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.”
For Jonas Ericsson, a junior prosecutor with the Swedish Prosecution Authority, the story began in Stockholm on Valentines Day, 2012, and ended a week later in New Orleans, USA, on the twenty-first day of February.
Fat Tuesday.
At short notice Ericsson asked his secretary to cancel a number of upcoming appointments. He then booked two weeks leave.
Five days later he landed in the United States.
The day before Mardi Gras.
Inspector Steven Young looked around the incident room. The pictures of eleven male children stared back at him. He felt so much remorse. He blamed himself for ten of their deaths. If only he had caught him after the first.
Continue reading “Reasons Don’t Matter By Hugh Cron – Adult Content”
Toothpick balanced on his lip, just so. Hair slicked down with practiced precision. But despite the evil eye and air of menace he fancied he gave off, Rachel Duccini couldn’t help but smile. Gerard Marron, for all his sneering attempts at brooding ominousness, reminded her a hell of a lot of the Lollipop Guild Munchkins from The Wizard of Oz. The way he squinted, the pant legs too short to cover his ankles, and the way he had his hands in his pockets, thumbs out pointing at each other across his groin.
Continue reading “Len Cordy & The Lollipop Guild by Shane Bolitho”
Freddie knew there were some people you could disrespect and others you had to treat with reverence. He was in a restaurant looking at a man sat at the bar. He knew instinctively that this was a man who was not to be fucked with.
He looked back down at his bowl of spaghetti and ordered his wife to do the same. She did but every once in a while peeked up at the man from the corner of her eye.
She had a bad feeling about him.
Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. I’m a string tied too tight on a harp close to breaking; the tired glow left after a flame; the last paint on the brush colouring the wall of my life and I look to you. Against you I’ve sinned and done what pains your eyes. Lord, turn your face away from my sins but don’t deny me your face or take away the Holy Spirit. Questions and lack of answers have plagued me in a lifetime lived in your honour. However, a lifelong devotion is outweighed by a single misstep. The path to salvation is through you and your son. A kind eye towards friends and foes are not the path; only the submission to your glory is. Continue reading “Pater Noster by Tobias Haglund”
Open letter to who can access:
We need to refrain from the hobby. It is with regret that I will implement this. To all involved within my branch, I ask that you cease immediately. I know that may be difficult, especially for the more enthusiastic and extreme members but it must stop.
We have suffered many losses. Some members are now out of circulation and there is going to be a storm regarding others. The protection that this branch guaranteed, unfortunately has to be considered compromised. There will be no more payments taken until our present difficulties are eradicated. I wish to ensure you that we will continue to monitor as much as we can, any future involvements for any potential return to our participation. I would say that the expectation may actually be more exquisite than the involvement.
It all started when that fat fucker moaned about having to give me change. I don’t ever say ‘Fat fucker’ as I am a rather large person myself but honestly, ‘Jabba The Fucking Garage’ really annoyed me. ‘Is that all you have got’ he enquired with a sneer and a sarcasm that I just couldn’t ignore. I advised him that I would look further. I exaggerated looking through my pockets and this was also lost on this fuck wit, he
”… and that’s when I found out he wasn’t my father!”
”Okay. How about dropping the gun?”
“There you go again. Thinking only about yourself. It seems as if you’re not even listening to me…”
“I’m NOT listening to you…”
“…because as I have been talking about very personal things you still go on about your selfish things. I don’t want to threaten you again, but if you keep…”
“I’m not threatened and have never been threatened.” Simon looked into the security camera. “Let the record show that I have never been threatened.”
“Simon.” Billy said and cocked the gun. “Stop focusing on the police or the other hostages and listen to me.”
The nags were against me. Six races. Six bets. All blown out before the finishing line. I’m going to change bars, I told myself, this place is bad fucking luck for me. Superstition and gambling become more impassioned bed fellows the worse your luck is – and mine, mine hadn’t seen anything to show for it in months.
I sat at the bar in the Front Page cursing my luck, cursing the Racing Post, cursing the barman who had talked through the back page of form listings and most probably caused me to rush to a decision when time and a clear head was required. As the stranger pulled up a seat beside me I cursed him too. Wednesday afternoon, quite possibly the quietest time in a bar’s week and in a room full of empty, cold seats this prick parks up alongside me.
Continue reading “The Front Page by David Louden – Adult Content”
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