I thought I’d take an umbrella. I peered out of the window and drew back the curtain. It was dark and cloudy. I didn’t think – snow – but perhaps rain, sleet, maybe. So, yes I decided, an umbrella. That was back then, when I was brave, when I thought I could do it today. That was when I operated on a “normal” level, sane.
Scott was excessive. He would have told you that himself. He lived life to excess.
What I admired about Scott was that he had absolutely no regrets. I cannot explain why and you will have to take me at my word. I knew that he had no regrets when I looked into the twinkle in his eye as he told me so.
I first met Scott many years ago and he would tell me story after story about his life. I will admit I didn’t believe his tales of travel, wealth and famous people until the night he decided to show me his treasured photographs. There was Scott in all his finery, in some exotic looking locations, rubbing shoulders with some very famous people. I am no fashion expert but when you looked at the cut of his suit, you knew that they were money. He also showed me pictures of his wife and their land in…I think it was Thailand somewhere. Now I need to explain where I met Scott. I met him in a hostel for the homeless. He was living in a room that had no toilet or kitchen. But as I said, he had no regrets. Continue reading “Hep C And A Lot Of Codeine by Hugh Cron”
“Can you imagine someone who knows that he may be living his last year?”
The enquirer was sitting in a wheelchair opposite me – a man in his late forties to early fifties, broad-shouldered, dressed informally, black hair with streaks of silver grey, intense brown eyes, clean shaven.
“How old might he be,” he went on, “and what might be the reason for his imminent departure?”
He eyed me questioningly, an enigmatic smile on his pale, handsome face.
“I believe you’re not referring to yourself,” I smiled back.
He grinned broadly and chortled, “Well, a bit of sarcasm won’t spoil the pleasure of our interaction.” He pressed one of the buttons on the arm of his wheelchair and moved closer. “Are you really sure you want this?
Now, he was staring at me intently, unblinkingly. “Let’s put it this way: Are you adamant in your decision?” Continue reading “The Product by Victor Bort”
Rust-orange scales litter the ground beneath the pine – sign of the squirrel’s search for the sweet seeds found tucked beneath the cone’s thorny lobes. The scales fall like heavy snowflakes, twirling and seesawing to the forest floor. As I raise my eyes to the bushy-tail sitting astride a pine limb, I’m thankful he’s ignorant of my presence and his certain death. He’ll feel no pain, for I don’t miss.
Not anymore. Continue reading “The Old Man by Scott Sharpe”
I want to show you a picture of me, before. When I was young, well truth to tell maybe not so young but oh I was a looker, a real looker. I bet you won’t believe it was me and you’ll think how did she end up like this, now?
Ha, I guess you can say it was greed did it, or just plain wickedness. Yes, to be fair it was greed. I just wanted more, more of everything really but mostly time, but even that wasn’t enough. I wanted time that was unspoiled, without the slow rot. So there we have it, everything has a price, and a time comes to pay and so it did. I’ll tell you now, just what it was like. Continue reading “The Bargain by Diane M Dickson”
“May I?”
The man took a step towards the jar.
“You will be careful with it, won’t you?”
“A closer look, that is all. I know it’s worth a small fortune, what, at least…”
“…At least a jolly large amount I shouldn’t imagine and wouldn’t like to say.”
“Well I will say, Madam Panagoulias. Put my cards on the table so to speak.”
“As you wish.” Continue reading “Madam Panagoulias and the Pithos by Adam West”
Final credits. Show’s all but over. One last tune from Ed’s iPod and the crematorium doors widen. I’m going where the sun keeps shining, through the pouring rain. Randall lurches outside, wobbles in a thank-god patch of sunshine. Going where the weather suits my clothes. The family shuffle themselves into a line-up: the deceased’s mother reaching just the shoulder of the deceased’s wife. Ed’s brother next? Very tall and looks a little like him. Ed’s children, the daughter only up to her uncle’s waist. A face she loves interrupts the protocol and the little girl’s smile slashes the dark fabric of today. Ed’s son, adolescent and alone at the end, arms meshed over the outrage in his gut. Here now we see the stiff bar chart of the family, offering some kind of analysis. Continue reading “Post by Jenny Morton Potts”
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