Stories

Posted in stories

What I Do With My Hands

They don’t burn books anymore. That’s what people don’t understand. Burning implies the thing still matters. What they do is quieter than that. A form. A reclassification. A gentle note from the Cultural Alignment Office informing you that your property has been assessed and redistributed for community benefit. You get a receipt. Very civilised.

I used to be a writer. I had forty years of notebooks. I got a receipt.

I don’t write now. I want to be clear about that, in case anyone is unclear. I am a retired man with a bad hip and a fondness for instant coffee and I don’t write. My hands are for opening tins and pointing at things on screens. That’s all.

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Posted in stories

It Was A Tuesday

I hadn’t meant to kill him. Well, not on that particular day at least. 

It was a Tuesday and Tuesday is my day at the knitting group. ‘Stitch & Chat’ is its official name, the one the library use on their noticeboard to advertise us. To us regulars though it’s known as ‘Stitch & Bitch’. With a lot more bitching than stitching if the truth be known.

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Posted in Drabbles

The Cake and Other Drabbles

A Drabble is a story told in exactly 100-words. Not 99-words or 101-words, but exactly 100.

The idea of a Drabble is thought to have originated in the 1980’s and established by the Birmingham University SF Society.

It is believed they took a term from Monty Python’s 1971 Big Red Book. In this book ‘drabble’ was described as a word game where the first person to write a novel was the winner.


The Cake

“Just want to let you know kid, in case you were wondering, that last cake, the chocolate éclair, it’s got my name on it. Touch it and I’ll have your fingers off!”

“Mum! Mum! Aunt Sally’s dog just said he’s going to bite me. He says the chocolate éclair is his.”

“Don’t be silly dear, little Henry can’t talk, he’s a dog. Now play nicely with him, there’s a good boy. And don’t feed him any cake. Aunt Sally has him on a strict diet.”

“Well kid, it’s up to you.  What’s it going to be, cake or fingers?”


The Bell

“Whatever you do son, don’t ring that bell.”

Samuel stopped dead in his tracks and looked towards where the quiet, menacing voice came from. In his hurry to reach the warning bell he’d not seen the stranger emerge from the swirling, crimson mist.

“I’ve got to mister,’ he said, none too convincingly, “It’s my job. If I don’t ring the bell, then the people in the village won’t be ready.”

“I’m sorry son but I can’t let you do that,” whispered the stranger, gently pulling a fearsome looking weapon from inside his long, black coat. 

The bell remained ominously quiet.


He’s Late

Peter looked took the gold watch out of his waistcoat pocket. 

He was beginning to worry; it was so unlike his visitor to be this late. 

He scanned the dark waters one more time and suddenly there it was, silently gliding out of the surrounding mist, the boat he had been waiting for. 

“You’re late my friend,” he whispered, as the boat drew up alongside him, “No problems I hope?”

The hooded reaper looked across at Peter and said, “Some people still waste time trying to delay my coming. Here is today’s quota of souls, process them as you will.”


If you fancy having a go at a Drabble I’d love to read it. Drop it in the comments below. Remember, exactly 100-words!

Posted in stories

Number 135476 

“I used to be someone else.”

“Oh yeah, who was that then? Someone famous was it? Don’t tell me, let me guess. I bet you was Elvis. That’s it, you was Elvis Presley. You wait ’til I tell my missus I’ve been chatting with Elvis, that’ll make her giggle.”

“No, seriously, before I came here I had a name and a life.”

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Posted in stories

The Stone on the Mantelpiece

My fingers wrap around the stone in my pocket, your sticky blood still warm to the touch.  I was going to throw it in the lake, alongside your bound and weighted body, but I kept it instead. A reminder of the day I finally found the courage to do what I should have done years ago.

I’m thinking of putting it on the mantelpiece, alongside that hideous clock your mother gave us as a wedding present. Like our marriage, it never worked. They will be a constant reminder to me of the two women I hated most in the world.


A Drabble – a story told in exactly 100-words.