Tag Archives: music

Ivory Poaching…

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Into the fiery pit fell the fornicators; murderers, rogues and blasphemers, and as they frothed and flayed at the devils delight, Chris De Burgh began his song anew.

“The lady in red…”

 

Written for: Twittering Tales

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Filed under Flash fiction, short story

Breach On Three…

For those of you of a funk / soul persuasion, I’ve written the theme tune to a fictional 70’s cop show. Listen to it here on Soundcloud (along with other folk and jazz concoctions):

BREACH ON THREE!

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Twittering Tales: Fish n’ Ships…

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The siren spotted the sailor on the deck of his boat.

‘Look at that rippling torso,’ she sang. ‘It’ll be weeks before I need to eat again!’

(137 characters).

Written for: Twittering Tales

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Six Word Stories #3

alien car journey

2. Radioactive flan. Freak accident. FLAN MAN!

3. Selfie-stick laments enabling preaning douche…

4. Cockney bible offends ‘Crusty Buns’ (nuns)

5. Millipede copyrights trainers and becomes gazillionaire

gossipqueeens

7. Deaf Lepers form terrible tribute band

8. Edward trouser-press hands? No…Edward…

9. R Kelly’s final words: I believe (OR: Turns out R Kelly can’t fly)

10. Time-travelling pickpocket steals own wallet

Abba

12. With third helping Jagger finally satisfied

13. Wonderful news Bertie. Satan’s popping over!

14. Red-headed step child. The Prophecy!

15. Suicidal McDonald turns bun on himself…

 

Previous entries include:

6 Word Stories #1

6 Word Stories #2

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Extrapolation (FFfAW)

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…This is the guy I was telling you about. He’s here every Thursday, regular as clockwork.

…A decade maybe? Always with the second guitar in a case that he never opens.

…No, he sets it up next to the speaker and stands away from it.

…Mostly call and response songs. He calls and no one responds. You only get one side of the…

…I think her name is (or was) Maggie.

…Because for all his many tunes he always comes back to that name – ‘Maggie Mae’, ‘Maggie’s farm’, ‘Little Maggie.’

…I see her as an Irish tearaway – unmanageable fiery red hair, a checked dress, pale legs, plimsols…

A voice that can find the harmony in any melody. We’ll make a tormented poet of you yet!

…What? And leave her guitar behind? No, I think the clues point towards something more…

…What’s wrong with a little morbid curiosity?

…By just looking at his face. Whoever and wherever she is, he finds her in the music…

 

(166 words)

Written for: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

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100ww: The first rule of Improv Club is…

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…that the answer is always ‘YES.’ ‘No,’ closes doors and denies possibilities. The second rule is to build upon the original premise.

‘YES…AND…’

Rachel stormed into the theatre. ‘You and Simon are having and affair aren’t you?’

Guilty-as-sin though she was, Jenny’s instinct was to deny it, but rules were rules.

‘YES…AND…’

Hesitation caused the chorus line to finish her sentence. ‘…It’s the best sex they’ve ever had,’ whereupon they launching into a twenty-minute song and dance number whilst painting a giant mural on the stage floor depicting Jenny’s infidelity.

‘How do you think I should take my revenge? Torture?’

‘YES…AND…’

 

(100 words).

Written for / Picture by: Bikurgurl

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Gift of the Gabbage

Someone has labelled everything in the park. A tree has a piece of paper attached to its bow with the word ‘tree’ written on it, the ground is labelled ‘ground;’ a lamppost ‘lamppost.’ Not everything is so literal. One of the bushes is christened ‘Bean Head,’ and a bench sports ‘No Thugs.’

FullSizeRenderAll in all there are close to forty such signs. It’s like something out of Alice in Wonderland (‘Drink me.’)

What would prompt someone to do something like that?

My initial ideas (in the order they arrived): Prank / Peruvians / Some kind of protest / Epic breakdown / Insane.

It’s not in Spanish so it can’t be my Peruvian stalkers, (unless they’re deliberately using another language to throw me off the scent – Los Rapscallianos!) See previous post: Digame!

If insane then just imagine what a treasure trove their home must be – all the nouns assigned a little sticker – knives labelled ‘stabby friends’ or ‘she will be mine.’

‘I’m just going down to the ‘Green-play’ (park), but first I shall put on my ‘cloth skin’ (coat) and ‘fruit-bowl’ (pants).’

FullSizeRender (1)I want to engage with you fellow human. What are you?

I got to the train station without being accosted by a white rabbit (shame). I have a long commute each day. On occasion it grinds me down. Yesterday, wedged against some guy’s ass-crack, having miraculously secured a seat, I thought ‘You know what would spruce this journey up? A Mariachi band! I could hire one and get them to follow me around for the day. Sure, it would compound the overcrowding, but think of the joy it would bring, to you and your fellow commuters. I dismissed the idea as fanciful, but later found myself researching the matter thoroughly and ascertained that I could employ said musicians for the grand sum of £300 (el etiquette Trabajo de Mexicanes es muy bueno!) Were it not for the prohibitive train fares I may well have proceeded (£50 a head for a day return! (plus the guy who plays the bass is normally as fat as a house / sports a coffee-table sized sombrero – he’d need two tickets)) – Maybe if I booked in advance I could get some kind of super saver, but then I’d need to travel off peak…
…the point being – it would be amazing, but people would think I was unhinged…

Perhaps the phantom labeller was attempting something equally uplifting. Who can say? Unless they leap naked from behind the bins one morning, a half-dead pigeon twitching between their teeth, and screech a heroin-fuelled explanation into my face we’ll never know. I apologise crazy person. Our failure to communicate is 50% my fault…

But it’s not all misfire. I know a guy with a Filipino wife thirty-two years his junior who speaks no English. They communicate exclusively through Google Translate (and presumably blowjob morse code – one speculates), and they seem to get along just fine!

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