Tag Archives: flash fiction

Chicken

Julie took another swig of cider and passed the bottle to her friend Lizie.

“How’d you get it Jules?” Lizie asked taking a gulp of the dark liquid.

“How you think I got it. Bought it didn’t I” Julie replied taking another swig from the bottle which her friend had just handed back.

“But you aint old enough to drink Jules”.

Julie threw back her head and snorted with laughter.

“So fucking what. You aint old enough either but I could swear you’re drinking with me. Got it in that offie on Duke Street. Owner doesn’t give a stuff about how old you are, just cares about cash”.

“Its bloody good stuff Jules” Lizie said taking another mouthful.

“Its your turn next time Liz. I aint taking the risk every time. It aint fair. I got it last time as well”.

Lizie paled.

“But you look older than me Jules. You look all mature, I look like a little kid. I’ll never get served”.

“Chicken. Course you will. Borrow some of your mum’s make-up and those glittery heels your sister wears and nobody will have a bleeding clue that your 14”.

“Mum will fucking murder me if she finds out” Lizie said.

“Who’s going to tell her? I aint no grass. Just wait till she goes to work and nick a bit. She won’t notice” Julie said flicking a strand of long blonde hair out of her eyes.

“Angela’s mum went ape shit when the cops brought her home” Lizie said drumming her fingers nervously on the wooden bench.

“That stupid cow tried to buy cider in Sainsburys. Fucking idiot. Supermarkets are red hot on, oh what do you call it?” Julie asked.

“Age verification I think” her friend replied.

“Yeah, that’s it. Age verification. Why do you think I always go to the offie? Cause Mr Patel doesn’t give a shit. He’ll sell to anyone so long as they have the cash”. Julie said.

“Mum’s a teacher. She’ll kill me if I get caught. In fact it will be much worse. She’ll give me that I’m so disappointed in you Liz, how could you bring shame on me look. I can’t stand it when she does that. It makes me feel so small” Lizie said holding her hands six inches above the ground.

“I get it. Its fine for bimbo Julie to stick out her neck and maybe have it cut off but that little angel Elizabeth Cox won’t buy cider cause she doesn’t want to disappoint mummy. Well I’m pissed off. Go and find someone else to hang out with because I’ve had enough Lizie” Julie said jumping to her feet.

“Don’t go Jules” Lizie said taking hold of her friend’s sleeve.

“I want a friend not a fucking chicken” Julie said wrenching free from Lizie’s grasp.

“OK I’ll get it next time, promise” Lizie said running after Julie as she headed towards the park gates.

“You promise?” Julie asked turning towards her friend.

“Yeah I promise Jules” Lizie replied.

—

Lizie looked up and down the street for the third time. At 8:45 on a wind swept and rainlashed Monday evening Cobden street was deserted with the exception of an elderly man fighting a losing battle with his umbrella. As Lizie watched the wind caught the umbrella and carried it away with the elderly gentleman in hot pursuit. Taking a deep breath Lizie pushed open the door to the off licence. The sound of the bell caused her to start guilterly. Funny that. She haden’t felt guilty while drinking Julie’s cider in the park but somehow the prospect of purchasing alcohol herself made Lizie feel sick.

“Can I help you?” Mr Patel said looking through the wire grill which acted as a safety barrier between those serving and the customers.

Lizie swallowed.

“I’ll have this please” she said placing a bottle of Woodpecker cider on the counter.

£3.75” Mr Patel said.

Lizie reached into her pocket for the money. Shit she could have sworn that she had £10 in her purse. It wasn’t there now, she must have left it on the chest of drawers in her bedroom.

“Sorry I’ve forgotten my money. Can I pay you tomorrow?” Lizie asked.

“Its only £3.75. Forget about it” Mr Patel said placing the cider in a plastic carrier bag, “but you could do me a small favour if you have a moment” he continued.

“What kind of favour?” Lizie asked.

Mr Patel grimaced with pain and massaged his back.

“I’ve hurt my back. The doctor says that I shouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting but in this job I have to carry heavy boxes. I’ve a box of wine out the back. Could you carry it in here for me?” Mr Patel asked.

“I’m meeting a friend” Lizie said glancing at the time on her mobile.

“It will only take a minute. I can unpack the box, I just need your help to carry it into the shop”.

“OK, where do I need to go?” Lizie enquired.

Mr Patel gestured towards a door at the back of the shop which stood slightly ajar.

“The box is just inside, straight ahead as you go through the door. Don’t trip over it” he said laughing.

Lizie entered the stock room. The box was straight ahead of her just as Mr Patel had said it would be. Lizie bent down to pick it up. As she bent forward to pick up the case of wine Lizie heard the click of a latch followed by a burst of bright light as Mr Patel flicked a switch. Lizie blinked dazzled by the flurescent lights. A hand was clamped over her mouth.

“Lets have some fun. I won’t hurt you if you are a good girl and don’t struggle” Mr Patel said.

Lizie could feel bile rising in her throat. The smell of Mr Patel’s sweat mixed with the scent of his garlicky breath made her wretch. She threw up all over his shirt. Mr Patel released Lizie and began dabbing at his shirt with a tissue.

“You fucking bitch. I’ll kill you” he screamed at Lizie.

Lizie made a dash for the stock room door. Fuck the bastard had locked it. She turned to see that Mr Patel was almost on her. Lizie had no option accept to run. She dashed to the opposite end of the room and stood with her back against a stack of boxes. Desperately she looked around for a means of escape. There was none and Mr Patel was almost on her. Lizie squeezed into the tiny gap between the boxes and the wall. What a crazy thing to have done Lizie thought. She was well and truly trapped. Mr Patel reached the boxes.

“Come out bitch or I’ll drag you out”.

Lizie could feel her heart banging like a sledge hammer in her chest. She took deep breaths attempting to calm herself. She needed to think.

“Right I’m coming in” Mr Patel said attempting to force himself into the small gap between the boxes and the wall. Unlike Lizie Mr Patel was overweight and he struggled to force an entrance. Lizie tried to think of a way out. She was about to be raped and there wasn’t a thing she could do to prevent it. Her gaze alighted on one of the boxes. It had split open and several cans of Heinz baked beans, the ones with the ring pulls protruded from the box. Lizie grabbed a can. She pulled back the lid and with a jerk of her hand detached it from the tin. Mr Patel had managed to force his way in.

“Don’t struggle and it will be over quicker” he said grabbing for the girl.

Lizie drove the serrated edge of the lid into Mr Patel’s face ripping open his left cheek. He bellowed in pain his hands protectively clutching at the wound. Lizie drove her foot into his groin. With a pearcing scream Mr patel doubled over. He lay rithing on the floor animal noises coming from his mouth. Lizie bent down and felt in Mr Patel’s pockets. There it was. With a feeling of relief she retrieved the key and pausing only to kick the prostrate man in the face she walked to the door and unlocked it. The shop was empty. Lizie gazed out onto the deserted street. With a final glance up and down the empty pavement she stepped out into the rain swept evening.

The Root Of All Evil

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Money is the root of all evil. Whoever said that, they must have been having a laugh.

“Charlotte darling money is the root of all evil”.

“I couldn’t agree more Tarquin. Don’t you just love those African village women? They look so natural and content carrying pales of water from the village well. I envy them, no investments to worry about or concerns regarding school fees. We are so pampered here in the west, we can learn so much from those ladies”.

I’d love to see Charlotte bent double carrying a gallon of water.

“Oh gosh Tarquin these party shoes aren’t designed for the African bush, my silk dress is absolutely ruined”.

Me I’m a dyed in the wool materialist. Money may be the root of all evil but it sure as hell makes life worth living. Just try existing without cold hard cash, go on and see how far you get.

Tarquin and his kind will try and convince you that money doesn’t make you happy. Come off it, try telling that to the young man sleeping under Waterloo Bridge. He’d laugh in your face if you are lucky and, if you aren’t he’ll break your nose.

Heres a riddle for you, what opens doors and is neither a key nor a door knob? Give up, I’ll tell you. The answer is money stupid!

I’ve plenty of the filthy stuff. It may be dirty but it sure as hell gets me into exclusive hotels and restaurants. Take tonight, here I am in the Ritz sipping champagne having just partaken of roast pheasant with all the trimmings. Delicious it was. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

That waitress, the slim brunette with those come to bed eyes keeps looking in my direction. I’m in there. Tonights the night if I play my cards right, to borrow a phrase. Girls love a big tipper and I’m always generous with my tips. Whats the greatest aphrodisiac in the world? Viagra. I thought you’d say that. No the answers money, course it is. One look at my wallet and women go weak at the knees. Well not all women but a fair number fall in love with my wadge. You think I’m shallow do you? Well I think you’re jealous. Come on, admit it man to man, you’d like some of what I’ve got wouldn’t you? You can deny it until you’re blue in the face but I can see the envy in your eyes.

I am Mr popular tonight. That leggy blonde keeps giving me the eye. Wow my luck’s in, she is coming over

“Excuse me sir I’m arresting you on suspicion of credit card fraud. You do not need to say anything but anything you do say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you. Do you understand?”

A Question of Interpretation

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“Wonderful to meet you Becky. The pictures on the website really don’t do you justice” Colin said rising to pull out a chair for his date.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls” Becky said smiling warmly at Colin.

“No I always say what I mean and you, Becky look absolutely stunning in that blue dress”.

“Thank you” Becky replied, “This is a nice restaurant, I’ve never been here before. I just love traditional restaurants, those oak beams look to be several centuries old”.

“Yes its rare to find a place like this that hasn’t been ruined by some god awful corporate chain. The boards of those places should be lined up against the wall and shot”.

“Shooting is a little extreme. Making them eat in their own restaurants every day for the remainder of their lives would be sufficient punishment”.

“I’ll settle for that because I’m opposed to the death penalty on principle” Colin said smiling broadly. “What would you like to eat or would you like a little longer to choose?”

“The roast venison looks delicious”.

“Good choice. I’ve had the venison several times here and its always been excellent. Would you like to choose the wine?”

“I’m happy with a bottle of the house white”.

“The house white it is then” Colin said signalling to the waiter.

—

Bret ascended the stairs. Christ the flat was on floor 21 and he was only on the 7^th floor. Typical the lift was out of order and as was so often the case with these council built 60’s tower blocks the stairs stank of urine. Thank god he didn’t live in a place like this.

—

“So, Becky have you met many men through the agency?” Colin asked as he poured wine into their glasses.

“This is our evening darling. It doesn’t matter about anyone else” Becky said taking Colin’s hand, “lets not spoil it by talking about other people”.

—

Thank Christ he was there. Bret pressed the door bell. It was opened by a lady in her late fourties or early fifties with iron grey hair.

“Come in Bret. How are you?” she said closing the door behind him.

“I’m fine thanks Molly. How are you? Who’s working?”

“We have a lovely new black girl, Caroline. She’s petite, just five feet with long black hair and 36d cup. Monica’s also working”.

“I’ll see Caroline”.

“OK but she’s with a customer at the moment. Would you like a drink while you wait?”

“No thanks” Bret said trying to make himself comfortable on the ancient sofa. Something sharp pearced his skin.

“Fuck not a bloody needle?” he said jumping to his feet.

“We don’t allow drugs here. You know that Bret”.

Bret glanced at the sofa. A rusty metal spring protruded through the threadbare fabric.

“You should get the bloody thing replaced!”

“Sorry Bret I’ll speak to the owner”.

Bret nodded. He knew that nothing would happen. The next time he visited the same sofa would be standing in that filthy corner. Did they never clean this place!

—

“I love Keats Ode to a Nightingale. Every time I read it I’m reduced to tears”.

Colin raised his eyebrows.

“You weren’t expecting a girl like me to derive pleasure from literature. I’m the kind of lady who reads chick lit or those trashy novels you pick up in airport book shops am I? Is that what you think of me?” Becky said. She smiled but beneath the smile Colin could detect something else, was it sorrow?

“I must admit to being surprised but, of course there is no reason why you shouldn’t enjoy reading great literature”.

“I read English literature at Notingham university. You look shocked. What is an educated girl like me doing in a business like this. That is what you are asking yourself isn’t it?” They both spoke in low voices but given the noise emanating from their fellow diners it would have been almost impossible for their conversation to have been overheard.

“Yes I must confess that I was”.

“I need to pay off my student loan. Most jobs don’t pay the kind of money to clear it quickly. OK I could pay it off gradually, through my taxes but I want to get a mortgage on a decent place and I don’t want the loan hanging over me. Plus, if I’m honest I like nice clothes and fine dining” Becky said.

“I’m sorry if I offended you”.

“You didn’t darling” Becky said allowing her right foot to rub discreetly against Colin’s leg under the table.

—

A door opened. Bret could hear muffled voices followed by the closing of the front door.

“Caroline there is a customer for you”.

Caroline entered and without speaking motioned to Bret to follow her. Closing the bedroom door she asked

“What do you want?”

“Sex”.

“£60”.

Bret handed over the money and undressed. Wordlessly Caroline followed his example and began to massage his back.

“Turn over” she said after only 5 minutes, “Come quick for me babe there is another client waiting”. As she spoke Caroline rolled a durex down over Bret’s erect penis. straddling him she started to sway her hips rapidly in circular motions.

In the distance the sound of running feet could be heard. A crash of breaking wood reached the couple’s ears. Caroline leapt off Bret just as the bedroom door burst open admitting two men in police uniform.

“I’m arresting you sir on suspicion of paying for sex. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say will be taken down and may be used in evidence. Do you understand?”

Bret desperately attempted to cover his privates with the bed sheet. This couldn’t be happening. He would wake up in a minute at home in his own bed. Bret had heard about the new law which criminalised those who paid for sex, however he had taken the view that police resources being extremely tight the force was highly unlikely to go out of it’s way to enforce the legislation.

“But what about her?” Bret asked pointing to Caroline.

“You haven’t answered my question sir. Do you understand the caution?”

“Yes, but what about the girl, aren’t you going to arrest her?”

“The law says that she is a victim sir so no we aren’t going to arrest her”.

Bret looked stunned.

“But that isn’t justice, its fucking Alice in Wonderland! Everything was consensual”.

“I don’t make the laws sir. I just enforce them. Now just get some clothes on as you will need to accompany us down to the station”.

—

“I’ll need to go soon darling” Becky said giving Colin a kiss on the cheek, “can I use your shower please?”

“Of course. There are clean towels in the airing cupboard”.

“Thanks sweetheart. Don’t get up, I’ll take a shower and let myself out. I hope to see you again soon” Becky said climbing out of the bed.

Colin lay there listening to the sound of the shower. The agency was a good one. They always provided top quality girls and the ability to pay by credit card prior to the bookings meant that you didn’t have the unpleasant task of handing over brown envelopes to your date. Under the new legislation what he was doing was technically illegal. However in the unlikely event that anyone did ask questions he and the girl would say that they had met through the agency which provided dates for social events. They had enjoyed one another’s company and had ended up in bed. Payment was however (as stated on the agency’s site) for companionship only, consequently no offence had been committed. Alice in Wonderland? Perhaps but no prosecutions had taken place of clients using escorts and Colin very much doubted that any such prosecution would meet with success.

The end

A Man Of Compassion

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It really is a disgrace that in 21^st century Britain people are still homeless on the streets. Believe me the conditions portrayed by Dickens are still very much with us. You don’t need me to tell you that hunger and poverty still stalk the land. Just take a stroll under the arches by Embankment and Charing cross stations and you will be confronted by the people society forgot, sleeping in cardboard boxes. There are two parallel cities in London, that inhabited by you and I with our comfortable homes and then there is cardboard city. It breaks my heart to see men and women of all ages huddled in doorways under filthy blankets. Some don’t even own a single blanket, its tragic to see them with nothing to keep themselves warm other than fellow denisons of the streets. On occasions I’ve seen two or three of the poor sods huddled together so as to extract animal warmth from their fellow man. Oh my country, oh my country I weep to see what you have become, a land in which the weak die on the cold streets while the heedless majority parties on this sinking ship.

I do what I can to help. It isn’t much, a flask of hot coffee here, a few sandwitches and most important of all a kind word. What most of the homeless want more than anything else is a sympathetic ear, someone to listen without passing judgement. I’m a good listener, always have been and I think that is why I’ve built up such close relationships with so many of the people sleeping rough.

Its tragic listening to the street people speak about their lives. Take, for example young Janet who ran away from Manchester to London at the age of 14 to get away from her father who’s idea of fatherly love was to sexually abuse her on an almost daily basis. Then there was Mark a successful trader in the city but, come the recession he lost everything and ended up residing in cardboard city.

It is difficult gaining the trust of the homeless. People who have suffered many knocks in life find it hard to fully trust another human being. However I have managed to gain the absolute trust of many a homeless man and woman. Once the relationship is solid I’ll invite them back to my home. Of course they jump at the chance. Who wouldn’t embrace the prospect of a square meal and a clean bed to sleep in.

A little something in their drink and once they are asleep my friend removes a kidney or, sometimes a lung. We are humane men so the men and women are stiched up properly afterwards and given a few hundred quid for their trouble. I’m a charitable man, it’s a crying shame that there are so many men and women sleeping on the streets and we have the cheek to call ourselves a civilised society.

A Trip To The Beach

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I thought that I would try my hand at a short children’s story.

—

Johny was bored. In fact he couldn’t remember having ever felt so fed up in his entire life. Dad had fallen asleep reading the paper while his mum sat reading some silly book with long words he couldn’t understand.

“I’m bored”.

“Why don’t you go and find someone to play with? There are lots of children on the beach, so many I can’t count them” his mother said laughing.

“Don’t want to. I’m bored” Johny said kicking sand in his mum’s face.

“You naughty boy!” Mrs Thomas said desperately attempting to clear her eyes of sand with a tissue. “Just wait until I get my hands on you!”

Johny felt guilty but he wasn’t about to apologise. Saying sorry was for wimps and he was no wimp. Before his mum had chance to get the sand out of her eyes Johny ran into the sea.

The water was cool. Johny kicked his legs sending water splashing high into the air. This was fun! Johny paddled away from the beach. He was no longer bored, this was much more interesting than reading a boring old newspaper or a book with words he couldn’t understand.

Suddenly the ground began to slope downwards. Johny felt that he was going to be sucked to the very bottom of the ocean.

“Help!” he cried his hands grabbing at an enormous chain of sea weed. Gosh the chain was thick, bigger even than his dad’s huge arms. The chain didn’t move.

“That’s lucky I thought that sea weed floated but this is attached to something. Its stopped me from drowning. If it moved then I’d be sucked to the bottom of the ocean” Johny said with a shiver.

Johny followed the chain down. It was attached to a large rock.

“I wonder if I can lift this rock” Johny thought.

He tugged at the chain. Nothing happened.

“You will move you stupid rock” he said digging his toes into the soft sand and pulling back with all his strenghth. Suddenly there was a loud pop followed by a gurgling sound. Johny found himself lying flat on his back in a puddle of water. A puddle that couldn’t be right!

“Now look what you have done!”

Johny looked up to see a star fish desperately trying to find some water to swim in.

“You have let the plug out!”

“But I didn’t mean to!”

“That’s all very well but the fact is that you pulled the plug out and soon I and the other creatures who live in the sea will have no water to swim in. Without water we will die!”

Johny began to cry.

“I’m very sorry I didn’t know that the sea had a plug”.

“Your bath has a plug doesn’t it?”

“Yes of course”.

“Well then it should be obvious to an intelligent little boy like you that the ocean has a plug. How else do you think the sea god controls the tide? But the sea god only opens the plug hole a little bit so that I and the other creatures have time to swim far out into the ocean before the water disappears. There are lots of plugs all over the world and you have pulled one of them out completely!”

“What can I do? I’m very sorry Mr star fish, please just tell me what I can do”.

“See that cave over there?” the star fish asked pointing in the direction of a small cave in the cliff face.

“Yes”.

“Run as quick as you can and turn the taps on”.

“The taps?”

“I thought that you where a clever little boy. Yes the taps. Your sink and bath at home have taps don’t they to fill them up? So how else do you think that the sea god fills up the ocean?”

“Wow I didn’t know that” Johny said. As quick as a flash Johny raced to the cave. Inside he found a huge tap built into the cliff face.

“I’ll never be able to move that” Johny thought looking sadly at the enormous tap, “but I must otherwise all those poor sea creatures will die and it will be all my fault”. Taking hold of the tap Johny turned with all his might. At first nothing happened but, gradually a stream of salt water began to flow from the secret pipes hidden far below the sea bed. The sea level began to rise. Johny could see small waves dancing in the sunshine.

“Thank you little boy” the star fish called as he headed out into the deep blue ocean.

The end

Sting in the tail free from today (2 September) until 6 September

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I am pleased to announce that my collection of short stories and poems, Sting in the tail and other stories, is free on Amazon from today (2 September) until 6 September. To download Sting in the tail free please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/Sting-tail-other-stories-ebook/dp/B00DFK6R54 or http://www.amazon.com/Sting-tail-other-stories-ebook/dp/B00DFK6R54.

Taboo

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“The only part of conduct of any one, for which he is amenable to society, is that which concerns others. In the part, which merely concerns himself, his

independence is, of right, absolute. Over himself, over his own body and mind, the individual is sovereign.” (J S Mill in his essay “On Liberty”).

—

I still can’t believe that my 2 oldest friends, John and Fiona are gone, there lives snuffed out in an instant. It made the local news on the BBC. The police are still questioning the lorry driver but it seems that he fell asleep at the wheel and hit my friend’s car. Only yesterday we where enjoying dinner in our favourite restaurant and now they are gone.

“You don’t need to start straight away. Why not leave it a few days before going through John and Fiona’s things darling” my wife said putting her arms around my neck.

“No sweetheart I need to feel that I’m doing something. I can’t just sit here. It will have to be done and I’d rather get it over with”.

I ought to explain that besides being their oldest friend I was appointed as one of John and Fiona’s executors along with Bob Marshal. I haven’t been able to get hold of Bob so I may as well get things moving.

Is this what we are reduced to in death? A myriad personal effects, two wardrobes bulging with clothes and one small filing cabinet which looks as though it was purchased from a catalogue shop. Oh god the bed sheets are all tangled up as though from love making. My old friends I hope your last night was spent in blissful passion. I must get out of the bedroom. I can’t deal with this right now. The living room I’ll start there.

I took that photograph, the one on the mantelpiece. Fiona pushing my daughter, Matilda on the swing while Matilda smiles that smile that could melt the coldest of hearts. John is looking on with a huge grin on his face. To think we’ll never be together again, no more laughter. I haven’t had the heart to call Matilda at university. Its almost exam time and the news will devastate her. She was so fond of Fiona and John, I’ll wait until the examinations are over and tell her then.

How alike John and Fiona seem in that picture. Brown hair, those hazel eyes, even the same delicate little nose. People always commented on their similarity. They must have got sick of all the comments but neither of them ever showed any outward sign of irritation with the nosy parkers who felt that they had the right to interfere in their lives.

“Its just one of life’s little coincidences” John and Fiona would reply smilingly in response to comments about how alike they looked.

Poor Matilda she will be heart broken when I tell her. John and Fiona treated her as though she was their own daughter. Fiona’s face is alight with joy as she pushes Matilda on that swing. I can’t understand why they never had children of their own. John and Fiona would have made wonderful parents, you can see how Matilda adores them, just look at her face in the photograph. I once asked Fiona whether she and John had considered having children.

“I love children Martin but bringing a life into the world is such a massive responsibility”.

“But Fiona there are lots of parents who don’t care about their children. You and John would make much better parents than many of the people who treat their children like possessions. You both have a real feeling for children. Matilda adores you both. She is always asking when she can go and visit uncle John and auntie Fiona”.

“There are genetic reasons Martin. I don’t want to talk about them. I don’t mean to be rude but as my oldest friend I’m sure that you will respect our reasons for not wishing to discuss having children”.

I was a little taken back by Fiona’s somewhat brusque response, however not wishing to sour a friendship which meant so much I agreed never to raise the subject again.

Looking back at our friendship Fiona and John adroitly changed the subject whenever the topic of their families was raised.

“We where both born under gooseberry bushes” they would say laughing uproariously whenever anyone asked about their parents.

“But seriously, Fiona/John I’ve known you both for 15 years but I know nothing about your families. I’ve never met any of your relations”.

“The stalk left us both under the gooseberry bush” they would both answer in unison their bodies convulsing with laughter.

Well looking at photographs won’t achieve anything. Lets take a look in that filing cabinet. Typical sloppy John and Fiona, the key is in the lock. Now what is the point of having a lockable filing cabinet if you leave the key in the lock?!

Not much here. A few bills, two passports and a photograph album. Martin you are here to go through papers not to look through old photos. But a quick flip through won’t take up much time will it? No of course it won’t, I’ll just have a brief look and then get on with sorting through that folder of papers that I found lying under the album.

That lady looks just like John. Hold on she looks like both of them. The same features, the self-same brown hair and hazel eyes. I don’t understand, who is she? Another sibling?

Looking at pictures isn’t getting me anywhere. Lets have a look at whats in this folder. Birth certificates for Fiona and John Hamilton. Christ no wonder they shyed away from discussing their families, they are/where brother and sister.

That’s disgusting, how could they do that. Its not natural, I feel sick to the stomach when I think about it. But Martin they weren’t harming anyone. They where just two adults in a loving relationship who happened to be brother and sister. But if they had brought children into the world the kids would have had a high probability of suffering from serious disabilities, quite possibly severe mental disability. The taboo against incest is there for a very good reason. Incestuous relationships are unnatural, even animal breeders avoid breeding brother with sister because it is neither healthy nor natural to do so. They didn’t have children though. Fiona and John hinted at the reason for not having children but you like a fool where to blind to comprehend. So does the fact that they took a decision not to have children make it all OK then? I don’t know. My gut reaction is one of revulsion, its not normal, they must have been sick to do what they did. But they where good to you and Matilda. They genuinely loved your daughter and Matilda loved them to bits. What will Matilda say when I tell her? I can’t tell her or anyone else, why drag the reputation of a sweet harmless couple through the dirt when they are dead? But they weren’t sweet and harmless, John and Fiona broke not only the law of the land, they breeched that most ancient of taboos, the prohibition against sleeping with your closest relatives. Would you have reported them if you had discovered their secret while John and Fiona where still both living? Yes. No. I don’t know. They where my dear, dear friends. John and Fiona never hurt anyone. What they did turns my stomach but they did no harm to anyone. Let sleeping dogs lie.

Ah that’s what I’m looking for, the electric shredder. In go the photographs and the birth certificates. That’s it all over now.

The end

Lady in Red

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“It’s Friday evening and that means clubbing. Yeah I can’t wait to get out there on the dance floor. The thud of the beat and all those guys watching as I strut my stuff gives me such a buzz. They can’t keep their eyes off me and their paws too. I can wrap any bloke round my little finger. The power of sex, use and abuse it, get what you want and move on.

God I feel sexy. What will it be? The tight red dress and matching skirt? Yeah that looks great. Where are my stilettos? Got them, I must have thrown them under the bed when I had that bloke last weekend. Mum never says anything about the blokes. As soon as she gets her benefits she’s down the pub picking up her own guy. She tried telling me what to do once.

“You’re a fucking slapper. I’m not having you bring blokes back here. You’re a disgrace. I didn’t bring you up to behave like a little tramp. I’m not putting up with it any more Kylie!”

I told her to fuck off and stormed out of the house. What right has she got to tell me how to live my life. Fucking waste of space she is. When it was happening she did nothing. She says she didn’t know. She didn’t know, my arse! If she had no idea then she bloody well should have known. To fond of the drink to care about me.

Well here I am. Club’s heaving, it always is at the weekend. Look at that bloke he can’t keep his eyes off me. He’s actually drooling. Pathetic loser, I’ll chew him up and spit him out like a piece of chewing gum. His hands are all over me the dirty fucker. He wants it bad. OK mate you asked for it,

“Want to come back to mine” I say grinding against him. Of course he does, the dirty fucker.

Sometimes I let them finish before I say anything. Other times I tell them while they are screwing me. Stupid twats you should see their faces when I tell them the truth. I just say casual like

“I’m 15 wanna see my school uniform”.

It’s a great little earner. No bloke wants to be called a nonce. They beat the crap out of nonces in prison but you know that anyway don’t you? Course you do. Anyway I’ve got more cash than all my mates put together. Blokes are stupid, they deserve everything that comes to them.

Sometimes when I’m by myself I can’t stop crying. Just 10 I was when that bastard slipped into my bed while mum was asleep. The things he made me do. Just a little girl and mum says she didn’t no, bollocks mum, bollocks world!”

Sting in the tail by K Morris free on Amazon

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My collection of short stories, Sting in the tail and other stories, will be free to download on Amazon from 2-6 September. For further details please visit http://www.amazon.com/Sting-tail-other-stories-ebook/dp/B00DFK6R54.

I’m Not Good In The Morning

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“Hello” he said. Of course I don’t answer. Perhaps you will think me rude as a greeting should illicit a response. But look at things from my perspective. There I am relaxing in my bed, minding my own business and he breezes in and says “hello”! What you still think that I’m lacking in social graces do you? Well how would you like to be disturbed at a little after 6 am by a cheery fool saying “hello?” I thought not, you wouldn’t be thrilled either so you can, I think understand why I totally blanked my friend’s attempt to engage me in conversation.

Not content with disturbing my beauty sleep he will humiliate me later today by expecting me to wear a harness. Not just in private in our home. No that would be bad enough, he expects me to wear it in public. Surely there is a law against such things and, if there isn’t then I’d urge you to lobby your MPs to bring one in urgently! Does anyone know whether making a guide dog wear a harness breeches my human rights?”