All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

Loch Ness Monster by Steven French

He loved the drive up to Inverness: leaving Edinburgh on the motorway, crossing the Firth of Forth and looking across to the old railway bridge, wondering, each time, if it really was true that when they finished painting it they had to start all over again … Even the inevitable congestion around Perth he didn’t mind so much because once he’d got through all that it was the A9 and a free run all the way up to the Highlands. On a beautiful autumn day like today it was just unbeatable. He felt so good in fact that with only an hour or so still to go he decided to pull off the road into Aviemore and grab a bite. There was a wonderful ice cream store there that also sold cannoli and he picked up a box for the trip home. That put him behind schedule a little but he reckoned he still had plenty of time to do what he’d come for and get to the bed-and-breakfast by a reasonable hour. 

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Foot of Bennachie by Michael Bloor

As Alex was walking through the university gates to the departmental staff meeting, he was thinking about Black Holes, the first photograph of which had been displayed as a news item on his ipad that morning. One of the strange-but-true properties of Black Holes was that they slowed the progress of time. There was an unlikely parallel with departmental staff meetings, with their endless discussions of staff car parking provision. Looking on the bright side, it was the last staff meeting of the Easter Term, and at the end of the term he was retiring.

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All Stories, Fantasy

Kilted by Adam Lynch

‘The yung stag stood there wi blud on his muzzle. Prostrated before him wis the defeated challenger. They didnae fight for the right to a wuman, nor the right tae land but fae the sake of fighting’s sake. A hatred bore within both stag’s hearts exploded that misty mornin. For one had been taught to hate the other and the other tae hate the first. In truth the stags both looked the same and lived the same lives. Yet one lay deed and the other munched on his flesh. The ecstasy of hate well realised pumped thru the yung stag’s veins. He felt strong and mighty and the monarch of that moment. Whit did his violence gain besides this fleeting high? Fuck all. He sustained a wound to his left shooder and part of his earlier impressive crown was snapped aff and jammed in the deed stag’s neck. Blood soaked his soft brown coat and he looked altogether minging. The meat of the deed stag was tough and manky. The yung stag was close tae boaking so he left the quiet scene of quiet violence.’

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All Stories, Latest News

Week 141 – Fashion, Bulimia And Elvis Is Dead.

Post 141 is upon us. It is here and now and hip and happening!!

The last time I was hip and happening was, well, never!

This may be a weird mix of ideas this week.

For some reason I was thinking of fashion and how fucked up that is. It’s an industry within an industry which has evolved incestuously. Most of the pipe-cleaners who model look as if they need a bloody good feed.

I used the line that I was bulimic but I just kept forgetting to be sick on many occasions. I think a lot of the models are anorexic and they keep forgetting to eat. They must be on some sort of dust diet.

The only reason that I thought of this was when I put on my new Bakers Whites for the first time and I realised that due to my stature I looked like an avalanche. The only good thing about this is that a big hairy dug keeps bringing me brandy. For some reason they are all called Bernard.

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