The Author.

The author sat at his desk in the warm sunlight that streamed in through the French doors. The study was a strange mix of chaos and order with books stacked neatly in on shelves and old papers of every kind strewn on the desk like a great reef. Framed photographs of the author’s grandchildren stood on … More The Author.

House

I asked a builder to build me a house. He came to my home and we drank tea at the kitchen table in front of the glowing coal fire and talked about what I wanted. ‘I want you to build me a creepy house on a hill,’ I said. ‘You know the sort: creaky floorboards, … More House

Dying.

I’m dying. Breathless and panicked Stammering and sweating, Whispering weightless words To empty faces Who stare sadistically Like Colosseum spectators. They prefer this mental breakdown To my actual material. I’m dying again And they absolutely love it.

Rise of the Planet of the Kids.

After years of plotting, the children finally struck. Adults were forced to surrender TV remotes and future dreams before being herded onto cattle trucks under the supervision of machine-gun wielding adolescents. The lucky ones who escaped the city fled to far-off snow-capped mountains where young legs leadened quickly. Within months the city had fallen. Angry … More Rise of the Planet of the Kids.

Anti-Cliches…

I knocked twice on the Doctor’s door. ‘Who’s there,’ came the deep crackled voice. ‘Your next patient,’ I said. ‘Come in!’ I went inside and sat down at his desk. The wall clock ticked hypnotically. ‘What seems to be the problem,’ he said. ‘Well Doctor,’ I said. ‘I feel like a cliché.’ The Doctor looked … More Anti-Cliches…

Bastard Sun.

It’s fucking evil the sun out here. A right nasty piece of shit. Comes up just before the locals start wailing and hangs there all fucking day like a proper menace. I have to smear meself in Army issue factor fifty to keep it from torching me skin. Makes me look like Casper the fucking … More Bastard Sun.