15:40
It occurs to me that I have never seen 15:45.
It’s a bit strange, because time is kinda important to me – almost a deity. It isn’t even as if 15:45 is a particularly unmemorable time, or that I am unable to assign a previous appointment or life event to it. I literally cannot remember ever seeing those digits on my clock. Continue reading “15:45”
It’s really not so unreasonable, darling.
Every icon is defined by their attention to detail, by the emphasis they put on minutiae. By their idiosyncrasies.
Cleopatra used to bathe in asses’ milk. Phoney? Maybe so, but it demonstrated a willingness to go beyond what was thought reasonable. It demonstrated an inclination towards virtuosity.
Like Cleopatra, my face is my fortune, and whilst she could innovate using donkeys, these days going within a kilometre of a dairy product in New York City is enough to get one court-martialled for crimes against ethical wellness.
No. Nowadays we are forced to go further. Which is why I’m sitting in the first class lounge at JFK Airport waiting to fly to Frankfurt for no particular reason. Usually I have photoshoots to attend, ad campaigns to launch, skincare products to front, but when I’m not working I like to fly east.
Why east, I hear you ask as you thumb through the latest magazine with my face on it, as you devour every last scrap of gossip on a celebrity website. Because, my little pimple-faced, crows-feet-creased sycophants, the earth spins counterclockwise. A couple of long haul flights every week, and I’ve put miles on my odometer without tyres having touched tarmac. For every week you are getting burnt to a crisp by UV rays, I spend only six days. Whilst I am not turning back the clock on ageing as such, I am jamming a collagen needle in the cogs, all the while racing towards a rising sun.
What age, they’ll ask.
How is it done, they’ll wonder.
Well that’s how – with a T-Rex-sized carbon footprint and enough face cream to re-enbalm old Cleo herself. I’ve done more orbits of the earth than a GPS satellite. It’s called dedication, darling.
And they say you don’t require brains to be a model.
***As ever, all comment welcome!***
‘About bloody time,’ muttered Brian, getting up from his chair and stretching, his fists pressing into the small of his back. ‘My shift ended fifteen minutes ago.’
‘All right, all right. Not like you’ve got a hot date, is it?’ Cassie put her coffee on the table and glanced up at the screens. ‘Anything for the handover?’
‘No movement for a while. Temperature normal. Camera four is partially obscured by a book he’s put up there, but not so much as to compromise line of sight. Still no indication that he’s onto us.’ Continue reading “Surveillance State”
To Kill a Mockingbird
Harper Lee
Arrow Books
GBP 6.99
‘Real courage is when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.’
It is with some trepidation that I, the author of just shy of a dozen published short stories, attempt a critique of one of the great American novels. What can I possibly add to the already deafening din of praise? What new slant can I eke out from one of the most analysed books ever written? What can I write that hasn’t been written in exam halls and in high school essays across the western world? Maybe nothing, but that doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t all be said again.
You’re bloody irritating, d’you know that?
Today is my lie-in – the only morning of the week that I can call my own. I didn’t even get a good kip; I had to sleep with the window open you see? The sound of traffic and drunken reveling was the price I paid in exchange for tempting a breath of warm, moist warm air into my bedroom.
And now my lazy morning is being disrupted thanks to you. Yeah, you – clever enough to find the crack in the slider window yet seemingly too senseless to find your way back out again. So here we are – you buzzing and thunking against the window pane, not one of your six legs able to gain purchase, and me hunkering beneath the covers, trying to ignore your increasingly frantic attempts.
What are the chances that, of all of the windows in all of the houses in all of the streets in Dundee, you’d choose mine?
And then I think, what are the chances of us being in the same room?
Let’s take it right back. I can remember learning about the reproductive system in Biology. I was one of three-million sperm trying to get to that egg. I faced down some serious numbers. I’ve subsequently avoided meningitis, rickets, polio, bird flu, and any number of scrapes, bumps, and road traffic near misses to take my place under the duvet here.
All of this pales in comparison to what you’ve experienced, of course. Literally born into crap, you had to worm your way around decomposing matter as a maggot. Once you were flying, the fun had just begun. You were fair game for spiders, frogs, birds and wasps, not to mention the cavalcade of pesticides, flytraps and swatters arrayed against you. And the half-opened window, of course.
Which kind of brings me to my point. If my parents, upon seeing me writhing in the maternity ward, were to place a bet on my meeting you they would face infinitesimally large odds. They’d get laughed out of the bookies. I’m not usually one for fate or destiny, but you must admit the maths are pretty compelling. It feels like a benevolent force has nudged you through my window, eager to prompt a meeting that will change the course of both our lives.
Should I usher you outside again? It doesn’t feel a memorable enough finale to such a journey. An owner/pet scenario then? The girl and her fly? That doesn’t seem likely. Perhaps you have entered my room as a muse; maybe you should prompt me into some profound reverie, some sudden…
Thwack.
Gotcha.
***As always I’d be delighted to hear your thoughts and comments on this!***
I’m delighted to feature at McStorytellers once more courtesy of Brendan Gisby. ‘Boarding’ is described as ‘a large dawd of dry Scots humour’. Just remember to keep your car doors locked…
https://www.mcstorytellers.com/boarding.html
If you like short stories, Scots, Scotland, or any combination of these, Mctorytellers is definitely worth a follow. Brendan has a long history of supporting authors with a link to Scotland and really knows his stuff.
As always, I’d be delighted to hear your feedback and thoughts!
Good morning flash fiction fans,
Describing it as ‘brutal’ (I think that’s a good thing), the folks at Soft Cartel have nevertheless published my newest piece of flash fiction, ‘Tagged’. See below link
‘Tagged’ by Matthew Richardson
As always, all comments and thoughts appreciated. And, just in case anyone is worried, both of my children are still very much living with me and loved!
