Admin…

As an immortal it was necessary to fake one’s own death once in a while. It wouldn’t do to live suspiciously long or be the last man at the party. As such his latest manifestation, Raymond Brinegeld, sleazy lawyer and hopeless gambler, had to go.

He left ample clues as to the cause of his demise – bank statements denoting desperation and a pyramid of addiction. The dog bowl filled with vodka was a nice touch.

Far away in a fortress filled with priceless antiquities dating back to the dawn of time he selected a new identity and strode forth, unblemished once more, into the world.

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

The night the WiFi went down…

They told us it could never happen…that there were redundancies built on top of redundancies. I can still their faces – gaunt, pale and deprived of stimuli, staggering down the dark streets in their sweatpants murmuring about brains and click-bait.

#NeverForget

 

Written for: Twittering Tales

Punching above my weight…

During DNA trial #17654 Derek found the gene for sexual attraction. Shredding his notes and torching the lab he left with a small vial containing a potent elixir and began his new life as an Adonis.

 

(198 characters)

Written for: Twittering Tales

North…

First light won’t you break?

Upon that crest and upon it’s wake

So that I might live to take

One last look at you.

Oh my love I’ve lost my way

Rudderless in the unknown depths

Bear me north and guide me on – home

Stars in the depths of space

Blue as far as the mind can face

Bear me not in your cold embrace.

Let me glimpse the dawn

All the love I had to give

All bound up in the murky mists of time

And when tomorrow comes I’ll be gone.

My heart sets its sights on you…

 

(101 words)

I’ve used creative license this week. The above lyrics are from a song I wrote called ‘North.’ If you’re so inclined to have a listen, here it is:

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

Oh Brother…

I’ve uploaded a new Cororan tune to Soundcloud – A laid-back Sunday song – Sounds a lot like southern baptism (damn you catholic upbringing).

Have a listen ole bean…

 

 

Probing Questions…

‘Excuse me. Would you mind taking part in a survey?’

‘Sure.’

‘Really? Great! OK, question 1. Are you currently A: In a medically induced coma, or B: In a fiction surrounded by paid actors?’

‘How about C: Doing the weekly shop with my wife?’

‘I’m afraid that’s not an option Michael.’

‘How do you know my name’s Michael?’

‘I didn’t say Michael. You said Michael.’

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Then walk away Michael.’

‘I will.’

‘Sir?’

‘I can’t move!’

‘Why do you think that is? Is it A: You are in a medically induced coma, or B: Aliens have inser…’

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneer

I Hades when he does that…

‘Found you!’

‘God this game’s rubbish…and rigged! I’m the perpetually anger Lord of the Underworld, surrounded at all times by a fiery cloud, and you can change form at will.’

‘Nevertheless, it’s my turn to hide.’

 

Written for: Twittering Tales

The answer was inside you all along…

‘Don’t you think I’m a little old for quests?’

‘Not if you want to win my heart,’ the fair maiden cooed.

‘But why does the treasure map have so many exes?’

‘Am I not worth the effort?’

‘Of course.’

When he started the endeavour he was as fat as a house, but several weeks of digging later he was svelte, bronzed and, from a certain angle, ruggedly handsome.

‘That’s more like it,’ announced a delighted maiden.

‘But I never found the treasure!’

‘Oh there never was any treasure. I just wanted to make you a little more presentable.’

He sighed. Perhaps she wasn’t the one after all.

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

Early Adopter…

Technology had really taken the adrenaline out of Peeping Tommery – spy cams, zoom lenses and such like.

Roger was old school – Get up close and personal, take a table lamp to the face like a man.

The technician tapped the jar in which his brain floated. ‘No Roger! Bad thoughts!’

 

Written for: Twittering tales

Bedlam & Breakfast…

Erosion and rising tides made the property worthless. We bought it for a song and, for a time, lived like kings. Citing senility our children cried foul and came after the inheritance in a midnight raid, prompting a daring scuba flight into obscurity and, ultimately, legend.

 

Written for: Twittering Tales