There’s blood. I taste it when I swallow, metallic and unmistakable, like the tip of a battery on my tongue, and when I try to cough it up, a hand touches mine and something bleeps.
You dip fingers in the water expecting cold, feeling warmth. It ebbs away as the boat edges closer, ever closer. Colder, ever colder.
Short story inspired by Banksy Graffiti ‘Sorry, the lifestyle you ordered is currently out of stock’
This story was first published in the Writers Abroad 2015 anthology ‘Kaleidoscope’. All proceeds go to the charity Room To Read. Available now via Amazon or via Lulu ‘Struck’ Charlie Burgess doesn’t remember the lightning strike. But if people ask him about it, what he tells them is this. He tells them about the flash. “A really bright light. And so white. Blinding white. Everything glowed.” He says that last part in an awe-struck whisper. What I just told you, he seems to suggest, is something special, something spiritual. That white light, flashing down from above, is symbolic of something. Read More
This story was first published by Visual Verse. You can read it there or listen to me read it for you. Podcast music via FreeSFX
ONE Somewhere out there, someone else is sitting at a window, thinking the same thing. It was probability. All those people, packed in tight together. Experiencing the same things, at the same time, in the same place. Some of them were going to start thinking the same. Collective consciousness. He’d read about that someplace. Most likely in one of those magazines they keep in the waiting room. He always takes a few of them. Just to help pass the night away. And it had always struck him that the contents seemed better suited to the night, and wondered if anyone Read More
You can listen to John Severity read my story over at the Mash Stories Soundcloud Podcast The morning sun filtered through the window of the eastern transept, light falling on the nave like a ray of gold that had descended from the heavens. No doubt they had planned for it. Had configured their measurements and placed the window with this in mind – a celestial connection to God. He sat in the aisle and tried to imagine them, these men who had dreamed their cathedral into existence more than five hundred years ago, but it was beyond his imagination Read More
We traded pebbles and shells. For one pink scallop I gave you five stones polished smooth by waves. They glistened in your open palm. All day we played on the beach, our parents somewhere far off. Away, beyond the glint of sun and silhouettes, where they could not be seen. I had thought I could fool you. You were younger after all. That scallop, the perfect shape of it, its edges, pink and corrugated as if it had been engraved by the sea. I coveted it. Wished it was me that had found it. So I offered up those little Read More
They served her notice. In three days they would come to clear it away. It was dangerous, they said. A public nuisance, they said. People could trip and fall, they said. It had to go. More than once they said that. But she had watched them, these hapless pedestrians. Ambling down the street, minding their own business. They always appeared lost in their own little worlds until they reached her garden. And there they always stopped. No-one ever fell. No-one ever tripped. No-one was ever bothered by the nuisance of it all. She sat by the window and watched as Read More