Death, But Not Of A Salesman – A Drabble

His stance spoke of the softness of academia. The protected air of hallowed halls shielding him from the realities of the world outside.

The slightly stooped shoulder curve. The narrow chest.

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A Headline, A Drabble And A Haiku Walk Into A Blog

Our breaking story at the top of the hour…ruling party in turmoil as slush fund revealed to be “slightly frozen water”

Senior politicians are tonight distancing themselves from fresh allegations of corruption after two prominent Indian businessmen are seen leaving a Saxonwold shebeen with what eye-witnesses have described as a “leaky black holdall”. Moments later the pair were seen in a heated exchange where the taller of the two proclaimed “this is not the fifteen and twelfty million Msholozi promised us”.

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Bob. A Job.

To whom it may concern:

I am writing to inform you of my resignation from the position of Acting Junior Vice-Assistant to the Deputy Director of Marketing with immediate effect. I seem to recall something in my original contract about a thirty day notice period but in the spirit of agile management and notwithstanding the fact that I wiped my arse with said document a couple of months back, it’s probably best for all concerned if I slip off quietly into the night.

Go on admit it. You’d love it if I genuinely slipped off into the night. You probably wouldn’t complain too much if I slipped off noisily, say, from a fourteenth-floor window but in the famous words of Mick and the boys…you CAN’T always GET what you WAAAANNNNT.

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Epitaph – A Drabble

“It’s time,” she said and in we stumbled like lambs bleating in the slaughtered air. Any lingering hopes that he would be granted some final serenity or peace dashed in a maelstrom of tortured angles and the sweat-soaked rictus of a face that has been long lost to madness.

“Is it…?”

“No. Not blood. Not exactly.”

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New Story: A Single Grain Of Salt

It’s always nice to have an excuse to scribble some words on a blog post – and today’s excuse is to tell you that I’ve got a brand new piece up on Literally Stories.

A Single Grain Of Salt is a story that has been trying to get written for a couple of years without a whole lot of success. For me, this often happens when a tale has a link to reality, and particularly when it relates to an event that still haunts me despite the fact that tragedy was avoided.

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In The Face Of Rejection

If you happened to stumble your way through the buffed and shining revolving door to stagger forward to the sanitised, public-facing cubicles of the cover-story building, you’d be forgiven for thinking that all was as it seems.

Except, as we all know, things are rarely so simple.

The smiling helpers ensconced in their shining, plexiglass cocoons are merely a front. A façade. Like a Cuban shopfront on a different continent in a different time.

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Car Crash Television

As befits a man of my advancing years, this will be a quickie.

My week is off to a flier, thanks mostly to the ever wondrous and wonderful people over at Literally Stories who have seen fit to publish another one of my new pieces.

For those of you who’ve read a lot of my stories and blog posts I’m sure you’ll agree that Car Crash Television is a real departure for me. I’ve tried really hard to step away from my usual comfort zone of using flowery prose to expand on weighty and topical themes and challenged myself to write a mostly dialogue-based piece focusing on a bloke moaning about what’s on the TV.

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School Day Blues

“Come on sweetie, we’ve got to get going.”

“Don’t want to. I just want to stay here.”

“I know you do my love but you’ve got to go, and unless you get moving we’re going to be late. You’ll have lots of fun, just you wait and see.”

“No I won’t. I don’t want to go.”

“Angel, I know it’s scary but everyone else will be feeling the same as you. You’ll make new friends so quickly. It really will be OK.”

“Don’t want to make friends. I’ve got my other friends. Why can’t I just play with them instead? All these new ones will just be weird and they won’t like me.”

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