Friday, 31 December 2010

A new year to remember

New years eve. They watched the Earth from the viewport, a glass of champagne at the ready, the Universal clock read 23:59. The six of them had been celebrating and dancing in the confined floorspace of the orbital pod for almost two hours now, and their mood was high.

The clock flicked to 00:00, and they each took a sip from their glasses, there were hugs, kisses and cheering from them all.

“Well, the lack of funding in the space program has made the last twelve months totally forgettable, here's to a new year to remember.” Said Barker, she raised her glass to the others, then took another drink, a huge grin spreading across her face.

“Wow! Those fireworks displays must be absolutely awesome this year,” said Rawlings, “I can spot them even from this distance.”

Barker, her grin spreading even wider, walked across to the monitor, switched it on, and zoomed the view, her face fell, then paled. “They aren't fireworks,” she said, “they're mushroom clouds.”

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Thursday, 23 December 2010

Merry Zmas

Zachary Johnson was working as an in-store Santa when the infestation overran the town.

The early hours of Christmas morning found Zach walking slowly along a dark suburban avenue, the area was littered with body parts, wrecked cars, and the resultant debris from several days of slaughter, pandemonium, and panic.

He turned his head towards the sound of a door opening, and the sudden brightness of a porch light.

“Mommy and Daddy said you wouldn't come this year, but I knew you would.”

The voice came from a small girl framed in the light of the doorway.

“Come on in, Mommy and Daddy will be so surprised to see you.”

She scampered off into the house, leaving the door swinging wide. “Mommy, Daddy, wake up, Santa's here, he looks beautiful, he's all dressed in red and white, even his beard is red.”

Zach emmitted a loud moan, which was heard by every other walking corpse for over two hundred yards, then shambled towards the house in pursuit of his Christmas dinner.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 17 December 2010

Worried to death

Frank worried about anything and everything, just lately he had started fretting about the fact that he was constantly worrying over trivial matters, and this fretting became a cause for deep concern, and although he tried not to let it, the concern itself was something which became a cause for much worry.

The doctor had told him that the itchy inflammation all over his body was just a nerve rash and nothing to worry about, but as the itching increased, and subsequently his scratching intensified, so did his anxiety, and he became extremely stressed about his fretting over his anxiety regarding the worrying concerning his nerve rash.

Frank sat in a bath full of hot water, which did nothing to alleviate the effects of the nerve rash, or for that matter, the worry over the stress caused by the fretting about the anxiety concerning his nerve rash.

He picked up the straight razor from the table at the side of the bath, and immediately began worrying over whether he would be doing the right thing.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 10 December 2010

Darklight (A darkening world Part 3)

A darkening world (Part 1)
Darklings. (A darkening world Part 2)

* * * * * * * * * *

( A darkening world part 3 )

The two beings hunched over the Darklight gameboard, and considered the intricate positioning of the pieces, centuries passed....

“I am winning the game my friend, the Darklings are close to victory, and soon your Lightlings will be overrun, and you will lose.”

“It is true that you appear to be winning, but the best strategist in the fourth quadrant you are not, you may have overlooked one or two moves along the way.”

“I think you try to bluff me, admit your defeat and yield the game.”

“I think not my friend, I believe if I take this piece from here, and place it here, it allows me to relight two of their suns, does it not?”

“Oh... I hadn't seen that move, relight the suns then, but this game is not over yet, and I still hold the lead.”

“Then play your next move my friend.”

The two beings hunched over the Darklight gameboard, and considered the intricate positioning of the pieces, centuries passed....


A darkening world (part 1)
Darklings (A darkening world part 2)

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 3 December 2010


I stared through the windscreen, my heart was beating fast, too fast, an irregular tattoo of bumps and thuds pounding against my ribcage. Almost deafened by the gushing, sporadic pulse in my ears.

I held the steering wheel in a death grip, hands twitching and shaking, arms rigid, muscles solid.

I felt the sweat begin to trickle through my hair, dampening my scalp, soaking it through, plastering my hair to my head, weaving its way down my already clammy forehead, dripping from my eyebrows and nose.
It cascaded from the back of my head, running down the nape of my neck, soaking my collar.
My shirt drenched wet at armpits, back, and chest.
It streamed down my spine, puddling on the car seat, and trickling to the floor.

My mouth was dry, arid, my tongue a lifeless leathery slug stuck to the roof of my mouth, my throat constantly dry-swallowing, adam's apple yoyoing rapidly.

Cold, steely, writhing worms of tension iced their way through my guts, my scrotum pulled tight against my body.
My sphincter constantly contracting and relaxing, bowels threatening to empty as the fear washed over me in continuous tidal waves.

A glance in the mirror showed a face haggard with terror, apprehensive, drawn, pale, lined with tension, the mouth tight, and thin-lipped, eyes impossibly wide open, round and staring, each one a bullseye of white, blue, and black.

Then the visions came...

And the sounds...

I watched in horror as the cars collided…

Racing engines...

Squealing tyres...

Shrieking brakes...

Screaming voices....

A never-ending continuous cacophony...

A horrifying montage of colour and movement.

I watched as the cars piled into one another, impacted, compacted, flipped over, somersaulted...

Bones cracked and splintered against steering columns, faces punched through windscreens, flesh and sinew shredded against glass and steel, limbs torn from torsos....

On and on, until all I saw stretching from horizon to horizon was a rolling boiling ocean of tortured twisted mangled metal and Minced meat.
Intertwined, interlocked.
Bent bumpers, gnarled grills, crumpled bonnets and doors.
Shattered windows, light glinting off the odd diamond of glass still stubbornly clinging to the rubber seal.

A viscous globby cocktail of coolant, brake fluid, fuel, and gore splattered over it all.

The voice brought me back to reality...

“Don't worry.” Said the instructor. “ It's quite normal to be a bit nervous on your first driving lesson.”

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 26 November 2010

A useful death

I watched as the team of surgeons set to work.
They worked in virtual silence, quickly, efficiently.
Time was of the essence, time was not their friend, the clock was ticking...

I watched as they stripped the body of its parts....

The eyes would give sight to a nine year old girl, blind from birth.
They would bring light and colour to her life, and enable her to become the leading geneticist destined to discover the cure for cancer.

One of the kidneys would save the life of a fourteen year old boy, who would grow up to become the famous auto-engineer who developed the car engine that would run on tap water.

The other would ensure a post natal mother would still be alive to love her baby when he became a man, the same man who would eventually become the leader of the political party that was instrumental in successfully restructuring the World Health Organisation.

The liver would continue the existence of a nineteen year old girl, who would one day become the physicist to discover the link between time and space, restarting the space programme, and eventually leading to the possibility of deep space travel.

One of the lungs would save the life of a peace activist, who many years later would be the leader of the global network that successfully negotiates the destruction of all nuclear weapons.

The second would enhance the breathing of a twenty four year old man, who would go on to father the child who becomes the botanist famous for creating the fast-growing hybrid tree, enabling the rapid replacement of the rain forests.

The pancreas would extend the life of the meteorologist who in years to come would accidentally discover a cheap, and permanent way to repair the ozone layer.

The heart would save the life of a twenty three year old medical student, destined to make ground-breaking discoveries in the world of organ and limb transplant. The man who would be the great grandfather of the woman responsible for initiating the political programme that would eventually lead the way to world peace.

I watched all this from above the operating table as the link between my body and soul slowly evaporated, and I began to float away....

And I reflected on the irony that I had just signed the organ donor card, and was placing it into my wallet as I stepped off the kerb, when the lorry hit me.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 19 November 2010

Attention to detail

I met Arnold Bollinger in a slightly seedy hotel bar, I had wandered inside more to escape the blistering heat than in the pursuit of alcohol.

A sombre faced man sat alone at the corner table, the only one with available chairs.

“Excuse me would you mind awfully if I shared the table with you?” I asked him.

“No, please join me sir,” he replied, “I hate drinking alone, and I could really do with the company on this sad day.”

He rose and offered his hand, “Arnold Bollinger sir.”

“Bernard Romford sir.” I replied, shaking his hand firmly. “Sad day sir?” I enquired, as I sat down.

“Yes sir, a very sad day. I have just attended the funeral of my best friend, Reginald Pollock.”

“Oh my!” I said, slightly taken aback. “How did he die?”

“Attention to detail sir, that's what killed the poor chap, or lack of attention to detail to be more precise. Please sit awhile with me sir, and you shall hear the story.”

Mister Bollinger sat back in his chair, and began...

“I first met Reggie thirty seven years ago sir, in the army in Eighteen ninety nine, at the start of the Boer war. There we were, two young tigers, barely out of our teens, newly commissioned. We fought many battles and skirmishes together. Saved each others lives on more than one occasion, I can tell you.
One time we were on a scouting mission, Reggie, myself, and a dozen infantrymen. We were about to set up camp when there commenced a loud thrashing and trumpeting from the bush. I told the men to post guard, Reggie and I would investigate. We stole quietly through the trees until we came to a rather large clearing with a sturdy tree in the centre of it. Attached to the base of said tree was a length of steel wire, a snare sir, laid by damned blasted ivory poachers, the other end of which was wrapped around the foreleg of a baby elephant.”

Bollinger paused for a moment or two, and his eyes took on a blank stare as his mind's eye returned him to the clearing.

“The poor animal was thrashing and dragging at the wire in vain attempts to free itself, losing more blood as the wire bit deeper. I was for shooting the animal to end its pain sir, but Reggie would have none of it, he always had a special rapport with animals, he had no fear of them you see, and they could sense this. He approached the elephant and talked soothingly to it for a few minutes, rubbing its trunk gently, eventually the animal calmed, and he led it nearer to the tree, which enabled him to remove the snare. A nasty looking wound ran full circle around the poor beasts foot. Talking quietly to the animal all the while, Reggie took his medical kit from his pack, and the elephant stood docilely whilst Reggie applied salve to the wound. The animal stared into Reggie's eyes for several moments, and then wandered off through the trees.”

“Over the next few months we saw the animal on several occasions, easily distinguishable from the other infants by the vivid white scar round its leg, on these occasions Reggie would call out to it, the creature would separate from the herd and amble over to spend a few minutes nuzzling up to him, you see sir, an elephant never forgets a friend, or indeed an enemy for that matter.”

“After the war we left the army to seek our fortunes here in Africa, through the years we travelled the length and breadth of this great nation, doing many different things sir, diamond and gold prospecting, bodyguarding, we made rather a large amount of money as mercenaries here and there too.”

“Last week we were commissioned to seek out and … er... discourage a particularly troublesome team of ivory poachers who were operating in the district. We located the elephant herd, and tracked it as we waited for the poachers to show up. Three nights ago we were hidden in the scrub about fifty yards from the herd, and a rather large bull elephant appeared, he had got our scent and was walking towards us, I thought we may be in danger sir, I reached for my rifle in order to defend myself but Reggie motioned for me to be still. He stood up, and I watched with horror as he laid down his rifle, and started walking slowly towards the massive animal, all the while talking soothingly to it, and then sir, I noticed the vivid white scar that circled the animals front foot.”

“I called to him to come back... he wouldn't listen sir....”

“Reggie walked right up to the towering beast, the elephant stood calmly whilst he reached up and gently stroked its trunk.....”

“After a minute or two the elephant lowered its massive head, slowly wrapped its trunk around Reggie's waist, it lifted him high into the air, then savagely slammed him into the ground with tremendous force.......”

“I watched sir, frozen in shock and disbelief as it lifted the scarred foot, placed it on top of his head, and squashed his skull like a grape.... like a grape sir!"

“The animal then slowly wandered back to the herd without so much as a glance in my direction.”

“I brought poor Reggie's body back here over his horse sir. If only he had paid attention to detail, He would have noticed as I had, that the old snare scar was on the elephants left forefoot...”

I looked at him, not really understanding the point he was making....

“Sad to say Sir,” Bollinger continued. “The baby elephant who's life he had saved all those years ago had been snared by its RIGHT foot.”

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 12 November 2010

Sweet home Alabama

I stood outside the apartment door listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd bouncing through the woodwork, a glance at my watch told me it was 3:14 A.M.

I kicked the door open and walked inside, the volume ramped up a couple of notches.




“HERE I” BLAM “AAALA Scrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrtt...

I walked from the apartment and quietly closed the door behind me.

I had asked them time and time and time again, to please not play their music so loud.

I pushed the .45 into my belt as I walked downstairs to my own apartment.

I really needed to get some sleep.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 5 November 2010

The Drop

It was known as 'The Drop', almost two miles of sheer vertical cliff face dropping straight down onto open plain.

Most of the young men who had tested their courage against The Drop had died in the attempt, the number who had made it to the base, clutching the rare blue flower that grew from the cliff face were few.

The hard part wasn't in getting to the bottom safely, it was getting to the bottom at all.

The extreme low gravity of this planet caused a human body to drift down very slowly, resulting in a feather-light touchdown at the base...

If you could get to the base.

The danger was the rising thermals raising the body back up the cliff face. These currents had to be negotiated precisely in order to get past them, you had to feel your way through the intricate layers of warmth and cool, divers got trapped inside the warm air pockets, and drifted up and down until they starved to death, and continued drifting whilst the flesh rotted from their bones.

I slowly scanned my powerlens downwards from left to right, at various points along the wall, and at various heights, I could see specks, some slowly rising, others slowly falling, the bodies of failed attempts, sentenced to an eternity of highs and lows.

I pushed the lens into my pocket, raised my arms, and leant forward ....

I fell from the cliff edge, and began the descent....

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 29 October 2010


Ah, Halloween is here again, I just love Halloween.

Today I was making my lantern.

The knife was short, but sturdy, and very sharp.

I pushed it in almost to the hilt, then twisted it round, scrolling my wrist over and back, over and back, delighting in the squishy-squelchy sounds it produced. I withdrew the blade, globs of soft flesh and tendrils of thick liquid clung to the stainless steel.

I ran the flat of the blade across my tongue, savouring the juices, aaah...sweet, sweet.

Okay, now for the second eye.... A slight pop as the blade went through the skin, then squish- squelch, squish-squelch. I caught myself singing a few bars from an old George Benson song “In your eyes” and smiled.

I carved the nose out with three deep cuts, leaving a gaping, dribbling, triangular hole.

I held it against my lips, tilted my head back, and sucked deeply, allowing the sweet liquid to trickle down my throat.

The mouth was a bit more tricky, the teeth proved to be a problem, but I hacked and slashed and gouged, until it took on a look that pleased me. A rather lopsided, but gap-toothy smiling look.

I kissed the mouth, running my tongue slowly along the contours of the teeth, flicking it deeply into the wet hole, searching out the loose tiny morsels.

After removing the top I carefully scooped out all of the insides, slopping them into a large bowl, I would eat them for dessert after dinner tomorrow.

I pushed the candle deep into the soft base inside the head, lit it, replaced the top, then turned out the light to appreciate my efforts.

Hmmm, not bad, the Halloween lantern was probably one of my best efforts to date, the candle's glow flickered eerily from the carved apertures. All in all I was quite pleased with it.

I glanced across at the rest of the corpse in the corner of the room, and debated whether or not to use a real pumpkin for next Halloween.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 22 October 2010


I used to be a slave-catcher.

We caught them, we shaved their heads, we put them in a blue jumpsuit, we put them to work.

I broke the rules, I fell in love with a catch, such beautiful red hair, such beautiful green eyes, such beauty.

What would a man do to protect all that beauty?

I ran, I took her with me, we ran together.

The further we ran, the more I loved her.

The more I loved her, the harder I fought to protect her.

The harder I fought, the more men I killed.

The more men they lost, the harder they chased.

In the end, I did not fight hard enough.

* * * * *

My freshly-shaven head feels cold, cold like my heart.

The jumpsuit chafes my skin, but the blue definitely suits the colour of my soul.

All that beauty has been taken from me.

And I still live.

My heart will ache for the rest of my life.

In the gaseous tunnels of the Basidium mines beneath the surface of Epsilon 4, 'life' is about six months max.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 15 October 2010

Picking up the tab

He screamed like a bitch when I ripped his fingernails out, even through the gag he made plenty of noise.

I tossed the dripping pliers onto the pile of tools on the table, then waited....

Eventually he stopped thrashing around as the pain dulled. The leather straps held tight, the chair stayed solid on the floor.

“I'll bet you're wondering why this is happening?” I said as I removed the gag.

The thing in the chair sobbed and mewled, tear-flooded eyes downcast.

“Eleven seventeen East Hardaker Avenue mean anything to you?” I asked him.

He raised his head and took a good look at me, I could see the connection being made.

“Look, she never told me she was married, how could I know?”

“All the pictures around the house of me and her would give most people a clue, anyway this isn't about you screwing my wife.”

“Look, I... She was... ”

“I already told you, this isn't about you screwing my wife. I've been impotent for years, and she misses the physical side that I can't do no more, so we have an arrangement, I always know who and when, and I give her the space she needs. I love my wife, and she loves me, she uses men like you, but she loves ME! Comprendez?

“Please... look... I... I'll never see her again...”

“Oh, I already know that.”

“So... why?...” He said, lips quivering, eyes streaming, snot and blood dripping.

“Because you took advantage, that's why.”


“You should have left the house when she asked you to, you should have left my booze alone when she told you to, and you shouldn't have slapped her and then fallen asleep in my bed.”

I refastened the gag tightly around his mouth.

His eyes bulged as he watched me pick up the secateurs from the table...

“Now, I reckon you've just about paid for the bed, so I figure you still have to pick up the tab for the slap, and half a bottle of Jack Daniels.”

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 8 October 2010

Darklings (A darkening world Part 2)

A darkening world (Part 1)

* * * * * * * * * *

(A darkening world part 2)

There was a time when our kind could exist in only the deepest, darkest holes and caverns beneath the ground.

As the death-bringing, skin-scorching suns above began to die, so our world grew.

We emerged, bred, and flourished in our new kingdom, as more of the hated skyfires dimmed and finally darkened, we swept across the Nightland.

The detestable Lightlings flee from us, they run from the silky life-giving blackness that sustains our eternal existence. They scamper to remain in their searing heat-filled slice of this planet, desperately clinging to the clawhold left to them.

Yes, they run....

And we follow.

We follow, watch, plot, and wait.

Be afraid Lightlings, we will feed on your fear, for we are here, just one step beyond the light's edge.

We will have you, and your piece of this world. Soon.... Very soon.

Your only remaining sun has begun to flicker, just as the others did.

The time of the Dayland is almost done.

Our time is near.

And we are hungry.


A darkening world (part 1)
Darklight (A darkening world part 3)

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 1 October 2010

A darkening world (Part 1)

(Part 1)

There was once a time when our world bathed in the life-bringing warmth of nine suns, our species lived in a constant daylight, and the Darklings could survive in only the deepest darkest pits beneath the land.

One by one the suns began flickering, paling, diminishing, until finally they died.

Now we must travel ever eastwards to remain in the light of the one remaining sun.
For us the dark means pain, suffering, and eventually death. Our skin that absorbs the life-force from the rays, enabling our immortality, would blister in the shadow.

Not so the Darklings, as our world contracted so theirs expanded, they bred and grew until they covered the Nightland.

But as we are cursed, so are they, for they must travel constantly eastwards to escape the creeping daylight, just as we must escape the creeping shadow of night.

I have travelled far today, I have time to sleep before the dark is upon me again.

I am afraid.

Are my eyes playing tricks.... or did the sun just flicker?


Darklings (A darkening world part 2)
Darklight (A darkening world part 3)

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 24 September 2010


The deadline was upon me, and I had nothing!......NOTHING!

I stared at the blank screen in despair, the shame of certain failure weighing heavy as a rock.

I leaned forward and rested my forehead wearily on the keyboard.

And then the tears came.....

Trickles of them....

Streams of them....

Rivers of them....

Floods of them....

As my body shook with great racking, heaving sobs, the salty deluge soaked the keys, seeping through the tiny gaps, and into the circuitry below.

Tiny blue sparks and arcs lit up the underside of the keyboard like a miniature lightning storm....

I became aware of the screen flickering, a white lightning mingling with the blue...

I looked up.... words were appearing on the screen, faster and faster, too fast to read....

And suddenly, they stopped.

I wiped my eyes dry, and began to read, my heart lifting more and more with every word....

Before me was the wittiest, deepest, most meaningful short story I have ever read in my whole life.

A miracle had happened, I would hit the deadline.

And more... It was a gem... an absolute masterpiece... a piece of such literary genius that the whole of the writing world would be taken by storm.

Nine hundred and ninety nine words of supremely perfect eloquence.

It would make me famous.

Visions of all the awards and accolades that were certain to come my way filled my ecstatic mind...

I reached toward the mouse to save the story to the hard drive....

But before I could grasp it....

There was a final staccato spiderweb of blue arcs across the keyboard....

A small tendril of grey smoke curled upwards from the computer tower....

And the power went off.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 17 September 2010

A Zombie's tale

The bark of the tree felt rough against my back and the damp from the grass had soaked through my trousers bringing a cold chill to my buttocks and thighs, no matter, I wouldn't be in discomfort for much longer.

I looked once again at the small bite mark on my forearm, strangely there was no pain, and though it was a freshly opened wound, there was no blood. I could feel an odd sensation like mild pins and needles radiating from the wound along my arm to the shoulder, and starting now to infiltrate my chest. The virus was spreading, I wondered how long it would be before it encompassed the rest of my body.

Once I had reanimated there would be no hiding place for any of them, the virus would wash over them like a tidal wave, engulfing them all. Within a few short days their impregnable fortress would become a charnel house, its rooms and corridors spattered with blood and strewn with shreds of meat, the walls echoing the screams and overlapping moans and howls as the carnage intensified.

Oh yes there would be resistance, the fighting would be fierce to start with, decreasing as the infected gradually outnumbered the healthy, eventually they would all succumb.

And they deserved it.


The castle, once the property of a wealthy land owner was the gathering place of over four hundred of the nations rich and privileged, a stone fortress that had survived the outbreak. Its high walls and thick solid gates had kept its smug residents safe from both the zombie hordes, and the living survivors. There was much partying and hedonism going on inside the walls, whilst the cities outside one by one fell prey to the ever-growing army of the infected as they swept across the land like a wild fire, unstoppable, uncontrollable.


I had begun to get the bad thoughts again, the kind of thoughts that I used to get before I was diagnosed, before the medication.

I used to do bad things, to think bad things, they said it wasn't my fault, they told me that my I.Q. Bordered on genius and that's what made me behave strangely.

My parents were rich, very rich, they bought me the very best treatment, they bought me out of trouble, paid people off to keep me out of prison.

And when the dead started rising they brought me here....

And eventually the medication ran out....


The easiest way would have been to simply open the gates, but they were sealed shut, braced with massive beams and rocks, and anyway, this was going to be my party, and I wanted to be the guest of honour.

I began the preparations for the fun and games....

from the parapet I lowered the rope down and into the shambling mass of inhumanity that pressed continuously against the castle walls, before long I managed to flip the noose over one of the heads, and dragged the writhing wretch upwards until the head and shoulders appeared through the castellated gap. As the decomposing hands reached for me I picked up the axe and hacked both arms off at the biceps, I didn't want the damn thing grabbing hold of me, I could hardly start my own party if I was torn to pieces could I?

The head twisted and turned, snarling and snapping, the stumps of its arms still trying to reach out with non-existent hands. I thrust the corner of the axe blade into its mouth to prevent it from biting me too deeply, then pushed my forearm against the teeth, as the mouth clamped down on my arm the axe blade allowed it to bite down just far enough to puncture the skin, opening the wound....

And letting the virus in.

phase one accomplished.

I let the creature fall back into the seething throng below, rope still attached, then threw the arms over the parapet after it.

As I walked down the stone steps, and made my way across the garden to the trees I had a warm, happy feeling inside me, I smiled, and rejoiced at my own cleverness.

I walked through the garden and found a nice shaded spot, sat down against a tree trunk, and savoured the idea of the coming party.

Tomorrow wasn't my real birthday, that was months away. No, tomorrow I would be reborn, as something else. So in effect it would be my Birth Day.

I didn't much enjoy being me, and I didn't like the way people treat me. They looked at me like I was a freak, they spoke to me in condescending voices as though I were stupid or retarded. Well, we would see who looked stupid when the celebrations began wouldn't we?


I watched with a quiet detachment as a small spider climbed my thigh and started to make its way up my leg, it reached my hip at the same time as the tingling sensation that was spreading downwards through my body did. The spider suddenly seemed to lose its footing, falling back into the grass, then hurriedly scuttled away from me.

I wondered if there was such a thing as zombie insects, or birds, or fish.

It would be time for me to make a move soon, I wanted to be in my bedroom before my whole body was infected.

The first thing my parents did every morning was to check in on me, anyone would think they didn't trust me. Mind you they had been keeping a close eye on me since my tablets had run out, but I was smarter than them, I was a good actor, even the doctors had said so.

Oh well, time to get going, I could feel my shins tingling, and I was ready for bed.

I didn't want to be too tired to greet my parents tomorrow morning when they came into my room to help me begin my Birth Day party did I?

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Zurvivor. (A Zombie's tale. Part 2)
Zigourney. (A Zombie's tale Part 3)

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Saturday, 11 September 2010

Jail bait

I hadn't been inside the prison for long, when I realised that I was under scrutiny.

I was listening to the tall skinny fellow droning on in a high nasal whine about the impossibility of escape, when I got the feeling of eyes on me.

Turning slowly, I looked across to my right, standing a few feet away was a big athletic looking guy, and he was looking me up and down, much the same way a guy might cast an appraising eye over a sleek sports car, or a powerful racing boat... Or a buxom, bikini-clad babe.

As I watched him watching me, his gaze travelled appreciatively back and forth across my body, lingering here and there.
His lips were pursed into the kind of look someone gets about them when they're assessing the value of a purchase before they part with their cash.
I got the feeling that he was imagining something else roving all over my body, his gaze eventually worked its way back up to face level, and when he caught my eye he winked at me.

Not a full 'eye completely shut, head-twisting' wink, more like a tic in his lower lid, but a wink nonetheless.

then he raised one eyebrow slightly, pursed his lips and he blew me a kiss!
He blew me a goddam KISS!

Oh Christ, I could feel a ball of tension starting in my guts. This was all I needed.
I'd never had to deal with this kind of situation before, and I felt the first stirrings of unease worm their way through my stomach.

I'd heard about the things that went on behind bars. Scenarios from various prison films I'd seen throughout my life kept popping into my head.

I glanced around at the others, no-one else seemed to be aware of what was going on.

I thought maybe if I ignored him he would just leave me be.

I looked around at the depressing concrete walls and floor, god, what a place to have to live in.

I hoped my face wasn't reflecting the discomfort that I was feeling. If there was ever a time I needed to look like I could handle myself, this was definitely it.

Some of the inmates had spent over twenty years in this shit hole, jeez, my eyes had barely had time to adjust to the gloom, and I already felt like I'd done half a life sentence.

Turning back to look, I took stock of my admirer.
He was powerfully built, and I'd be willing to bet that he was well accustomed to pumping iron, Christ, he looked like he ate dumb bells for breakfast. He was about eighteen stone of pure muscle, and had a chiselled, eastern European look about him.

Great, I'd barely walked through the prison gate and I was getting the glad eye from an Arnold Schwarzenegger look-alike.

I wondered what the chances were of me fighting off a guy that size if push came to shove.

My fear intensified as scenes from 'The Shawshank redemption' wormed their way into my mind.
Images of Tim Robbins being brutally attacked by the vicious Sisters.

I made my way deeper into the throng, hoping for safety in numbers.

No good, he just followed, nonchalantly pushing his way through after me.

The next time I plucked up the courage to glance at him he'd returned his gaze to my backside again, This situation was not looking good.

For the next two hours or so, wherever I went he was never more than a few paces away.
Watching, looking, leering suggestively.

I wish to god that I could just walk out of the door and go home.

But I was in here now, and I'd have to deal with it, wouldn't I?

I glanced over in his direction again… oh Christ, he had moved closer.

I wasn't exactly sure what to do about the situation. I looked over at the tall skinny guy who was still talking, but didn't really expect any help from that quarter.

I walked slowly along the landing, peering into the cells as I passed, running my hand over the cold steel bars, anything to distract my mind from what was happening.

The tall, skinny guy was still rambling on, I couldn't tell what he was saying, the only thing my frightened mind could concentrate on just now was dealing with the predicament I was in.

I became aware of a slight movement at my side...

I felt the velvety light touch as the back of a hand brushed against mine... Oh jeez!

Without looking I just KNEW he was standing next to me.

And then he spoke.

“Hi, I'm Scott”

I turned to face him, looked him in the eye, and said “Look Scott, I'm not that way inclined, so why don't you try your luck somewhere else, huh? And if I catch you looking at my backside just one more time I'll break your goddam jaw.”

His face took on an expression of surprise and he stepped back a pace, he opened his mouth as if to say something, seemed to think better of it, then he turned around and walked off into the crowd.

“Right, Ladies and Gentleman.” Said the tall skinny guy. “ We hope you enjoyed your tour of Alcatraz prison...blah...blah...”

I turned on my heel, and joined the rest of the tourists as we started making our way back down towards the ferry.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Saturday, 4 September 2010

Job sorted

This week I have decided to link two of my older stories to #fridayflash, this one - "JOB SORTED", and another entitled "JAIL BAIT". Both of these stories were written and posted to my blog before I discovered #fridayflash, and so neither of them have seen much readership. My style seems to have changed quite a bit since then too. I hope you enjoy them, and as always, any feedback is very much appreciated.
Thank you for reading.

* * * * * * * * * *


I hate my job.

As I sat at the kitchen table looking at the pistol before me, I fantasised about its past.

Used by a mugger maybe? Pushed into some poor victims face to instil fear, and ensure co-operation whilst their wallet and valuables were taken from them?
Or perhaps taken along on a bank heist and brandished menacingly whilst some terrified cashier threw wads of money into a holdall?

Who could tell where the pistol had been to before I discovered it in the bushes at the bottom of my garden?

Whatever its past, it was mine now, and for the purpose I had in mind it would suit perfectly.

There was a birthday in the office today.

In days gone by a birthday in the office was a day of cream buns and biscuits, brought in by the happy birthday boy or girl. But not any more.

And certainly not today.

Today was HIS birthday, and I was going to ensure that it was a day that would be remembered in the office forever. Today I was going to make his life shit, just as he had made the lives of many other people shit, people who I liked and admired, people who were my friends.

Today was payback day.

I didn't give a thought to the consequences, he needed sorting, and it seemed that I was the only one who was prepared to do the job.

Eleven years I had worked there, eleven happy, contented years, enjoying my job, enjoying the company of my work colleagues. Good men and women each and every one of them.

We had never hesitated to do the odd hour of unpaid overtime to get the job done. The appreciation showed by the old manager paid it back tenfold.

The birthday bashes and Christmas parties were always filled with jovial bonhomie, and genuine cameraderie.

Apart from the odd 'bad hair day' that everyone gets once in a while, I can't for the life of me ever remember any true animosity in that office in all the years I worked there.

Until HE was employed as the manager.

In just six short months he had managed to virtually destroy any sense of goodwill that existed, his constant berating and bullying had reduced the lovely ladies to tears on many occasions.

He felt quite safe from any reprisals, who would dare answer back when their job was on the line?

Yes, he put a whole new meaning on the phrase 'abuse of power'.

Such a big brave man, eh?

Never missing an opportunity to pass sarcastic comments, never passing up the chance of using a put down, or a confidence-knocker.

Did he really think that this was the best way to get maximum effort from his staff?

He put me in mind of the drunken father returning home from the pub to take out his inner demons on his defenceless wife and children.

Well, today would be like no other day at the office.

Today I would take revenge for all the tears he had brought forth from my dear lady friends.
Today he would come to regret all the needless stress he had laid at the feet of my male colleagues.

And before I pulled the trigger, I would expose him for the coward that he really was.

I picked up the pistol from the table, its weight felt good in my hand, I checked once more that it was fully loaded, then slipped it into my inside jacket pocket and set off out of the door to work.

* * * * *

The atmosphere was very subdued when I walked into the office, just the muted ticker of fingers on keyboards and the whirr of copiers and printers. No tinkling laughter, or the sounds of coffee cups clunking onto tables, the sounds that used to accompany a very efficient workforce ploughing their way happily through their daily workload. No, those were the sounds of bygone days.

I walked straight to his desk, pulled out the pistol, and pointed it at his forehead.

His face went deathly pale, he placed his hands flat on the desk and rose shakily to his feet, staring at the weapon.

All sound ceased... All eyes turned to watch.

At first he pleaded. Oh my, what he would or wouldn't do if I would just lower the gun.

The pistol stayed squarely aimed at his forehead.

I stared silently… my face deadpan.

Next he started blubbering apologies to everyone, and “oh please just forgive my past behaviour, I didn't really mean any harm, it's just the way I come across. I've been under a lot of stress to get the workload out … You have no idea what it's like at the top.”

Yeah. Right.

The pistol did not waver... I said nothing.

Then the tears came, and the accusations...“How can you all just stand and watch this happen? You'll all be accomplices .. You'll be as guilty as him...”

And finally the begging. ”No. No. Please, someone help me, anyone, I'll do anything, oh God... Oh no… Please… No… No...”

“Happy birthday” I said as I squeezed the trigger...

* * * * *

The water hit his forehead, then trickled down his nose and chin, at almost exactly the same time as his bowels and bladder purged themselves, and the piss and shit ran down his trouser legs, an ever-widening dark stain covering the grey flannel.

His face turned purple as he ran crying from the room, taking his stink with him, and helped on his way by the loud cheering laughter of every other member of staff, including the senior manager.

There was a flood of overlapping laughter and chattering, as windows were opened and a mop and bucket were brought to clean the floor with.

* * * * *

I love my job.

I am now the manager of a very happy office.

I never even received a disciplinary for the birthday prank, he never came back, just phoned the next day to say he had found another job. Yeah. Right.

And of course, his post needed filling.

Tomorrow I shall be calling in at the bakery on my way to work.


Tomorrow is MY birthday.

And as for the very realistic-looking water pistol?

Well, I threw it into someone else's bushes on my way to the pub with the rest of the office crew.

For some reason we felt the need to celebrate that evening.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Saturday, 28 August 2010


Why the hell had I ever let myself get involved in this?

I pressed my body closer to the ground, trying to keep as low a profile as possible. I hadn't heard any movement for a while, but I was pretty sure they weren't far away, and they wouldn't stop looking until they found me. My uniform was soaked through, and the early evening chill caused me to shiver making it almost impossible to remain silent in the long grass.

It was hard to believe that it was only six hours since we had set out, eight of us, walking jauntily with all the arrogance of the supremely confident. Oh yeah, we were gonna kick some ass. Our weapons held loosely, grins on each and every one of our faces, actually savouring the anticipation of taking down the other side. There's nothing to equal the thrill of watching your rounds impact as the rifle recoils in your hands. Well, that's what I had been told.

The thrill and anticipation had long since evaporated, the only rounds I had managed to fire had hit trees, earth, walls, anything but bodies. We were outclassed, that was clear from the first time we made contact. Johnno and Fishy had both copped it in that first skirmish. Eliminated!

Eliminated! A very cold word, eh?

They had opened fire simultaneously from both sides of the track, taking us completely by surprise. Christ! We thought they were still miles away. I just set off running, firing blindly, panicking, this was nothing like the fun time I was supposed to be having. A quick glance to my right and I had a brief view of Fishy, his mouth wide open in surprise, his chest covered in an ever-widening pattern of red.

I continued running for several minutes, listening to the heavy footfalls of the men running behind me, the lack of slugs hitting my back told me that it had to be my own buddies. When we finally collapsed, breathless, into a patch of dense shrubbery, we were down to six. That was when I learned that we had lost Johnno too.

Johnno! He was the one that had got us all involved in the first place.
“We'll be dealing with total amateurs,” he had said “ It's not like they're military or anything is it? They're just weekend sodding warriors.”
Well it didn't seem that way to me now.

I shifted slightly to alleviate the numbness creeping into my hips, and reflected on the lows, and lows, of the day.

After a brief rest we had continued Northeast towards our objective, moving slowly, quietly, keeping low, our confidence slightly dented now

We had no idea where they were, how close they were, in front or behind? No matter, we had to push on.

Coupland was next, big Tony, no-one heard or saw anything, one minute he was bringing up the rear, the next minute he was gone. Just vanished. How the hell can you snatch someone who weighs eighteen stone, and walking through rustling grass, without making a sound?
Christ but they were good. Who the hell were these guys?

There was plenty of sound when Grimes got wasted. There was a light click, followed shortly after by a loud whoosh, followed immediately by his screams for help as he was dragged up into the air, and left dangling upside down eight feet from the ground.
He was still screaming in fear, and anger as the weapons opened up from the treeline, and dozens of rounds impacted into him, quickly turning his body and head into a dripping mess.

I was running again, trying to get to the woods I could see in the distance.
I remember seeing a flurry of movement out of the corner of my eye, as two camouflaged blurs took Fleming to the ground.

The sing-song chant of “Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run...” Dwindling as I put more distance between us.

I nearly freaked completely when little Mark Fuller got snatched.
Bradley was several yards away taking a piss against a tree trunk, nervously trying to look in several directions at once.
Me and Fuller were whispering about what to do next...

There was a sudden, rapid thud of heavy boots, and this camo-clad goliath ran past, snatching up Fuller on his way, and without breaking stride disappeared off into the trees carrying poor wailing Fuller along with him.

I mean, what the...?

Its like fighting sodding ghosts!

That was it for Bradley, he'd had enough.
He set off running through the trees, I could hear him crashing his way through the undergrowth for a while, then abruptly the noise stopped. Just like that. Crash!... Crash!... Silence!

I remember throwing myself to the ground, and crawling slowly, pushing gently through the undergrowth, trying to avoid giving away my position. I crawled for maybe two or three hundred yards.

Then it started raining...

Oh, not just raining, but one of those showers that goes from a couple of spots, to an absolute deluge in about fifteen seconds. Soaks you through to the skin, then stops just as suddenly as it started.

For gods sake, could this day possibly get any worse?

I took stock of my situation.
Soaking wet, covered in mud and god only knew what other slimy shit... and alone.
Perfect! Just perfect!

I was just over a mile from the objective, and I had less than an hour to get there...

I could make it!

I listened intently for a few minutes...

Not a sound.

I lifted my head, very slowly, until I could just see through the tips of the grass...

Scan three sixty...


I was in the clear!


Slowly... Slowly...

Inching higher...

As I rose, they all rose with me...

I was completely surrounded, they had positioned themselves in total silence, and just waited...

* * * * *

The first slug hit me in the chest...

I could hear them all laughing as the rest of the weapons opened fire...

My whole head and torso vibrated with the impacts as eight magazines were emptied into me...

I was the last one, and they were making sure they got their money's worth.

And all the time they fired they were laughing... laughing... laughing...

I fell to the ground, a rolling, writhing lump of red, pink, blue, and luminous green...

I was glad it was all over, I just wanted to get cleaned up, and get to the pub.

There was one thing I knew for sure...

No way would I EVER put myself forward to go PAINTBALLING again.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 20 August 2010

A small wager

As I approached the taverna I could See Sotiris on the paved patio, sitting in the same chair, at the same table, his face turned to catch the early evening sun.

Was it really a whole year since my last visit? This was my twelfth holiday here, and almost every one of those holiday evenings had been spent at this taverna, in the company of these people whom I had come to love like my own family.

It now seemed like only yesterday since I last saw Sotiris. He looked as though he hadn't moved a muscle since then.

He was wearing his usual uniform of blue jeans, and a white shirt open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to expose powerful forearms burned almost black by the mediterranean sun.
And, of course, his very expensive Ray Ban sunglasses.

“Yeia sou Sotiri my good friend, pos eeste?” I called as I walked across the marble.

“Steve, you are here again already, oh I am so happy that you are here.” A huge grin spreading across his lined, suntanned face.

He rose from his chair, and we embraced, and kissed each others cheeks. A tear of happiness threatened to escape from my eye as we hugged one another tightly with the great affection that we shared.

As he sat back down into his chair he called over his shoulder...“Eleni, Eleni, come outside... Steve is here...”

A few moments later Eleni bustled out through the taverna door, wiping her hands on her floral print apron.

“Oh Steve, welcome back, welcome back, we have missed you so much. Oh I am so happy to see you.”

We grabbed each other in a joyous grip, both laughing, and this time the happy tear did roll down my cheek.

We finally loosened our grip, and I took half a pace backwards, holding both of her delicate hands in mine. Looking her up and down.

“You are more beautiful each time I see you.” I said. The smile on my face threatening to split my head in two.

“And you are more handsome.” She replied playfully.“Now sit down with Sotiris, I will bring wine to celebrate.”

A few minutes later there was a plate of biscuits on the table, and we all held a glass of the local Robola wine in our hands.

“Yeia mas” We all cried together as we clinked our glasses.

As we sat there chattering away to each other, my mind drifted back to the first time we had met...

* * * * *

It was eleven years earlier that I had first set foot on the Ionian island of Kefalonia. The package holiday had been booked on a last minute deal, and it was purely by chance that I ended up here.

My lodgings turned out to be a small, and spotlessly clean studio in the Panos apartments at the northern end of a rather large, sprawling resort called Lassi.
On the second day, I decided to have a look at the island's capital, a town called Argostoli.
A glance at my tourist map showed me that Argostoli was only a fifteen minute walk away, up the main road, then down the other side of the hill straight into the town.

Or there was a coastal route around the peninsular, I imagined this would take the best part of a couple of hours, but I thought it would probably be a far more pleasant walk, and anyway, I was in no hurry.

I set off strolling along the coast road, which I later learned was known locally as the Fanari road, Fanaria being the Greek word for lights, and named after the lighthouse which was half-way along the road, and stood on a finger of land jutting out into the water.

A bottle of orange juice and a sandwich lay in the small knapsack which hung from my shoulders, as I intended to stop for a rest at some point for refreshment.

The views were absolutely stunning, the clear blue sea to my left, olive groves and the occasional bright white house, complete with colourful gardens and orchards to my right.
The sun pleasantly warming my body as I ambled along. Smiling and nodding to any tourists who passed walking in the opposite direction.

About an hour later I came upon a small taverna set only a few yards from the edge of the ocean.
A short rest and a glass of beer or wine seemed like a very good idea to me just now. The orange juice and sandwich would do for later. So I left the road and walked across the paved area towards the building.

A broad shouldered, middle aged local sat at one of the tables. He was wearing the attire that most Greek men adopted, blue jeans, white shirt, and sunglasses.

As I approached him he spoke to me, in almost accent-less English.

“Hello my friend what would you like? A glass of wine maybe? Or coffee?”

“I would like a glass of wine please, a local wine if you have one.” I answered sitting at the table next to his. “Would you like to join me in a glass?”

“Of course, efkaristo... thank you. Please, share this table with me... Eleni, krasi aspro parakalo.” He called to the open doorway.

A minute or two later a slim, attractive looking woman whom I would guess to be in her mid fifties came through the doorway carrying a tray, and placed on the table two glasses and a large jug of white wine.
She smiled pleasantly, bade me hello, and welcome, then excused herself to return to her baking.

I never did get to Argostoli that day, by the time the second carafe of wine was nearly empty I had decided to leave it until tomorrow, or maybe the day after.

We had sat and talked for hours, Sotiris and I, laughing and joking, I found his company so pleasant, it was like we had known each other all our lives.
In the space of this one afternoon we had got to know many things about each other, if destiny exists then I think it must have engineered our meeting.
I felt that today I had found a true friend.

At some point during the day, Eleni reappeared, and said goodbye to me, as she was going to visit her sister in Assos towards the North of the island.

The sun was beginning to set as I eventually rose to leave....

“Well Sotiri, I have enjoyed myself so very much today. I feel certain that we will see each other again before my holiday is over.”

“Oh I doubt that very much.” He said. A knowing smile playing on his lips.

“You seem very sure.” I said. Still smiling, but a little confused.

“Oh I am very sure.... If you don't believe me, maybe we should have a small wager on it?”

“Okay then, Shall we say ten euros?"

“Agreed” he said. And we shook on the deal.

* * * * *

The very next day I set off down the Fanari road once more, I hoped to repeat the enjoyment of yesterday, and also collect my winnings.

Sotiris looked intelligent enough, but he must know it was a wager he simply could not win.

If I didn't return to his taverna, he would win the bet, but would not be able to collect the money.

If I did return, then I won the bet, and collected the winnings at the same time, I simply could not lose.

The money involved was just for the fun of it, we could just as easy have made it one Euro, I was burning with curiosity as to why he thought I wouldn't return.

I was also aware that the Greek people were renowned for their impish sense of humour, and their love of practical jokes.

* * * * *

He was sitting in exactly the same spot when I arrived, I walked across the patio to him.

“Good afternoon again Sotiri.” I said.

He rose to greet me, holding out his hand, which I shook warmly.

“I am glad you came Steve, please, sit down, we will talk about my winnings once we have a glass of wine before us.”

I could barely contain myself as Eleni laid the wine and glasses on the table.
I was just itching to lay before him the flawless logic of how I had won the wager and not he.

This time Eleni had brought three glasses, and she sat with us in the sunshine.

“Now, about my winnings...” Said Sotiris, smiling like the cat who had got the cream, Eleni sat beside him, grinning her head off, obviously in on the joke...

“But I bet ten Euros that we would meet again, and we have met again, so I think you must agree that the wager was won by me.” I stated, smiling all the while, I was so enjoying this friendly banter.

“If you remember correctly my friend.” Said Sotiris, almost on the verge of laughter, as was Eleni. “You bet ten Euros that we would SEE each other again, and as you can tell, that is definitely not the case ...”

They both burst into uncontrollable peals of laughter as Sotiris removed his expensive sunglasses, to reveal two very opaque and very sightless eyes.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Saturday, 14 August 2010

An early start

We needed an early start in the morning, if there's one thing I hate, it's traffic jams, so I intended to make sure we set off in good time.

The camp site office was open from 8am onwards, and I had the journey planned to the last detail.

I meant to ensure that our drive down went with military precision. About four hours, I reckon, so to miss out on the bank holiday traffic, we would be setting off from the house at 4.00 am precisely.

The kids were already tucked up in bed, I thought they might have been too excited to sleep tonight, but, no, they had gone to sleep within minutes. The little darlings were going to have a whale of a time down there.

Lovely green countryside to look at, rolling hills, gentle walks along woodland trails, good clean country air to breathe.

Oh, I could hardly wait...

The site was highly recommended, and it looked absolutely fantastic in the brochure.

A fishing lake, children's playground, on-site shops and bar, the clubhouse laid on entertainment every night, and kids were allowed in there until ten o-clock, which would be fine, as we usually went to bed early anyway.
No point sleeping in and spending half of your holiday in bed, is there?

The wife was already in bed too, she hadn't been sleeping too well lately, feeling a bit stressed I think, well, the holiday would do her a power of good, take her mind off things for a while.
She had taken one of her sleeping pills about half an hour before going upstairs, good, it would ensure her a decent nights rest, she would probably sleep most of the way down too, the pills were quite strong ones, and sometimes after taking them she wouldn't wake until nearly lunchtime.

Everything was already packed into the estate car, couldn't be thumping about with the camping gear in the early hours, could I? The neighbours would have a fit.

Well, better turn in myself, I needed to be sharp tomorrow, I was the one that had to get us all there.

* * * * *

2:59. I woke up just in time to flick the alarm clock switch to the 'off' position before it went off, I wanted the wife to get as much sleep as possible. My intention was to leave waking her until the last minute and bundling her more or less straight into the car, that way she would most likely just drift off back to sleep again. The pill would probably help with that.

I crept quietly into the bathroom, and showered making as little noise as I could, wandering downstairs naked, I had left my fresh clothes on the armchair the night before, so that I wouldn't disturb her when I was getting dressed.

Thinking ahead. Planning. Planning. Up there for thinking... Down there for dancing...

3:30 I quietly went through the adjoining door into the garage, I gently lifted the up and over door, climbed into the car, released the handbrake and rolled it forward onto the driveway, getting out and leaving the door open, I gently raised the bonnet and latched it open.

Oil? Check!
Coolant level? Check!
Brake fluid level? Check!
Windscreen washer bottle? Full!

Quietly closing the bonnet, I sat back in the car and turned on the Ignition. All warning lights working okay. Fuel gauge? Full!
I started the engine, and whilst it was warming up, checked that all the lights and indicators were working, which meant leaning in and out several times to flick the switches, a few minutes well spent, preparation was the essence of a successful journey.

Lifting the tailgate I had a good look inside the back. Tent, box of tinned food, those site shops were notoriously expensive, so we trimmed a bit off the cost of the holiday by taking some supplies with us.
Four large holdalls with all our clothes in, fold up stools, yes everything seemed to be there, and why shouldn't it be? I had loaded it in ticking off each item on my checklist as it went into the car, not to mention a re-check at eight o-clock yesterday evening.

Planning. Planning. Up there for thinking... Down there for dancing...

I turned off the car engine, locked it up, and retraced my steps back through the garage into the house, locking both doors along the way.

I couldn't wait to get started...

* * * * *

4:03 I drove quietly out of the driveway onto the street, didn't want to wake the neighbours at this time of day, did I?

I was right about the wife, she had barely opened her eyes as I helped her to put her clothes on, shepherded her down the stairs, and out to the car.

She was dozing off again before I even had her seat belt fastened.

The only cars we saw on our way through the neighbourhood were stationary ones, the roads were absolutely dead, brilliant.

39 mph all the way round the ring road, wouldn't want a speeding ticket to spoil our holiday would we?

An occasional car, and heavy goods vehicle rolled past in the opposite direction as we neared the motorway, still making good time, I was a happy bunny, everything was going to plan.

I flicked on the CD player, turned the volume very low so I could just hear the gentle strains of classical music. Oh yes. A brilliant start to what was going to be a brilliant fortnight.

4:47. We turned onto the motorway only two minutes later than I had planned for, no problem, I increased the speed to 71 mph to make the time up. No traffic cop in the world would bother about the extra 1 mph on a motorway.

The motorway was slightly busier than the ring road, but still very quiet yet. More lorries and vans than cars, we were still making good time.

“I love it when a plan comes together” I said under my breath, smiling broadly.

The wife mumbled something to herself , and shifted slightly in her sleep. Bless her, she so needed this break.

7:14. We turned off down the sliproad at junction 23, I was ecstatic, we were actually four minutes ahead of schedule.

Planning! Planning! Up there for thinking... Down there for dancing...

Along the country lanes now, I was behind a large 4 x 4 for a few miles, keeping up with him, even though it was travelling 3 mph above the speed limit. No worries, I didn't expect to pass any speed cameras on this road.

7:51. I saw the first signpost for the camp site, 3 miles.

8:01. We turned into the camp site gate and pulled up at the office just as the lady was flipping the sign from 'closed' to 'open'.

The wife stirred slightly, opened her eyes, and looked around her with a confused expression on her face.

“Where are we? She asked, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

“We're here Darling, we're at the camp site, two gloriously relaxing weeks away from all the cares and worries here we come.”

I smiled broadly at her as she glanced over her shoulder at the back seat.

She spun round to face me, her face a mask of horror...

“What's wrong Darling?” I asked gently.

“THE KIDS ?” She screamed at me. “ WHERE THE HELL ARE THE KIDS?”

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 6 August 2010

An untimely theft

Now, the first time I ever met Turner, he wasn't called Turner.

They wouldn't even tell me his former name. “ It's better not to know.” They said. “ He has too many bad memories associated to that name.”

“A new start, that's what he needs. A new name. A new life. Another chance.”

As we eyed each other through the bars, I could feel some kind of connection between us. Emotional? Mental? Psychological? Call it what you will, but in those first minutes something definitely clicked into place.

“You don't have to be afraid any more.” I told him. “ You're coming home with me. I'll look after you now. We'll look after each other.”

“Now, the first thing is to give you a new name, eh?”

I looked him up and down...

He was without doubt the biggest sodding dog I have ever seen in my life.

I don't know what breed he was, some kind of mastiff cross probably.
He reminded me of the slobbering hulk that Tom Hanks had in ' Turner and Hooch ' only he was about four stone heavier.
He was absolutely IMMENSE.

“Well!” I said to him. “How do feel about Hooch?”

Big mistake! His ears flattened to his head, his whole body tensed, and a low rumbling growl worked it's way up from the depths of his massive chest.

I stood my ground. I felt no fear. There was no threat to his actions.
He was just expressing his opinion of someone trying to lump him with a stupid name, that was all.

“Okay then, You don't look much like Tom Hanks, but how about Turner?”

Well, what a switch, his jaw hinged open into some kind of lopsided grin, with his tongue hanging out like a roll of wallpaper. Sitting back heavily on his haunches, he cocked his head to one side, and lifted a massive paw into the air.

I reached through the bars and gently grasped his proffered paw, “Pleased to meet you Turner.” I said, shaking hands with him.

“My name's Steve.”

* * * * *

Turner quickly settled into the life we now shared. I worked from home, scraping a living manipulating stocks and shares via the internet, so we were in each others company virtually twenty-four seven.

We ate together, went for long walks, he had brought a whole new meaning to my life.
For the first time in years I felt happy again.

Many an evening I sat there talking to him, telling him of my past, my hopes and ambitions, my fears.

Now, Turner had this way of looking at me when I was waffling on during these occasions, I swear that he could understand every word I was saying.
He used to lie there with his jowls resting on his oversized crossed paws, his big brown eyes staring straight into mine, with an air of intense concentration about him.

One of the aforementioned fears I told him about was the endless blight of burglary, and petty theft that continually plagued the housing estate where we lived.

I told him of the teenage gangs that roamed the streets unchallenged, at all hours of the day and night.
I told him of the drunken, drug-fuelled, thuggish intimidation, that turned the lives of decent residents into a life of never-ending total shit.

And I told him about the ringleaders...

The two chief gang-banger 'waste of spaces' that regularly amused themselves by 'borrowing' peoples cars during the night, and leaving them smashed and useless after they had finished their 'joyriding'.

Joyriding? Now there's a misnomer if I ever heard one. And the police would say “Well, we have an idea who it is, but we have no proof, have we?”

No! and they never would have any proof, at least not for as long as Malloney and Grogan were allowed to continue their campaign of fear.
Breaking the windows, and vandalising the cars and property of any potential witnesses, leaving the poor victims too afraid to do anything other than cower behind their curtains of a night time.

* * * * *

One day we were on our way home after one of our long strolls, Turner walking at my heel.
I never trained him to walk like that, he just did it of his own accord.
It would have been pointless having him on a leash anyway, he weighed more than I did, and if Turner was determined to go somewhere, That's where Turner went.

I had no fear that he would attack anyone, he never showed the slightest aggression towards man nor beast, let's face it, he could afford the confidence, who in their right mind would even dream of taking him on?

Well, we were about fifty yards from home, and lounging on the corner were Malloney and Grogan, along with another five smirking, sneering, hoodie-encased mother's little darlings.

“Put a sodding saddle on it! sodding big numb lump!”

This from Grogan, accompanied by loud hoots of sycophantic laughter from his entourage.

Malloney, not the brightest lamp in the street, must have felt the need to add his two-pennorth,

“Er, Yerrrr, big soft hairy slaver-bucket! Hur hur hur.”

Turner left my side and walked slowly into the middle of them, he didn't bark, he didn't growl,
he eyed each and every one of them in turn, a long, slow stare...

And one by one their gazes dropped to their scuffed trainers...

They shuffled their feet... their faces turned red...

When he had finished staring them all down,
Turner then let forth a loud raspy fart that seemed to go on forever...

Then, after checking that none of them dare look him in the eye again, he ambled nonchalantly back to my side.

I tell you! This dog had more sodding cool than the sodding Fonz...

I could hear them mumbling amongst themselves as we walked past on our way to the gate, but frankly, I didn't give a hoot! They had been put in their place!

* * * * *

Strange, and terrifying events took place a few days later...

Events that were to alter the lives of almost everyone in the estate...

Including mine...

And Turner's.

* * * * *

I was taking Turner to the vet' for a booster injection. We climbed into the car. Well, I climbed into the car, he squeezed himself through the back door, and sprawled himself across the fullness of the back seat, and it was a tight fit, I can tell you.

I was fiddling with my seat belt, when my elbow caught the door stud, causing the central locking to engage with a loud 'clunk'...

What happened next was beyond belief...

Turner changed into a snarling, bristling, hell-sent demon...

His mouth a gaping pit of razor teeth...

His eyes flaming coals of hatred...

the sound had triggered something in his memory... something very... very... bad.

It took several minutes of soothing words, and gentle stroking to quiet him, and I have no doubt at all in my mind, that, had anyone else been in the car with us, he would have ripped their heads straight off their shoulders.

He had been there on numerous occasions before when I had used my key fob to lock, or unlock the car, but he had always been on the outside of the vehicle.

This was the first time he had ever been on the inside when the locks had engaged.

I needed to address this problem as soon as possible to prevent it happening again.
The poor dog obviously had some terrible, and traumatic memories connected to being locked inside cars.

I would do anything necessary to prevent a repeat of this, Turner needed to know that he was safe from his past now.

It seemed to me that the best course of action would be to lose the central locking, so I decided that I would trade the car in the very next day for a lower model that didn't have the luxury of central locking.

I glanced over my shoulder into the rear seat, he was back to his old gentle self again, he was snoring quietly, his paws twitching occasionally as he dreamt his canine dreams.

We were almost at the vets, when I realized my wallet was still on the coffee table in the lounge.
Damn! I drove back through the heavy traffic, all the time getting more wound up. What had set out to be a relaxed drive, had turned into a race against time.

I was now in danger of missing my appointment... sodding hell!

I squealed to a standstill outside the house, and raced up the steps, quickly unlatching the door, and dashing into the front room

A glance at the table told me my wallet wasn't there...

where the hell was it?

I raced from room to room, getting more agitated as I went. Finally I found it on my second search of the lounge, yes, on the sodding coffee table, under a magazine.

As I turned to run for the door, I heard the familiar sound of my own car starting...

Oh no! In my haste I had left the sodding keys in the ignition...

I dashed through the door, and down the stairs to see Malloney and Grogan about to ride the joy out of my car!

I almost managed to get the passenger door open, but just as my fingers touched the door handle, Malloney, who was in the drivers seat, grinned at me triumphantly, then depressed the door stud engaging the central locking...

I watched with absolute horror as my car screamed away from the kerb...

And Turner's massive, snarling, tooth-infested head rose into view in the rear window.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 30 July 2010

Immaculate conception

I have been here many times over the years.

Observed, collected specimens, experimented, manipulated.

Yes. Many times.

But my old body now protests at the rigours of the travelling.

Though it saddens me, I know that it has to be.
When this visit is over, I shall pass the task to someone younger.

The garden still needs tending, and the animals, left unsupervised, would destroy it.

No-one lives forever. My old frame is spattered with weaknesses, and feeblenesses, and the time of my ascension draws nearer.

I have come to believe that this garden is mine, mine alone, even though many others have assisted in its building.

I am the one that has always been there through each important decision.

It was I that planted the first seeds.

And was it not I that vetoed the destruction of the higher fields?
Some of the animals prevailed the cold climate, and survived.

I saw to the irrigation of the ground, so the plants would flourish, so the animals could feed.

Yes, there were times, and my shame burns my soul when thoughts of them come to haunt me.

Times when I was unable to prevent the witherings, and the wastings.

Times when I was unable to watch over every leaf, and every creature in my care.

Times when I provided more water than was needed to one plot, whilst allowing another to sere.

Yes, I have made mistakes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I watched my precious flock grow, and evolve. I watched the herds become larger, and breed until they covered the land.

I watched them learn to traverse the water, and interbreed, and diversify, and strengthen.

Oh, there were other gardens. I visited many, on numerous occasions.

Some flourished, others were destined to fail.

Even the most diligent gardener cannot nurture life where the soil is not suitable.

We built them far apart, to prevent cross-contamination. So that diseases and genetic weaknesses from one, could not spread to another.

Yes, there were other gardens. But this one is mine.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I chose the female with great care and deliberation.

She was strong, and of good stock. Healthy, robust, and genetically suited to my plans.

Her herd lived in an area of warm clime, this would improve the chances of survival.

I sedated the female, surgically implanted the seed, and returned her to the herd, very quietly, and carefully, so as not cause distress amongst them.

For this was a crucial time.

I watched, and waited.

The infant was born. Healthy and strong.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My work here is done now.

In their primitive tongue, the female was known as Mh'ai'ri.

The infant was given the name Jh'ee'suz.

“Come now Gh'o'td, my old friend.” Said my companion. “It is time to leave.”

“Your son shall guide them now.”

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Saturday, 24 July 2010

A burglar's tale

I stood on the pavement looking at the house, weighing up my chances.

The houses at either side were dark, and lifeless, no telltale flicker of a television in a darkened room. No music drifting from any open bedroom window.

I looked at my watch, almost three am. As good a time as any.

There was no-one inside the house, I knew this for a fact, it was the neighbours that I was concerned about.

Most people, being disturbed by a sound at this time of the morning would listen for a moment, and unless the sound continued would shrug their shoulders and drift off back to sleep.

My trade had taught me this. And if I was nothing else, I was good at my trade.

But these were good neighbours, they looked out for one another, and the last thing I needed was lights going on all over the place, and the sound of closing sirens.

Well, I thought, it should be a piece of cake. I've been breaking into houses in this area since I was thirteen, never been caught, never even been chased.
It must be in the hundreds by now, and believe me, it pays well. I had the best.
Designer clothes, hand made Italian shoes, two Rolex watches.
An Audi TT and a Range Rover Sport sat side by side in my garage.

The furniture didn't come from Ikea or MFI either.

It was the bathroom that was my pride and joy. I never tired of showing it off to people.

These same people, with their nine year old Fiestas, and their shitty 'forty hour a week plus as much overtime as you like' slavish existences, who believe that I'm some kind of property inspector.

Oh yes, I inspect property, usually just before I throw it into a pillowcase for ease of carrying.

Yes, the bathroom, the taps alone had cost nearly a grand, and the tub! Oh my, It was a seven foot whirlpool jacuzzi, big enough to take up to five people.

Anyway, this reminiscing wasn't getting me inside this house was it?. No. So, down to business.

I glanced all around before setting off up the steps, no-one around.

First thing, check the doors, people sometimes forget to lock their door once in a while, especially if they've had a few in the house before setting off out on a Saturday night bender.

I remember doing it myself a few years ago, one New Years Eve I had gone to bed absolutely paralytic, and left both doors not only unlocked, but actually standing open.
I had also left all the lights and the stereo on, so I suppose any passing scrotes were either too drunk to notice, or assumed that a party was in full swing.

When I had come downstairs at dinnertime on New Years Day there were seven sodding cats in the house. It took me weeks to get the smell of cat pee out of the suite.

Okay, here goes, front door...


Around to the back. Quietly... quietly...

No good, locked too. Well I didn't expect it would be that easy.

The alarm was set, I could tell by the alternating red and blue LEDs, but if I could get to the control panel without tripping one of the PIRs It would be no problem at all.

Okay. Think! …. Think!

I checked all the downstairs windows, all closed and locked, and these were quality windows, with good locks, not your 'six for seven hundred pounds you buy one, you get one free, from a bald idiot in a stupid coat' rubbish. No, these were the Fort Knox of windows.

Back to the front... Always have a system...

Eyes roving over the front of the house... no joy with the upstairs windows either, not that I could reach them if they were wide open anyway. There were no convenient ladders in gardens around here, either padlocked or otherwise. I know, I've checked that one out before.

I certainly didn't want to start smashing my way in if I had any choice.
Now holding your coat to the glass when breaking a window minimised the noise, but any noise was best avoided.
Silence is golden in my line of work.

Back to the rear again... smiling, and singing almost inaudibly to myself.

“Naaaayyyyybours... Ev'rybody needs good naaayyyybours...”

I wasn't worried at this point, I knew I would get in eventually.

I looked up at the open bathroom window, small, but I could squeeze through it at a push.

The soil pipe, and drainpipe, ran down the wall a couple of feet to the left, Hmm... Reachable.

The window was open about two inches, latched from inside, well, it seemed like the easiest choice.

Okay. I would need something to flip the latch with.

I never carry crowbars, screwdrivers and the like when on a job, that way if I'm searched I can't be charged with 'going equipped'

On the patio was the garden furniture, through the centre of the table poked the bottom half of a sun parasol stand, Hmm, hollow, but made of steel alloy, yeah, that would probably be strong enough.

I lifted the spike high to clear the table, and pulled it towards me, when the end nearest to me went below parallel a sodding great spider fell out, washed on its way by about a third of a pint of stinking stagnant water, which went over my shoulder and straight down the back of my neck, spider and all.

I staggered backward in surprise and sat down heavily on what I soon discovered to be a huge pile of dog crap, courtesy of the mutt that lived across the way, I thought, it's the only sodding dog that lives in this cul-de-sac.

As I rolled over and started to rise, the sodding spider started to do some sort of eight-legged butterfly stroke at the base of my spine, startling me enough to fall again, this time I was lucky enough to break the fall with my hands...

Yeah, you guessed it.. straight back into the sodding dog crap...

I rolled onto my stomach and started punching myself in the back with my crap-stained fists, squashing the spider flat, bruising my kidneys in the process, I will probably be pissing blood for the next month, and pummelling dog crap into a very, very, expensive jacket.

I looked in panic at the neighbours windows.

No lights came on. No windows opened. No curtains twitched. Phew!

Right. Up the drainpipe.

What, with trying to hold the spike, coupled with the stinking slime on my hands, it was impossible to get any purchase on the smooth drainpipe. Dammit!

I looked round for something to wipe my hands on... A bush!

Pushing my hands into the soft greenery I began the task of de-dogcrapping my hands.

Within seconds I had not only succeeded in just smearing the crap around a bit, without actually losing any of it, but I had managed to pick up a few more sodding spiders too!

I patted frantically at my head and body, trying to dislodge the little sods, and managing to rub the dog crap into my hair and face in the process.

Oh, just half an hour ago life was so sodding sweet!

I looked again for something to clean myself with... Nothing!

Sod it! I took off my very sodding expensive coat and spent a few minutes cleaning what I could from my hair, face, and hands with it.

What the hell, in for a penny...

In temper I then threw the jacket onto the floor and angrily wiped my feet on it too.
My shoes a flurrying tantrum of Italian leather.
Kicking, and scuffing, until the coat was no more than a crap-stained rag...

Aaaaand breathe...

I scampered up the drainpipe with the spike in my mouth.

Which turned out to be a big mistake, it was the only thing I hadn't bothered to clean with the coat.

What the hell, I'd had so much dog crap tonight I was beginning to like the sodding stuff.

Hell, I may even have it for breakfast tomorrow.

Hmmm........ Bacon, egg, dog crap, tomatoes, and mushrooms, gave a new meaning to the term a full english!

Well, up the pipe like a sodding pirate I went.

I was just about level with the bathroom window, when a I saw a movement!

I froze. I glanced around...

It took me a moment to realize that it was yet another sodding spider hanging from a thread right in front of my sodding eye.

Damn it! I thought. I might even have some of them little sods for breakfast too.

I grabbed the spike, and pushed it forward through the small gap.

This was where I had a stroke of luck. ( That's me! Lucky lucky lucky )

The spike caught the latch on the first attempt, I pressed lightly downwards, and the window sprang open.

Not wanting to drop the spike, and risk the resulting noise waking the neighbours, and since I couldn't be arsed climbing down, and back up again, I flicked the spike through the gap, and into the bathroom.

There was a sort of quiet tinkling sound from inside the window. Followed by a fairly solid thud. Followed by more musical tinkling.

I shrugged my shoulders, reached across, grabbed the window sill, and started to drag my body through the small gap.

No problem!

My body fit through the gap easily.

My sodding clothes didn't though.

I managed to virtually rip my shirt off when it caught on the latch,not to mention scoring a sodding great gouge into my chest.

Falling forward into the room I landed heavily across the basin, grabbing hold of it in reflex, the momentum carried me forward, and downwards, bringing the basin along with me, ripping it completely from its pedestal. I landed heavily on the carpet, taking most of the skin from my nose in the process.

Luckily (That's me again... lucky lucky lucky , sod me! I'm starting to feel like Kylie sodding Minogue here) the flexible pipes attached to the taps held, so there was no water spraying everywhere.

Mind you, it might have washed off the rest of the dog crap..... And the sodding spiders...

Especially the little git that was still in front of my eye.

As I went to grab the bleeding thing, it dropped from its thread to the floor, and scurried off under an impossibly small gap between the bath panel and the carpet. Bastard!

I eyed the shower cubicle, god, I could just strip off and jump in there, it was spotlessly clean, you couldn't even tell there was glass in it it was so clean!

Hang on a mo! There WAS no glass in it! Now it dawned on me what the tinkle-thud sound was that I'd heard a couple of minutes ago.

At least I was inside now, there was still the question of the alarm...

I slithered out of the bathroom on my belly, keeping low to avoid the PIR on the landing.

Down the stairs, still on my belly, managing to wipe most of the remains of the dog crap from my hands onto the stair carpet as I pulled myself downwards.

I managed to get to the control panel without the PIRs detecting me, five seconds later it was disabled.

Walking into the darkened lounge I tripped headlong over the sodding coffee table, smashing it to bits, the momentum sent me staggering forward to headbutt the TV set, which then came off its wall mounting, and fell to the floor with yet another tinkly-thud-tinkle sound (I was getting to really sodding HATE tinkles) hitting me in the face, splitting my top lip and chipping my two front teeth on the way down.

God I need a sodding vacation!

I sat down wearily on the couch, and ran my tongue over my bleeding top lip, slicing my tongue on the chipped sodding teeth in the process.

Jesus! That sodding hurt!

What a sodding night this had turned out to be...

I leaned back into the couch, and allowed my head to roll backwards until it rested on the top of the couch...

The next thing I knew it was morning.

I opened my gluey eyes, and glanced blearily around me...

A few weeks later I was counting the cost of a night out...

Taxis to, and from the nightclub ( plus tips ) ...................................£ 17. 00
Booze, ( Christ knows how much ) …..............................................£ 120. 00
One chicken vindaloo. ( With extra chapati ) …..............................£ 14. 50
One slate grey single breasted Armani suit …................................£ 564. 99
One Saville row shirt. ( With button down collar ) ...........................£ 44. 99
one Delphini curved shower screen ( plus installation ) .................£ 720. 65
One berguna twin-tap basin ( plus installation ) ….........................£ 365. 70
One professional 'dog-crap cleaner-offer' ( Various carpets) ........£ 185. 00
One 'Classique-mode' coffee table. ( plus fragile ashtray )............£ 240. 55
One Samsung 46” Full HD Plasma TV ( free installation ) .............£ 4,999. 99
Several dentists appointments ( Robbing gits )..............................£ 563. 34

Losing my front door key in the night club........................... SODDING PRICELESS.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 16 July 2010

Road Rage

My name is Steve,
I am fifty seven years old, happily married, proud father of two, and grandfather to seven.

Well... I’m just an ordinary sort of guy, who lives a pretty mundane life, with not many extreme peaks and troughs... but...

Let me tell you of something that happened to me yesterday...

I pride myself on being a safe driver, I drive defensively mostly, always watching for potential danger from other road users, always keeping a safe distance from the car in front.
This attitude has kept me accident free for almost forty years now.

The car I usually drive has “ please tailgate me “ screaming out of every orifice, the faithful old dog is a fifteen year old Citroen AX, with a punchy one litre engine, and an extremely lived-in look about it.

But, hey ho, forty five to the gallon, group two insurance, and in the six and a half years that I have owned it, it has never failed to start, and never broken down. (except on one occasion when the lining stripped from a brake shoe)

Yes, this is the car that I am USUALLY in control of...

Yesterday I found myself in control of something else...

Sleek, shiny, fast, the kind of machine that has more attitude than a bull terrier with a hangover.

A kind of mist descended over me from the very first second the wheels started rolling,
I couldn’t seem to control myself.

No-one, and I mean NO-ONE was going to overtake ME... NOT TODAY BABY !!!

I set off with the tyres burning, and within seconds had the engine screaming in protest...
Up a gear... up the revs... God...the sheer POWER...

Of course, before long another car appeared in my rear-view mirror, twitching from side to side as the driver fought to control the G-force that his reckless speed was creating.
I increased my speed further, laughing to myself, I wasn’t going to let him pass, I weaved from side to side to narrow his chances of getting alongside of me. SCREW HIM.

I had become an absolute monster, all that mattered to me was staying in front of him.

We hit the triple carriageway at god knows what speed, and the car started to slide on the smooth tarmac, causing me to lose some traction, and by the time I had managed to get the car straight again the prat was beside me...

and he was actually inching AHEAD.

I wasn’t laughing NOW... I could feel the anger rising within me...

He handled a slight right hand bend better than I did, and within seconds I was looking at his rear bumper.
I started grinding my teeth in frustration...


I was startled by the sound of my wife’s laughter, I’d totally forgot that she was sitting there, she seemed to find the situation extremely amusing, this just fuelled my rage more, there was NO WAY that THIS guy was going to beat ME !

The carriageway narrowed to two lanes, then one, I was still glued to his bumper, I found myself screaming in anger...


Several times I nearly lost control as we slewed round tight curves, but my wife’s giggles at my inability to pass him drove me to ever more reckless maneuvers.

A tight left hander was coming up, with a large expanse of grass leading away from the roadside....


As he slowed slightly to negotiate the tight turn, I actually increased my speed and headed straight for the grass, I was going to cut straight across the corner, and get in front again.

My wife watched intently, with her face screwed up as she tried not to laugh out loud again, she knew I would blame her if things went wrong.

Halfway across the grass was where I lost it...

The front end slid, and I over-corrected, causing the car to go into a full broadside that it was just never going to recover from...

When the front wheels hit the tarmac on the other side of the bend, the sudden grip caused the car to flip over...

It rolled over and over, finally coming to rest on its roof in the roadside ditch...

I watched with absolute fury as the other guy disappeared over a slight rise.

“DAMMIT!” I shouted, my voice almost drowned out by my wife’s uncontrollable fit of giggles.

“These sodding Playstation games don’t half wind me up."

I tossed the game control to her, and said “Here, you have a go, this level’s doing my crust in.
I’m gonna get another beer, do you want one bringing in too?”

I then set off in the direction of the kitchen as my wife scrolled down to the PLAY AGAIN option.

©2010 Stephen. J. Green.