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.
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.
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.
In a bid to improve the mental state of commuters, a South-Western railway company had replaced the usual flat track from Woking to Paddington station with a train-sized rollercoaster track. The usual one-hour journey now takes nearly two hours but in that time passengers take in two loop the loops, three cobra rolls, four camel … More The Louder you Scream…
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…
My front door is many things: A door, a windbreak, and a telepathic psychopath to name just a few. (If you were my front door you would have known that already.) But all that extra-sensory-power has warped my front door’s sense of humour. It used to laugh at Carry on Films and musical comedy, but … More My Psycho Front Door.
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.
When I arrived at Shklovsky’s garage, I found my car in parts: The brakes, the clutch, the wheel discs, the cam shaft, the gearbox, and the exhaust all laid out on the greasy floor like excavated dinosaur bones. ‘Jesus Shklovsky!’ I said. ‘What the hell have you done to my car?’ Shklovsky held a piston … More Shklovsky’s Garage.
Professor Dawkins, what will you say? Standing before Him on Judgement day. Will you squirm and squeal and plead for your soul? Will you beg for His mercy before you’re cast into the hole? At that time you will know much confusion. You’ll be shown your life and you’ll see your Delusion. Pleading, ‘please not … More A Letter to Professor Dawkins…
Before the blood was taken I was one hundred percent positive I was one hundred percent negative, and I hate to sound so negative because I used to be so positive, but now the bloods been taken I am one hundred percent positive I am one hundred percent positive. And to think: I used to be … More H.I.V. TEST