Tag Archives: flash fiction

Hospital

“You are such a baby Charles” Anna said giving her husband a playful punch on the arm.

“You know I hate hospitals. The smell of disinfectant masking the scent of death” Charles replied with a shudder.

Anna’s smile disappeared, “You are really worried about this aren’t you darling?” she said pulling Charles close.

“Surely you remember what happened last time I went into hospital?” Charles asked snuggling up close to Anna. The scent of her hair, fragrant with apple shampoo calmed his jangled nerves.

“No darling, I don’t think you told me about it” Anna replied.

“I must have done!” Charles said, his whole body beginning to shake afreshe at the recollection.

Anna stroked her husband’s cheek, “I don’t remember, sorry darling. What happened?” she asked.

“You remember when that bloody jack Russell bit me and I had to go into hospital?” Charles said.

“How could I forget there was blood everywhere. You really ought to have made a complaint to the police and had the animal destroyed. It could have been a child rather than you”, Anna said.

“Thanks a bunch! So its OK if I get bitten but not if a kid gets savaged?” Charles said.

“No, and you know that isn’t what I meant!” Anna said.

“Sorry darling, my nerves are all over the place. I know that isn’t what you meant”, Charles said.

“You are forgiven”, Anna said ruffling her husband’s hair.

“As I was saying, I went into hospital and the nurse gave me an injection, I think they call it antitetanus, to kill anything that dirty little mut might have given me. Before leaving I popped into the loo and”, Charles stopped his face turning ashen.

“What did you find sweetheart?” Anna asked massaging her husband’s neck, (she knew how it helped to relax him).

“I opened the toilet door. There was this man leaning over the sink. At first I thought he had just been sick. Then I saw the blood. It was everywhere. The poor man had literally coughed his guts up and was stone cold dead. What a way to die”, Charles said, his whole frame starting to shake anew.

“Oh Charles. You never told me. I can’t imagine how upsetting that must have been. You don’t have to go you know”, Anna said.

“Its important. They are short of blood. I want to donate”, Charles replied.

“Would you like me to go with you?” Anna asked.

“No darling. You have an interview for that teaching job, Charles said.

“You are more important than a bloody job. I’ll see if the school can reschedule”, Anna said.

“No, that would be very unprofessional. I will be fine darling, honestly”, Charles said.

 

 

Charles tried to concentrate on the newspaper. It was no good, he kept seeing the bloodless face of that corpse propped up against the hand basin.

“Charles Craven please”, the receptionist said.

Shakily Charles got to his feet and walked through into a small room. The whiteness of the walls perfectly complimented the palor of Charles’s face.

“Please take a seat. Make yourself comfortable”, a young woman in a white coat said with a smile.

Charles gazed mesmerised at the woman’s blood red lips and her ever so perfect white teeth. They where, he thought unusually long and pointed. In fact more like the fangs he had seen on wolves when watching wildlife documentaries.

“You may feel a little prick”, she said advancing on him, the light reflecting of those perfect, sharp teeth.

Update to reviews of my books page

I have updated my reviews page to include several recent reviews. These have already been posted on my blog however, posts get buried after a while, hence the additions to my review page.

You can see the review page here: http://newauthoronline.com/reviews-of-my-books/

A Review Of My Collection Of Short Stories: “Sting In The Tail And Other Stories”

On checking to ascertain whether the free promotion of my books had resulted in any further reviews, I came across the following review for my collection of short stories, “Sting In The Tail And Other Stories”:

 

“Dark, suicidal short stories. However, well thought out. Left me feeling very gloomy. Way stories are woven still reminiscent of S. King”. (http://www.amazon.com/review/R9HE7R51U7CEQ/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00DFK6R54). Thank you to the reviewer for taking the time to read and review “Sting In The Tail”.

 

Reviews And A Thank You

I was excited to see that my collection of short stories, “An Act Of Mercy” has received the following 4 star review:

“A series of short, dark stories that one can easily relate to although most would not find themselves in the situations the stories involve. Thoroughly

thought provoking”. (For the review please visit http://www.amazon.com/review/R3PVJFPC6DWJDQ/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm).

 

In addition, my collection of short stories, “Street Walker And Other Stories” has received a 4 star review from the same reviewer:

“The first page led me to believe this was to be a book of ladies of the night. Then it turned to little short stories reminiscent of Stephen King. But the

final entry joined them together in a way that sticks with you”. (For the review please go to http://www.amazon.com/review/RMGILYKK6L3ZV/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm).

 

Thank you to the reviewer for the above reviews and to all of you who have helped to promote my writing by reblogging and liking my posts. It is very much appreciated. Kevin

The Free Promotion Of My Books Ends On 6 September 2014

The free promotion of my books ends on 6 September. For further information or to download my stories free from Amazon please go to http://newauthoronline.com/2014/09/01/free-book-promotion-4/.

Reviews Of My Books “An Act Of Mercy” And “Street Walker And Other Stories”

I was delighted to receive the following 5 star review in respect of my collection of short stories, “Street Walker And Other Stories”:

 

“I’ve read several short story collections and stand-alone stories by this author; this one features the same good quality writing and attention to characterization”. (For the review please go to http://www.amazon.com/product-reviews/B00HLRNDP4/ref=cm_cr_dp_syn_footer?k=Street%20Walker%20and%20other%20stories&showViewpoints=1).

 

I was also gratified to receive the below 4 star review as regards my collection of short stories, “An Act of Mercy”:

 

“A collection of well-written stories (set in the U.K) that had me engrossed from beginning to end. I like this author’s style and have not been disappointed

Yet”. (For the review please visit http://www.amazon.com/product-reviews/B00EHS74CS/ref=cm_cr_dp_syn_footer?k=An%20act%20of%20mercy%20and%20other%20stories&showViewpoints=1).

 

I am grateful to the reviewer (the same person in both cases) for taking the time to write the above reviews. Both titles are free to download in the Kindle Store until 6 September.

Ilana

“World War I was the underlying cause of the Bolshevik Revolution. Discuss”.

History has never been my strong point to put it mildly! I guess that its more complicated than the question suggests. Besides the war,the “great man” theory of history must have played a part. Surely old Vladimir Lenin’s powerful personality must have influenced the overthrow of the Tsarist regime. I mean it stands to reason, doesn’t it?

If it wasn’t for all my partying I’d probably be better able to answer that damn question. Any excuse for a party and you can bet your bottom dollar, I’ll be there.

“Hi Stan, mum and dad are away for the weekend, fancy coming over tonight?”

I was sitting on my bed, Ipad in hand willing myself to tackle that bloody history assignment when that text from Pete arrived. Sod Tsar Nicholas II and the Communists. It was nearly 100 years ago, what the hells it got to do with the here and now. I’ve only recently turned 18, for christ’s sake I’ve better things to do than bury myself in dusty old books, I’m off to Pete’s place.

 

 

She’s really something. That long black hair and long, toned bare legs reaching right up to her armpits.

“Hi I’m Stan, you’re gorgeous. Has anyone ever told you that?” Shit what a corney chat up line. If I where her I’d tell me to go and screw myself. What a prat you are Stan. You haven’t got a bloody clue how to chat to the ladies!

“Hi, I’m Ilana” she says in slightly accented English, fixing me with those dark eyes of her’s.

“Has anyone ever told you how sexy you sound Ilana?” If I didn’t blow it the first time I opened my big mouth then I’ve sure as hell made a prize idiot of myself this time. Any moment now she’ll adopt that look of withering contempt women’s faces take on whenever I’ve uttered a few sentences.

“Thanks, you’re a sweet guy. My family’s from Hungary. I came here as a little girl but I’ve still got a slight accent”.

“Really, didn’t the Soviets invade Hungary in the 1950’s?”

“Yes, in 1956. Its known as the Hungarian Uprising. My parents are from an ancient Magyar family, aristocrats in fact. When the Soviet tanks rolled in they managed to flee to the UK”.

Wow perhaps she can help me with my essay and, even if she can’t I just want to spend as much time as possible chatting to this gorgeous girl. “Do you know much about the Bolshevik Revolution?”

She throws back her head and laughs, her perfect white teeth glinting in the candlelight (Pete’s always had a thing for candles, he says it makes the atmosphere more intimate).

Stan” she says entwining her fingers in mine) history is my passion. Since the birth of civilisation my people have been persecuted and killed. The Hungarian puppitt government was just one manifestation of the suffering inflicted on my race. So, yes I know all about the Bolshevik Revolution and it’s effects on my people”.

“Do you think you could help me with an essay on the causes of the Revolution? I need to hand it in on Monday morning”.

“Sure”.

“How about tomorrow, at, say 1 pm?” I say knowing full well that my parents will be visiting friends on Saturday and won’t return until Sunday evening.

“I’m not a daytime girl. I party all night and sleep late into the day” she says squeezing my hand. Thrills of anticipation shoot through me. “I’ll be with you just as the moon rises which (she says consulting her mobile) will be a little after 9”.

 

 

“Hello Stan” she says, looking absolutely stunning in a very short red dress which leaves little to the imagination.

“Hi Ilana. Come in” I say trying not to blush.

“Thank you”. Her Hungarian accent, barely imperceptible yesterday, seems much more pronounced this evening. Perhaps it’s the lack of loud music which makes me notice such things.

We walk through into the lounge.

“Would you like a drink?”

“No, just sit next to me” she says patting the sofa.

I plop down next to her. “Stan you are a very handsome man” she says her blood red lips parting in a smile to reveal those amazingly white teeth. So perfect. Sharp little daggers of enamel glistening under the overhead light. I draw back involuntarily.

“Stan, I thought you liked me, is something wrong?” she says her delicate tongue moistening those ruby lips.

“No its just that” I trail off my eyes fixed on those needle sharp little teeth.

“It’s a privilege experienced by very few men to enjoy the intense pleasure of one such as I” she says her mouth inches away from mine. She leans in softly taking my face in her hands. Her lips so soft on my neck. Feather like kisses sending waves of delight through me. A sharp scratch like a needle when one gives blood. She laps greedily as a cat drinks milk. I am giddy with fear and desire.

Vampire

The owl’s mournful cry caused the young woman to gaze up into the night sky. Death glided gracefully overhead in search of his prey.

“I salute you my friend” the woman said raising her hand to signify her respect.

Her coal black hair blue in the rising wind. She licked her full red lips and smiled. Briliant white teeth reflected back the light of the moon. She, to was in search of her prey.

Houseproud

Have you noticed how hypnotic washing machines can be. The swish, swish of the clothes going round, the movement of the drum and the gentle whirr of the motor can soothe the most savage of breasts.

As you can tell,I like doing the laundry. There’s an art to it. Its not just about throwing in the washing, willy nilly with any old soap powder. You need a good quality powder and a fabric conditioner. The conditioners vital as it not only softens the fabric it also destroys any lingering odours.

My wife, Emma jokes that I have OCD.

“You don’t need to clean every day darling, once or twice a week is fine!”

“But you work so hard sweetheart. I can’t just sit around while you work all the hours god sends”, I say kissing her on the lips.

The house needs to be perfect. Next time you visit one of your friend’s homes look under the sofa or the bed and you will see dust, pet hairs and heaven knows what else. Most people including my darling Emma are Lazy, they clean the visible places but work on the basis that what the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over, hence the filth under so many beds and sofas!

I always wipe all surfaces. You can’t be to careful about bacteria and other things. A damp cloth with just a trace of fairy liquid works wonders on the mattress.

Emma is so untidy. I’m forever picking up her shoes and storing them neatly on the shoe rack. You never see me throw my dirty underware on the floor but I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve found my darling Emma’s bra or knickers randomly lying under the bed or in the bathroom. I’m sure its true that women are generally more house proud than men. I guess I’m the exception that proves the rule.

Lots of Emma’s friends are jealous.

“I wish my Tom was like that” I heard Paula say only the other day. Emma just smiled and squeezed my hand under the restaurant table.

She’ll be home soon. One last tidy up before the lady of the house returns. The living room looks great. Its wonderful what effect Bees Wax has on the furniture.

Everything looks good in the bedroom. Freshly laundered sheets smelling of fabric conditioner and all the clothes neatly put away in the wardrobes, one wardrobe for me and another for Emma. Everything in it’s place, what a wonderful husband you are John!

How could I have missed them? A pair of Emma’s shoes underneath the righthand wardrobe, at the back by the wall. I vacuumed, I always do but the vacuum cleaner must have pushed them to the back without me noticing. Pick them up and take them through to the shoe rack in the hall.

Emma’s key in the door, I must go and greet my darling wife. What a funny sight I must be rushing to the door a pair of women’s shoes in my hand!

“Hello darling” I say putting the shoes on the little phone table just inside the front door and taking Emma into my arms.

“Hi sweetheart, its lovely to see you to” she says running her fingers through my hair. “Who’s are those? Hold on Jenny has a pair exactly like that, I was in John Lewis with her when she bought them” she says taking up the shoes. “Yes, I distinctly remember her buying these …”. She trails off her eyes boring into mine. I look away. Shit, to be caught out by a pair of bloody black stilettos when I’ve meticulously cleaned and tidied the house from top to bottom. Not stains on the bedsheets or lipstick on the wine glass but a damn pair of women’s shoes, oh shit!

Jenny fragrant with the scent of lavender, my beautiful Jenny kicking her shoes with gay abandon under the wardrobe and diving into bed. I love high heels. Jenny likes what she calls “sensible” shoes so she comes in stilettos to make me happy but leaves in flats. I remember her slipping on her “sensible” shoes before leaving. I didn’t think anything about the stilettos. Bang goes my marriage and all over a pair of fucking stilettos.

He Who Sups

“Have you seen my long spoon?”

“No, why do you need that bent old thing anyway? It’s caked in rust and falling apart”.

“I’m off to sup with the devil”.

“Ah, I understand, he who sups with the devil should use a long spoon”.

“Precisely so”.

“But you are God, surely the lord of the universe doesn’t require a long spoon to protect himself from the prince of darkness?”

“You don’t understand. It’s a tradition. Without tradition where would we be?”

“But, with respect, you are the supreme being, can’t you create a new long spoon?”

“But I was extremely fond of the old one. Where can it be?”

“Perhaps the devil is using it to stir up trouble on earth”.

“That is a terrible joke and unworthy of an ark angel”.

“No, seriously sire your long spoon is ideally suited for stirring up humanity”.

“You may have a point. Really it isn’t good enough. Satan should be content with that fearsome pitch fawk of his but, no he has to go and steal my long spoon”.

“Excuse me sire, what is that you are sitting on?”

“Oh, its my long spoon, heaven be praised. Oh heavens I’ll have to apologise to Lucifer, fancy accusing him of stealing it like that”.

“Well sire I guess there has to be a first time for everything …”.