Friday, 26 November 2010

Not The Man I Married

Inspector O’Keefe drove out of his street and into the gridlocked traffic. He looked at his watch. 7:50 He should be at his desk by now...he would have been but for his wife.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel and though about her. Emma’s pasty face swam across his consciousness and then bobbed on a gentle swell like a great fat Flounder.
He’d grown to hate that face, to despise every wrinkle, every pore, every...
Red... amber... green!!!

A cacophony of car horns blasted her face out of the water triggering O’Keefe into action. He raised a hand in a half-hearted gesture of apology to the car behind and accelerated through the lights.
He rolled his eyes and cursed Emma. She was still causing trouble even though she was at home in the kitchen sitting on her huge fat behind.

She had a degree in sitting on her arse, a Masters in stuffing her face with crap, and a PhD in moaning.

The moaning recently consisted of her saying that he’d become a different man since he’d joined homicide, that he had no time for her, was obsessed with the job, and his favourite – had become psychologically damaged by his daily immersion in murder. Stupid melodramatic cow!

O’Keefe chuckled with cold humour and pulled into his parking space. Well at least when he got home tonight the hole in her face would be silent...but definitely larger than normal.

The twelve bore had seen to that.

Thursday, 11 November 2010


Suspended in the heavens by black velvet thread, a night like any other heaved a sigh and shed tears of despair.

It was time.

Wood- smoke escaping the campfire snaked around trees as gentle rain caressed two figures silhouetted against the flames.

“Dance with me again,” she pressed play and moved her body seductively against his.
“No you must go now. The old tales are true ...I can feel the change in me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, how could they be?” she smiled up at him.

His eyes glowed yellow, and his lips peeled back revealing dangerous canines.

She stopped smiling.

Friday, 5 November 2010

Nice Guy

The condensation formed droplets on the cafe window chased each other south. Teardrops spilled from her eyes mirroring their path.
Cally’s gaze strayed to his photograph then back to the window.
A waitress came over and picked up her tray.
“Are you alright? I couldn’t help noticing you’re upset.”
Cally shook her head.
“Five years together. We were engaged...”
“What happened?”
“He’s married, wife’s expecting.”
She held up the photograph. “Nice guy huh?”
The waitress looked at the photo.
Cally looked at the waitress’s swollen belly.
Their eyes locked as tragic realisation dawned.
The tray clattered to the floor.