Wednesday, 30 September 2009
Friday, 25 September 2009
Grace pulled the curtains and waved him to the bed. She was soon naked not caring what sagged where. The last time everything had pointed up on its own, Kennedy had got shot. What counted was that he was young and definitely nothing was sagging. Hmm, Nana wanted…Nana got.
Two teenage friends in the 1940’s
Fredrick : Why can’t boys kiss?
Harold: They can.
Fredrick: What boys kiss boys?
Harold: Yuk no. Its wrong in the eyes of God.
Fredrick I thought God loved you?
Harold : He does.
Fredrick: So if you kiss and love, He must approve?
Thursday, 24 September 2009
‘Sire, did you dream last night as the witch foretold?,’ asked the Night Lord.
The King looked at the couriers but did not speak. His eyes lost in shadows.
‘His Highness is cursed,’ they cried, many even with real concern. Or were they the better liars, trusting no living King.
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
Switch halted at the door. He was out of breath and out of time- the screams of Help me had stopped.
‘Emolley hold on I am coming.’ He charged at the door with his shoulder that creaked but held.
‘Cut. Sorry darling,the bloody door should have come off.’
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
'Once this was a lake where fish were like a slither of snakes.'
'What else old timer?'
Craig could see that the boys were sand runners and the girl was something… more dangerous. 'We burned in the sun.'
The children laughed at this nonsense from the time of cold skies.
Monday, 21 September 2009
Rosemary knew—she had lost a finger to one. Hearing the rosters, she jumped up. 'Sir, I want to partner up with Kawasaki when we go south.'
Sitting down, she smiled. Her growing babies would enjoy his bones.
Friday, 18 September 2009
‘Don’t you just love it when the good guy wins,’ Ryan said, grabbing a handful of popcorn from Meryl’s carton -his had kept the trailers unheard.
Meryl, just chewed her gum.
On the screen, Bret smashed the UV ray-gun and turning saw her—his reason for crossing over to flesh world.
Tuesday, 15 September 2009
'Don't look now but that little madam has had a second orange juice.'
Harold turned round.
May manage to say, 'Good Morning, nice view isn’t it.'
'Harold,' she hissed, 'Thank you! I'll have to chat now.’
Harold just shrugged, women always made it so complicated—he’d just smile and ignore.
Monday, 14 September 2009
Zelda wiped the grease away from her mouth, she has real class, before saying, 'You don’t want to cross Hash Brown's woman. She did a John Bobbitt, if you get my drift.'
I didn't. She just sighed and said something about lights being on but they weren't, it was noon.
Sunday, 13 September 2009
‘You’ll be Texas toast when I get you.’
‘Where's the bloody writer.’
‘What can’t you understand now?’
‘What he’s saying, the character is supposed to be Cool not some Beverley Hill twink.’
‘Its a metaphor!’
‘God, to think I turned down Spielberg for this crock.’
‘It’s not what I heard.’
Saturday, 12 September 2009
Friday, 11 September 2009
'Are you known?'
The words slapped him. What accept that drink doesn’t killed the pain—it merely distracts
'Let yourself be known by your own words'
Rick, looked up to the outstretched hand, hesitated, then turned to pick up his bottle and walk away. ' Do you know?, echoed his footsteps.
Thursday, 10 September 2009
Wednesday, 9 September 2009
'Why can't we make a Frisbee', Maise said. It was the Sunday drought and only morally uplifting activities such as cooking were parent approved.
Harry tentatively asked 'how?'
'Easy we make pancakes with plaster rather then flour.'
Looking back Harry saw that 'no way' was what he should have said.
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
The crash got them running. Old man Coles was treacle slow but he could hit flies a mile away once cocked up. Gasping hard, they jumped over the hedge ripping modesty away as bullets thundered past.
Later when asked at school each said, 'No, not me' with a practised innocence.
Sunday, 6 September 2009
‘Prof Jackson, folks. Put your hands together for the professor.’
‘So Prof, what made you a Nobel prize winner?’
‘It was when I was eight years old—’
‘Now folks did you know what you wanted at eight. Isn't that wonderful.’
‘Thanks and my father woke—’
‘Yes folks, clap for Dads…’
Friday, 4 September 2009
Only her face shone in the stage lights, the moon to the audience's stars as recording lenses sparkled back. Her note broke the silence of death to summon hope. Out of the darkness came the answer, a deep despair to her joy—both voices merging in a hymn to life.
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
'What did dad do,' asked Jack smiling up at her.
She dreaded the innocent questions. How do you explain, a drunkard fumble with neither party remembering what was loosened until one of them suddenly knew what was tighten.
He felt her lie long before he knew how to forgive her.