“Lissa, wake up.”
The child opened her eyes, night goggles hid her father’s eyes, mirrored ovals glowed on his face. “Come on my love, get up”
“Baba, the siren didn’t sound, we are early.”
“Yes, but it’s time.”
“Michael, she’s frightened, don’t alarm her.”
“Hush woman.” The tall figure turned to his wife, he reached out, the gesture softening the impact of his words. “Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Bring the clothes for Lissa, don’t forget the gloves and the headset.”
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”
Michael peeled an orange for me. Late summer or more properly early autumn and we had rented a villa in Greece, seven of us all from the same year at uni. A research trip, nominally, but the sunshine and the pool and the late warmth were a bonus. Paul didn’t come, he had been seeing practice all summer with a large animal vet near home which resulted in tickets for the races, tickets hard to come by and therefore precious that he didn’t want to waste.
Michael and James arrived later, driving a silly little hired car. They brought with them laughter and cheap wine.
Phillipa had always known that she would be a nurse. The admission tests for University were easy because she was confident, no panic or night-time angst for Phillipa. She was born to be a nurse.
The University was attached to a teaching hospital with a world-renowned reputation. It would look great on her CV as she climbed the career ladder. She was a little regretful that they weren’t required to wear caps, crisp white aprons with scissor chain attached and black tights, but she made a supreme effort with the trouser uniform and always appeared smart, clean, fragrant and fresh.
At last, at the end of the Preceptorship, which of course she had zipped through in the shortest time possible, Phillipa felt that she was at last truly “Nursing” and was joyfully taking her turn at being “Nurse in Charge”.
Literally Stories would like to wish our Readers and Writers all the very best for 2015.
Simon sat at his desk. His boss Michael walked in.
”It’s approaching the holidays.”
”You mean Christmas?”
“No, we can’t say that.”
“Because we don’t want to offend other religions?”
“We don’t want to offend large groups of consumers, yes.”
It’s bedtime now. Santa will only come after you have gone to sleep.
‘Oh Grandpa, tell us a story.’
Only if you both stay still, no jumping around. Come on now, settle under the blankets and listen. Let me tell you about Grandma’s Christmas bauble.
It was a dark wintry night and we were huddled together reaching towards the small fire, stretching our hands into the warmth. No one spoke because they were afraid, so afraid that if they slept they might not wake in the morning.
‘We’ll wake, won’t we Grandpa?’
Shussh, let me tell the story.
“Me toes are freezing.”
“Come ‘ere, give ‘em ‘ere an’ I’ll put ‘em under me coat.”
“Oh nice, that’s nice. Are you cold Joe?”
“Mmm a bit, just a bit, snuggle up and we’ll warm each other won’t we.”
“Lovely. This place in’t bad is it. I know it’s a bit wet in the kitchen and it dun’t have electric like the last squat but it’s not bad ‘ere.”
“No, an’ it feels safer I fink.”
“Yeah. Eh, what’s that noise?”
“Dunno, I’ll go look you stay ‘ere, stop under the blanket and keep warm.”…
Continue reading “Mary, Joseph and the Baby by Diane Dickson”
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.
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”
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