Alejandro knew he was dead but that didn’t stop him from wanting to come to America. His body lay on the dry dirt exactly where he’d fallen, the muscles rapidly losing their ability to stretch out and contract. His mouth was fixed, oddly enough, in a permanent grin.
The pain was indescribable. First had been shock and horror then disbelief and now all that was left was pain.
In a damp cellar the mould mixed with the scent of urine coming from his rags. A drop of sweat still dangled at the tip of his black hair from an excruciatingly painful hour as the hatchway closed. He was strong, the strongest, but he had never endured that level of pain. Moss and mice were signs of hope, or at least hope of life in the dark.
Conspirator. Traitor. Your house shall burn and your name will be dragged in the mud.
And they dragged his face in mud. Along the wooden planks and the stone. From one side of the long wall to the next. Two hard punches to the back of his head threw him into the stone. He lost teeth. A man stamped him in the lumbar region, which was the reason he couldn’t stand up.
He won’t do anything else. All he ever does is sit downstairs and stroke his violin. No one recognizes the notes he plays. Most of the time he makes no effort to play pretty sounds. Maybe pretty noises break his heart because he thinks he’s ugly inside and out.
Continue reading “The Violin He Played Downstairs by Ashlie Allen”
You’ll have to choose.
“Who said that?”
You did.
“No I didn’t. Who is taking the piss?”
…Mirror, mirror on the wall…We all know the rest. You said that. Do you deny it?
“No. I was only mucking about. For fuck sake I was only having a shave.”
You should never muck about with your soul. You are in trouble now! You’ll have to choose. One of three. If you hurry you will be able to stay but if you don’t…Well…
I had been in hell a week by this point. It looked a lot like Belfast. I knew it was hell because I couldn’t find any of my favourite bars and it was the 12th of July every day. The streets were awash with track-suited skinheads and chippie wrappers, and smelt of dark orange piss. I died the same age as Bukowski, seventy-three years-old. He had wanted to go at eighty making it with an eighteen year-old, I was just happy making it beyond fifty. It was a rare landmark for the men in my family.
Continue reading “Ultra-Belfast by Dave Louden – Adult Content”
“Mr. Peta. A broad’s waitin’ for ya.”
“The red dress with blonde hair? Yea? Did you offer her somethin’ to drink? I got a feeling she’s gonna need it.”
I acted surprised when I saw her. The news coverage pretty much summed up what the meeting would be about. Socialite inherited fortune after bloody breakfast accident.
“Hello Mr. Peta.”
“It’s Mr. Peter.”
“The secretary-”
“She can’t speak. What can I do you for?”
I sat down and shoved old newspapers with half-finished crossword puzzles to the side. I didn’t want her to know I couldn’t finish what I had started. I offered her a glass of bourbon smokier than a factory working ballet dancer.
Alfie.
Jean walked over to the carry-cot.
“Ugly wee bastard, isn’t it?”
Graham began to laugh, “That’s whit you get when you shouldn’t have weans.”
She stared into the cot, the kid was sleeping.
“Do you mean about Kylie being a lesbo?”
“Aye. Why did she get herself pregnant, I take it wis fur the money?”
Jean pulled the shawl over the kid.
“Naw! Did she no tell ye?”
Continue reading “Alfie by Hugh Cron – Adult Content. This may be unsettling for some readers.”
Jenny looked down at Rob’s sleeping face, his open mouth dribbling peaceably onto the pillow that supported his head. She was dressed, breakfasted and ready to go. She was ambivalent in the mornings. Her husband could not win, although he did not know it. She felt resentment if Rob didn’t get up to mark her departure to the office. She needed him to fuss over her a little, and pay attention to her comfort: a reward for her stalwart commitment to the daily grind of work? On the other hand she valued quiet and solitary mornings when he overslept, listening out for signs that he was stirring and willing him not to. She planted a light kiss on his forehead and tip-toed out of the bedroom.
I glanced up from the screen, resting my eyes and easing stiffened shoulder muscles. This job, editing copy for a company based in London is easy but tedious. It fits in though with the other things I like to do, the beach walks and gardening and most importantly going down to the nursing home. I am not keen on the job but I enjoy being in my office.
I love my home actually, I am very lucky. It has been in my family for four generations now and after the horrible time over the last few years it has taken me back, wrapped its solid stone bulk around me and held me safe.
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