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Showing posts from September, 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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Gross Domestic Product: 11

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Chapter Eleven. Connor Yeardley looked at the young, black-haired boy sitting across the aisle with his mother. The kid was filled with curiosity, and his mother was doing her best to accommodate him by answering his increasingly tough “whys?” He had to admire the woman, she was both patient and knew her stuff. It was unusual to see a mother and child on a flight like this, the newly established morning flight from Docklands to Glasgow. All the other seats were filled with business folks, in suits, reading broadsheets. The kid reminded Connor of himself at that age and he smiled as he watched the kid’s wide eyes stare out of the window in wonder. What was he seeing out there, or more accurately, what was he imagining? Conner recalled that it was, for him, always dinosaurs. It was what led him to study archaeology. He’d been doing well at first, ended up part of a dig team in the Philippines while still in college. That was where he had found the anomalous urn. It didn’t look
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Gross Domestic Product: 10

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Buer. While mostly everything in this domain was bound by the laws of cause and effect, it was not, except in the most mundane physical way. It only needed to think of doing something to see the fractal of reactions which would fan out from such an action if it were chosen. It knew Prince would contact Bryce, that Bryce would try and cheat it and that Bryce would become a more suitable host, from there it would have access to the money it needed and would put that to good work, and somewhere along the line, not far in the future, one Arabian man would whisper into the ear of another and the tanks and soldiers would roll across the border and start a fire that would last well into the next Millennium. This was all inevitable, it knew that. However it had been infuriated by the unpredictable presence of the stranger at the door. It had, on many occasions met other entities like itself, using humans as hosts, the species were riddled with such parasites. There was a hiera
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Gross Domestic Product: 9

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Chapter Nine. Tommy Bryce sat at one end of a large conference table and shook his head. He was not in the best of moods. For weeks his lads had been fighting with boys from Kenny Waterson’s Cathcart Mob, which was ridiculous, they were ostensibly on the same side. They both had the same boss after all. He got the feeling Waterson was taking the piss. They’d set up to meet, hash it over, sort it out before things got out of control and bodies started piling up. Bryce wanted to cut Waterson’s head off and nail it to the prick’s front door but he knew that would blow up in his face. Morton would not be pleased with that and Morton called the shots. So Bryce had arranged a meeting. Even decided to put on a spread, as if he and Waterson were business partners, like this was a professional consideration. The idea was good but the caterer was not. The arseholes had turned up with bridies and scotch pies, all of which looked like they’d been left over from the previous days
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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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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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