? ? ? What's going on?! Something's cooking in the Melicertian corner of the world... What is this?! Is it shaped like... a book cover?! (On which Dimitris shamelessly pasted question marks to create mystery?!) Who is that short, angry guy with the net?! And who, or what, is he hunting?! And why?! Wait... Is … Continue reading ???
This short has stayed with me for a number of years, almost entirely unchanged save for the ending, which refused to cooperate despite a dozen versions I tried my hand at. This one, eventually, works. You and Me and the Limerents Melisse and I had this game: every night, an hour or so before going … Continue reading You and Me and the Limerents
I'm dying I've got a cold so I'm taking drama to a whole new level taking full advantage of the husky voice. Previously published, full text here.
This is a story about a man who jumped in the river. Here’s how it happened. A man –not him we just mentioned but another– was rushing out of London Bridge station late one Saturday afternoon. Crowded madness as usual. There was a William Hill under the train bridge but he didn’t feel like a gamble. He … Continue reading The Lighter
I named the fox ‘Kafka’ because he is irrelevant and because he tosses around a lot in his sleep. It can be annoying. I had never imagined foxes get nightmares. These days we sleep together, the fox and I, in my trailer by the loch. I call it a loch but that is since I found … Continue reading The Loch
This story features mature content and sexual themes, including explicit language and offensive, politically incorrect terminology. All characters, locations and events in Feksmeker are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Views and opinions expressed by characters do not necessarily reflect those of the author. Feksmeker I believe that the universe … Continue reading Feksmeker
The first time he really got me. I unlocked the door, unexpecting. And there he was, waiting, with the eyes of the devil. Next thing I knew a barrage of tiny fists flying at my face. He had small hands like that, but furious. I was taken aback. Retreated into the corridor. One of his … Continue reading For the Sake of Eustace Jones
In memoriam Iain M. Banks. Tangency ‘Raid on Qåwalzak’ Your visor’s screen the smoke won’t penetrate Through, of razed polis Qåwalzak’s demise, Its palaces of chalcedony, chalcocite and agate Reflections mere afore your shielded eyes. But, look – here rose once the Master Clockmaker’s Fort That planets seven busied to restructure Time, And thereabout lay … Continue reading Tangency
Tommy lay in a hospital bed, feeling with his tongue the place in his gums which a day before hosted three teeth. His smile would never be the same again. Nor would his left side, though his broken rib would eventually heal. That's what the doctors said. But his heart, oh would his poor heart heal? … Continue reading ♥ A Touching Story: A Proper Ending ♥
Tommy was eight when he met Emma. Emma was six. The year was 1987 and the place of their first meeting was the local playground of their neighbourhood in Surrey. Neither of them would remember the scene, but their parents overheard them exchanging love vows surprising and unexpected for children their age: ‘I love you-u-u,’ … Continue reading ♥ A Touching Story ♥
My grandfather shot a flamingo once. Why? I have no idea. But I swear by all that I hold sacred: this story is true, despite it featuring in a literary context. The reason I’m narrating it isn’t to have my grandfather put in jail; no, I do love my grandpa. And jail is an unlikely … Continue reading Mercurial Temperaments of the Flamingo Murderer’s Soul
There were flowers in the fridge. That is, not flowers but flowers-to-be. You see, Garth used it as a growing place. Said some seeds need lower temperatures to spring forth. The idea seems peculiar in its own right, I know; yet if you had a picture of the apartment, it made sense. There were flowers … Continue reading The Man with the Flowers
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. — Shakespeare, Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5) She must have had an accident, because from my window on the upper floor I see the man with the shaved head rolling her down to the lake in a wheelchair. This happens every morning at six, … Continue reading All Your Yesterdays
It all started when my voice couldn’t get out, like a bird trapped in a velvet cage, as Erica refers to my mouth, ‘cage’ since I don’t converse much and ‘velvet’ because my lips must be baptized in incense, she says, to grant her that sensation which she describes as tender and valuable, but in … Continue reading I am the air
In the afternoons, when the world became silent, Gilbert rose from his sitting place at the veranda, opened the kitchen window a crack, hid the entrance key under a small mat on the sill in case Scott visited, and climbed carefully the stairs to the attic of his old house. The door protested; it creaked, … Continue reading Come Again
Ignacio was opening drawers, running skilled fingers along their interior. Covered in slim black gloves, his hands performed the task in the dark better than his eyes. The small suitcase at his feet already contained several pieces of expensive jewellery, a camera, a pair of swanky sunglasses, a big ornate key. And a bra. Apart … Continue reading The Underwear Thief