Short Stories

LAST CALL AT THE SOUTHERN CROSS

<h1>LAST CALL AT THE SOUTHERN CROSS</h1>

(This story appeared in Unbelievably Bad #19) The morning was lost. I was walking down the Princes Highway. It felt like early afternoon and the sun was beating down. My mouth was bone dry and I could hardly see, everything was a washed out white glare as if I had snow blindness.   Then there was a bus shelter so I sat down to gather my thoughts and closed my eyes against the world. Trucks roared past on the highway and blasted me with heat and the smell of diesel. I felt like my head was floating a few inches above my neck – not an entirely unpleasant sensation. I thought back on the morning...

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Raw Power

<HR><h1>Raw Power</h1>

  (This story was printed in Unbelievably Bad #14) I was just going through the motions really. Meanwhile, my mind drifted off on a cloud of indifference. Sarah turned around and looked at me with smoky eyes. “Why don’t you put it up my arse?” She purred. I thought about it for a second, after-all, she did have a nice arse. Instead I pulled out and fell heavily on the bed next to her. “Whatsamatta?” She asked, suddenly self-conscious. I rubbed my forehead and closed my eyes. “It’s nothing, it’s just that...well...it’s just that...you’re all the fucking...

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A Clockwork Banana

<HR><h1>A Clockwork Banana</h1>

(This short story appeared in Unbelievably Bad #15)   Since my youth, I had known Horatio to be a teller of strange fables so it was no surprise to me when I found him ensconced in his domicile shouting angrily about Luddites. I suggest to him the application of salves and balms to sooth his inner turmoil but he is having none of it. He is convinced that an army of Luddite saboteurs lurk just outside his front door, “first it was the toaster and then the remote control!” He wails in horror. “Could you not ascribe their demise to planned obsolescence?” I enquire innocently. He...

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Whisky and Smack

Whisky and Smack

(This is one of the first short stories I had published when I started writing in 1992. Eventually it became the first chapter of my first book, The Crooked Beat. You can download The Crooked Beat for free HERE)   The first thing I saw when I came to was a cop sitting in a chair next to my concrete bunk. His arms were crossed on his chest and he was balancing on the back legs of the chair. I propped myself up on my right elbow and had a good look at him. A hairy mole quivered on his cheek as he popped air from his lips in time to music in his head. “Am I under arrest?”...

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The Netwerk

<HR><h1>The Netwerk</h1>

  (This short story was printed in Unbelievably Bad #16) In the dream, I have long hair and I am at the bottom of an escalator. My hair is caught in the escelator's steel teeth and they are slowly ripping the hair from my head and people are walking around me pissed off at the obstacle I present. I wake up and run for the dunny. As I pass the fridge I grab a can of Reschs and scull half of it before I bang my shins into porcelain. I count to 47 while pissing in the darkness. Then I get undressed, step in the shower and finish off the beer as the hot water washes all the toxins and hate...

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Defender!

<HR><h1>Defender!</h1>

  Dean and Snowy rode their bicycles like there was no tomorrow. They zipped past Hutton's Bakery as the sun beat down, then under the cool shade of the Moreton Bay fig in front of the post office. Their bikes were brakeless as brakes were for wimps and the large scabs on their knees attested to their bravery in that department. Just as Snowy was speeding up to overtake Dean, his chain snapped loudly and he dropped the bike on its side, skidding and swearing to a halt. "It's broken clean off!" Snowy kicked at his bike with disgust. Dean spotted the broken chain in the dirt next...

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