia Terminal, King Abdulaziz International Airport, Jeddah, Friday 4 February, 2022, 23:00ASTSipping his coffee beneath the bright LED ceiling light, Damien White knew the stark feature illumination would show off the single gold stripe on his sleeve to the best effect, against the deep black of his airline pilot’s jacket. He had chosen a chair close to the business class lounge’s dead centre, where he could make the best impression on the admirers he knew would be watching. Centre stage, almost. Damien had always e...
Submitted to Contest #130
Saturday, 28 January, 1995 Snow lay deep, high in the Dinaric Alps, under the slanted afternoon sun. Demyan arrived at the den first. He didn’t think Serafim would mind if he lit a fire. He had it all planned. He’d brought a box of matches. He hoped his mother wouldn’t miss them. He was going to put them back, before she would look for them to light the gas for dinner. The den had been a shepherd’s house, they’d decided, the day they found it. Serafim had worked it all out. Serafim was the clever one. He would be, Demyan supposed, because h...
Submitted to Contest #128
High Tea The picture of bored indifference, completely unaware she was slowly grinding Aanshu into the dirt, Athaline sat splendidly, waiting. One twelve-hour day at a time, slogging on through endless, back-breaking labour, an infinite, dark tunnel, Aanshu dared allow herself no hope of escape. Ironically, Athaline felt the same about her own existence. Living through one day, again and again, nothing to pin her hopes on, no random surprises, just on and on. In the orangery’s afternoon splendour, sun slanting through the greenhouse panes...
Submitted to Contest #127
Monday lunchtime Hector Bullivant wiped greasy lips and chin on the starched linen serviette he had just freed from between his ample paunch and his broad lap. The foie gras had been more than usually rich today. That was fitting, because Hector Bullivant was a more than usually rich man. One who could afford to lunch at the Savoy five times a week. Today’s crypto deal had netted him a seven figure sum by his morning coffee break and prompted him to order the insanely expensive wine. Across the table, Julian Lloyd sat back and sipped his gl...
Submitted to Contest #126
Bangkok, 31 December, 2021In this city, no-one goes to bed early. Unless, thought Ben, you mean the early hours of the morning. Krung Thep, City of Angels. No shortage of them, if that’s what you want. Right now, with ten minutes of 2021 remaining at 100.5 degrees east, what Ben Proust wanted most was a tasty meal. He sat down on the simple plastic chair, at the equally simple Formica-topped table, under the fluorescent tube’s honest glare, at the noodle stall on Sukhumvit Road. A patched street dog, lazing next to a concrete post, gave him ...
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