Posts

Showing posts from April, 2018

Legend Tripping

Image
  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

The Insomnia Club.

At some point, Palmer felt he was about to snap. Life had become one slow, grey monotony. His existence was punctuated by brief moments of blissful oblivion. These respites were mostly initiated by narcotics but those moments were increasingly fragmented and fleeting. The long dull days moved into long nights of emptiness and long insipid mornings, like beads on a Rosary, round and round and round. Sickened by the vapid, hollow jabbering of the television, unable to concentrate on books, he began to walk the streets in the late hours, usually between half two and five in the morning when time stretched, like elastic; taught enough that it might, at any moment, break in two. He liked that time of night when most of the rest of the world was asleep. The streets were silent, except for the taxi drivers, the odd homeless person sleeping in doorways, or the scurrying rats, occasionally a scrawny fox. He'd wander through areas he'd never visited, drinking in the cold night air,

A Beautiful Game.

1. “ That's it. Ah'm pure done wae that basturt.” Kathy slurred through her bleeding mouth. She glanced up at the nurse through an eye so swollen it looked like she was peeking through a ripe plum. The nurse smiled, a simulacrum of sympathy, she'd heard it all before, probably several times a night after an Auld Firm game. She continued plucking the shards of glass out of the left side of Kathy's face. Each piece was dropped into a silver kidney dish with a little tink noise. “ There are people who can help you know.” the nurse said. Tink. “ The polis dae fuck aw.” Kathy stated, pre-empting the advice. “Last time they didnae even turn up tae the next mornin'. Guess they wur aw too busy arrestin' people for bein' rude oan Facebook.” Tink. “ Well you could try Women's Aid.” The nurse responded. Tink. “ They're nae fuckin' help either. Sexists bitches the lot o' em. Widnae allow me tae take ma two boys tae

Popular posts from this blog

Ring Bang Skoosh

Gross Domestic Product: 8

The Scheme