Published in Gold Dust magazine, Literally Stories, Near to the Knuckle, McStorytellers, Penny Shorts, Soft Cartel, Whatever Keeps the Lights On, and Shooter magazine.
I am the city. I live amongst you, around you, underneath you. My breath is imperceptible; it heaves beneath you nonetheless, twisting the tarmac of your roads and making the timbers of your house creak. Dotard. Not for one moment do you see yourself as anything less than master of your own destiny. You are as fleas upon my broad flank. Continue reading “I am the City | Short Story”
The rumours seemed to start in the wind as such things often do. There was no flickering light in the top of the phone box, no broken glass in the door. Neither was there any noticeable smell in the cubicle save for the sour, metallic odour present in every phone box in every town in Britain. No-one could remember anything having happened inside the booth – no gruesome murder or grisly stabbing. Nevertheless, it stood on the corner of the road outside my flat like a solitary red warning finger in the gloom. Continue reading “The Phone Box”
