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Showing posts from January, 2018

Legend Tripping

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  1. Most of the children of Carlin High School were engaged in the usual playground activities, girl gossiped rapidly sounding like a thousand busy typewriters; youthful first years laughed and chas ed each other around the yard, burning off energy; older kids from the rough end of town hid behi nd the toilets, smoking weed. Steven was sitting alone, perched on the fence like a hawk, watching all the normal mayhem when he spotted Simon Anderson take a nosedive onto the concrete. The boy just went white and dropped, and even though the other kids were making a godawful din, Steven definitely heard Simon’s skull crack like a heavy egg as it smashed onto the ground. The noise was a sickening, hollow sound that made his heart jump in his chest. He immediately jumped off the fence and rushed to see if the older boy was alright. In the seconds it took him to move to where Simon was, there was a large crowd around Simon, some girls were screaming, an older boy was shouting, “Get a tea
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Tír nAill : Part Three

6. She needed to call Stephanie, Stephanie had a masters in British folklore and had, several years ago, focussed on the Scots and Irish. Norma suspected the others were The Aos Si, the Sidhe, the folk from under the mounds. That was about as much as she knew, but Stephanie, she could tell her much, much more. Immediately she tried her phone but there was no reception. She rushed over to where her father was, by the doors. He and some of the guests had, once again, decided to prop the tables up against it. “Dad, do you still have that phone that works?” Henry looked at her quizzically. “What for?” “ I think I know what that thing out there is.” She answered. “ What? It's an alien, surely.” Henry said. “ Well… sort of, if it is what I suspect then well, it's… and I can't believe I'm about to say this… a fairy.” Her father and those around him started to laugh. “That's no fuckin' tinkerbell.” said someone. “ No, it's not.” She sighed
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Last Orders.

(For The Captain.) Jason began coughing up blood. Great, dark, jellied clots of the stuff that came gurgling out from his diseased lungs. He didn't have much longer, a day or two at the most. We were all worried about that. As he lay there on the sofa, sweating and stinking we knew that it was only a matter of time before we had to deal with him. Gordon had wiped Jason's brow with a damp cloth just to do something. He was taking it the hardest. Apparently he'd known Jason since school. “Is there anything we can get you, Jason?” “ I could murder a dram.” Jason groaned through his clenched blood-stained teeth. “ We've got some Whyte and MacKay's left, if you like?” Jason offered. Jason coughed again, a thick sound, rattling deep in his chest. “Fuck that. There's a reason we've saved it tae make Molotovs.” I never really got on with Jason, he was always too quick with a crap joke that only he laughed at, always too critical of everything ev
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Tír nAill : Part Two.

4. It took a few moments for Henry to come up with a solution. “The t abl es.” he said. “People, clear the tables and fold them up. That stuff is coming in through the doors, we need to cover it, and quickly.” Norma expected some panic but there was nothing like that, people just did what he told them to do. He'd always been like that, always commanded respect and somehow he still had it. She admired that but didn't let it get in the way of her helping the others block the doorway. As they were in the process of balancing the tables Norma still kept an eye on the stuff that had already got through, wondering if there was any way to bottle some, to analyse it. She wanted to know what it was, what it's properties were. If she had been back at work she could have used the lab but this was a community centre. It took her a couple of minutes to consider the basic principles of manufacturing a basic microscope. The place had enough plastic cups and bottles that, wi
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Ring Bang Skoosh

So what you do is get a 60a bus over to Duke Street from the City Centre. Keep going right along Duke Street until you get past the remaining houses and the industrial park. The bus will eventually take a second right at a large roundabout. You'll not be able to miss it. It's beside another industrial park. You'll want to get off the bus at the next stop and then wait for the 257A. They're not common, one every half an hour (if you're lucky) and only between 8 A.M. and 5.30 P.M. If you've missed it and have to wait you could do worse than Babs Café across the road. Go get something delicious to eat. Don't get me wrong her cuisine is part of the cultural dietary pandemic that's reduced life expectancy in the areas of the east end to that of cavemen, but her deep fried pizza slice on a roll with chips is well worth the fucking risk. Anyway, once you're on the 257A you'll head south east along an empty area for about three quarters of a mil
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Gross Domestic Product: 8

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Chapter Eight. It took the taxi almost half an hour to get through the West-End and up through the north of the city out into Milngavie. Some roadworks at the switchback had left the entire end of the town in one long traffic jam, according to the driver anyway. Pete was not impressed, not one bit. By the time he stepped out he’d stumped up twelve quid and his skin felt like it needed massaged by a crazed acupuncturist. The cold hurt was becoming too real for him to bear but he knew he’d just have to tough it out. He’d con Baird, or failing that, rob the place, get that stupid lamp and then he could relax, shoot up and have a nice long gouch. After that he’d go to Allerdyce and before long have another five grand in his pocket. That would give him nearly ten grand, enough to solve his problems. Enough to propel him out of Glasgow’s moribund gravitational pull once and for all. He just needed to keep it together for another hour or two. The house he stood outside looked
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The Scheme

Nineteen eighty nine, a number, another summer; sound of the funky drummer ubiquitous on the radio. Gordon Harper drummed his fingers against the wheel in time to the tune. It was a nervous staccato, no doubt about that. As he sat parked on Casgairt Road he wondered if he should just bolt. He'd a couple of grand left in his savings, and could be on the next flight to Chilé or Singapore, could be anywhere but here. He threw his cigarette butt out the window and immediately lit another. This was going to be a bad job, that became apparent as soon as Skinny's name was mentioned. When Dunkie mentioned that nutter he should have said “I'm out.” He didn't. No, he didn't want to look like a shitebag in front of the big boys. If he had any real stones he would have told Dunkie to take a fuck to himself. Instead he was sitting with a fucking shotgun under his seat waiting for that nutjob Willie Barr. Total... Fucking... Nightmare! Once more he sucked on th
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