Short Stories to Entertain

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About ten seconds, that’s roughly how long it takes to hit the ground from one thousand feet. Anyway, that’s what I told the man, the one hanging out from the rail on The Royal Gorge Bridge, the one with the look of death in his eyes. Flashing and flicking like they were. Ten seconds, one thousand feet. What I didn’t say was, less the fifty feet short of the thousand the height of the bridge actually was . Fifty to spare so if he counted, he would get to nine point nine-five before he stopped. I thought that would save him some worry.   It was the same old story. Well, as it happens, two stories, “I’m broke and she’s gone,” he mumbled.    No tears, they never have tears, just the look, the eyes and the shaking. For some reason they all shake. Kind of vibrate , I suppose.   I said, “You know, I’ve always thought what it would be like to fly but I’ve not had the chance. Not like you. You’ve got ten seconds to find out.”   That’s when he looked at me, “T...

George sat at his kitchen table sipping black coffee looking through the window towards the dusty play area in front of the road. Smiling was what he should be doing but he had a distressing suspicion preventing the smile from getting any purchase. The dark-skinned girl sitting on his fence, on her own, took no part. He could see she was just sitting silently suffering. He thought about it but actually knew it was futile to intervene so stood, put the cup in the sink, took one last look then wandered to his study to continue writing what would be his greatest work, unaware that without even the need to intercede, he was in fact, the catalyst to the girl’s salvation.     The fence swayed gently in time with Lucy, rocking back and forth as she sat on the low post joining two sets of two runners, just watching. The huge guard dog behind her growled and snarled, spluttered and coughed at the same time. A long chain clipped to its choke-chain collar tightened as he tugged and ...

  Responding to requests for a TEASER this is chapter 1 of LAUNDRY WARS IN DESENZANO. The book will be available EARLY IN THE NEW YEAR. Details will be posted. It was ten-fifty Monday morning, at least that’s what Emily Ellis’s watch told her as she curled back the cuff of her cream blouse. The six-forty-three express from Desenzano rattled and rocked through a multitude of point changes as it passed endless rows of houses and warehouses finally approaching Roma Termini platform twenty-one. The express was twenty-five minutes late, but of course that didn't matter, the important thing was that she had escaped, so far without any consequences, other than the fact that most of her possessions were still enjoying the view across Lake Garda. She snatched a glance at the sour-face sitting next to her. Emily was not normally a spiteful person but that bitch; she was sure her ankle would suffer for days.

She was upstairs when the telephone rang but she had no problem hearing it. The polished wood flooring of the hallway and lack of soft furnishings created a hard space where the loud bell could echo and resonate throughout the house. Sitting on the bed she inspected her nails. One last swipe with the emery board, the scraping she knew scratched at his nerves which was why she was doing it now, to avoid a later minor skirmish. She saved the doing of it in his presence for when she wanted to make a point, to emphasize an issue, to de liberately get under his skin. She did not rush to answer the call. She was not that sort of person and rarely rushed to do anything. Slowly she put the nail file on the bedside table deliberately placing it where she had asked for a phone to be installed just to remind her how ludicrous it was to deny such a simple and necessary luxury.