Archive for March, 2010
Rocks Are Slow Life
This short story was inspired by “Rocks are slow life” by the Super Furry Animals which was another suggestion from my bro.
Neil wasn’t from round here and nobody let him forget it.
He felt like an alien, “a Scotsman living in Newark”. He was used to running home from school every day to avoid the sticks and stones and names that hurt him.
One night he was so fed up he went for a walk, he couldn’t sleep anyway and was past caring why his Dad would only come home a couple of nights a week.
He could hear fireworks going off in the distance and they made his heart skip that little bit faster. He knew whoever was setting those off was probably one of his enemies from St. Cuthbert’s Comp.
Neil felt a sharp pain shoot down his thumb as he scaled the barbed wire fence to get into the quarry site but it was so dark it was hard to see how much it was bleeding.
The ground underneath his feet was becoming more and more unsteady but he just kept walking further into the darkness until he reached a massive pile of rocks.
Neil started to feel dizzy and lay down on one of the huge slabs and cast his eyes up to the stars.
This was the most relaxed he’d felt since he moved here and his breathing began to slow down. As life drained away from Neil with each jet of blood that spurted from his thumb, it felt good to be in the quarry.
Rocks are a slow life form, evolving and changing over hundreds and thousands of years, but Neil’s young life was tragically over before it had really begun.
Posted in 
But It’s Working In Your Blood
Today’s short story is based on the following MGMT lyrics suggested by my brother; “but it’s working in your blood, which you know is not the same as love, love is only in your mind and not your heart”.
Lucas wasn’t one for the ladies, though it wasn’t through a lack of trying.
Being called “Lucas the Puke-as” almost every day for 7 years of Primary School and another 4 at Secondary was enough to dent anyone’s confidence.
The Christmas Disco in 2001 had been the peak of his embarrassment. It’s one thing being called “Lucas the Puke-as” but it’s another thing entirely actually living up to the name in front of the other 100 or so people in your year.
Dave’s Dad was a big cider drinker and Lucas had a bit too much scrumpy before they left for the salubrious surroundings of the school assembly hall.
The fermented apples had given Lucas a shot of confidence, so much so that he’d asked Julia Cowie to dance. At that precise moment Lucas put the ‘puke-as’ into his name for real and he’d never been the same since.
Fast forward 8 years and Lucas was working for the local council in a dead end job hoping that there was something better out there for him.
It was “Saggy Sandra’s” leaving do and a few of them had gone on to Whistle Binkie’s. A guy called Sam Barber was playing an accoustic set which was going down really well and although Lucas had only sunk a couple of pints, he was beginning to feel courageous.
Jenny from Accounts had a low-cut top on and looked totally different than she did at work. For a start her hair was down, Lucas had never seen her with her hair down before.
Her bright red lips seemed to be getting bigger and more inviting as the night wore on and Lucas found himself in a bit of a trance.
Lucas snapped out of it when Sandy came back from the bar with a round of shots, he wouldn’t tell anybody what it was, which meant it was probably something stupidly potent.
Scared not to show himself up, Lucas downed his shot along with everyone else and the next thing he knew he was kissing Jenny and his colleagues had all disappeared.
The lively chatter and sound of Sam Barber’s guitar faded into the distance as Lucas and Jenny stumbled out onto the cold wet cobbles on Niddry Street locked arm in arm.
Lucas being the gentleman he was ran ahead to the bottom of the street to see if he could hail a taxi while Jenny huddled from the icy drizzle in a darkened doorway nearby.
After a few nerve-jangling minutes, Lucas got a cab but Jenny didn’t come to join him. He got back out and told the driver to wait a minute.
When he went back up Niddry Street to the doorway where’d he left her he saw an old man doubled over with an outstretched cap. Lucas asked him if he’d seen the girl who’d been standing there but he just pushed his cap out further towards Lucas.
Lucas swore and gave the guy 50p as he heard the taxi drive off behind him.
The old tramp in the alcove in front of him then said “Feel the drink son, it’s great isn’t it? but it’s working in your blood, which you know is not the same as love, love is only in your mind and not your heart.”
When Lucas woke up in his flat later that day, he had no recollection of Jenny and picked up the jobs section of the local paper, being on the dole for the last 4 years was taking its toll.
Have You Ever Felt Yourself in Motion?
Just been listening to Evan Dando, one of my all-time favourite artists and my next short story is going to be based on the line “have you ever felt yourself in motion?” from the single Hard Drive.
Sergei had never been to Cyprus before and this trip was no holiday.
The one thing that would dictate whether he lived or died was somewhere on this island, but where?
Although he hadn’t seen them he knew they were watching from somewhere nearby, this was too important not to get back.
As he gazed out onto the Med and watched a jet ski disappear into the distance, his phone rang.
The doorman at a hotel in Limassol he’d spoken to earlier had some information for Sergei, a man with that name had just checked in.
He turned away from the beautiful view and made his way back to the hire car, they had a nerve charging me for this piece of crap he thought to himself but it was good cover.
On arriving at the hotel Sergei was greeted by the doorman who called someone to come and park the car. Sergei got a card for the room in exchange for another brown envelope and his heart started to beat faster as he waited for the elevator to come down to the ground floor.
He put his ear to the door of room 206 but heard nothing. He inserted the card into the slot and took a deep breath as the light turned green and he pushed the handle.
There was no sign of anyone inside, just a robust looking black suitcase on the bed which was locked.
Sergei picked up the case and hoped to God the item he so desparately wanted was inside.
Suddenly he heard a noise on the balcony and a slim man dressed in a light coloured linen suit appeared. He had something in his hand.
He looked Sergei in the eye and said “This is the hard drive” and waved it above his head. He then looked over the balcony and said “this is the ocean” as Sergei heard the waves lapping against the side of the hotel below.
Sergei reached for his gun but was put into a choke hold by someone standing behind him. The man on the balcony looked out to sea as the other man frogmarched Sergei out to join him.
The man said “Have you ever felt yourself travel in slow motion?” and with that Sergei was wrestled over the balcony onto the rocks below.
Half Way There
My short story today was inspired by Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” and is called Half Way There.
We were half way there when Mary Lou needed a comfort break so we pulled up in a primitive looking little place called Jonesville, population 263.
There was a diner that still looked open, although it was unsettling to see that the letters ‘n’ and ‘r’ had fallen off the sign outside.
The sullen waitress had all the hallmarks of a high school dropout and she barely looked us in the eye as she took our order.
Eight minutes later and we were still without our coffee although Mary Lou was looking more relaxed after using the bathroom.
There was what can only be described as a filthy looking old man hunched over the counter with a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. I could see from his reflection in the mirror that he was wearing a gold medallion but it looked out of place in amongst all his grey chest hairs.
I felt sad for the man briefly as he was obviously living a life of solitude in this ramshackle little town.
I watched as Mary Lou sipped her coffee (which had finally arrived) and wondered how long it would take for the tranquillizer to kick in. I couldn’t bear the rest of the journey listening to her prattle on and on about the same old things; her late husband, the man in the spacesuit she’d had a liaison with at a fancy dress party and how I should be a better driver after all these years.
About 20 miles down the road, Mary Lou finally shut up. I put the car stereo on and sang out of tune to Johnny Cash all night long as I drove the rest of the way there.
Don’t Turn Around
I had intended to write some short stories based around my favourite song lyrics but I had an idea when “Don’t Turn Around” by Ace of Base came on the radio this morning so here goes!
“Don’t turn around!” his voice was unfamiliar and full of rage.
I tried hard not to but it’s like telling kid in a sweet shop not to look.
I felt the menace of cold metal against my throat, oh my God, don’t tell me that’s a knife!
He wasn’t in the mood to play around and nor was I. I handed over the £90 I’d just taken from the cash machine along with my purse.
There was no have a go hero to save me and mercifully I felt his grip loosen and listened as the sound of his quickening footsteps disappeared into the cold dark November night.
When the police arrived I had to recap my version of events over and over again. They told me some nutcase had robbed 3 other women that night too, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
I finally got back to my flat at around 2am but couldn’t sleep. Even the soothing sound of Cafe del Mar Volume 12 playing on my ipod did nothing to calm my nerves.
What had promised to be a fun night had turned into one I’d probably never forget.
I sat and watched the rain drops race each other down the window pane against the backdrop of the shimmering streetlights and felt glad to be alive.
It’s All About the Lyrics
Over the next few weeks I’m going to write some short stories based around lyrics from some of my favourite songs, some well known and some not so.
If any friends, family or friendly strangers would like to suggest a song lyric of their own, please post a comment and I’ll weave it into a story that you’ll hopefully like.
Whit Kin Ah Dae Between Bin Days?
The following poem was a shortlisted finalist in the Tyne & Esk Writer of the Year 2008. 
The motor’s away for another week
The lingering smell’s aw that’s left
Fir me tae breathe in and savour
And wonder what the hell ah’ll dae next
Seven days tae waste ‘til the boys come again
Whit kin ah dae between bin days
Except watch telly, get bevvied and sleep?
Whit kin ah dae between bin days?
Jist sit here and pit up ma feet
She’s oot at work aw day like everyone else
Ahm left here jist nae gid tae naeb’dy
Another old geezer stuck oan the shelf
Dinny ken whit tae dae wi masel’
Refuse collector, scaffie and bin man
That used tae be me, an’ ah loved it
Oot in aw weathers, havin’ a laugh
Man there wis jist nothin’ like it
Seven days tae waste ‘til the boys come again
Whit kin ah dae between bin days
Except watch telly, get bevvied and sleep?
Whit kin ah dae between bin days?
Just sit here and pit up ma feet
Ma knees are too sare, ah kin barely stand up
This arthritis has taken me over
Just once a week when the lorry comes roond
This old dead loss comes back tae life
The roar ay the engine, the jokes and the crack
The things that we’d find in folk’s plastic bags
Noo ahm on the scrapheap just rottin’ away
Nae recyclin’ fir me, soon ah’ll be turned intae landfill
Seven days tae waste ‘til the boys come again
Whit kin ah dae between bin days
Except watch telly, get bevvied and sleep?
Whit kin ah dae between bin days?
Just sit here and pit up ma feet
The Nor’ Loch
This is an extract from an Edinburgh ghost tour speech I wrote recently.
The Nor’ Loch was no ordinary Loch. It didn’t contain any mythical monsters and it was created by Royal appointment on order of King James III in 1460 who wanted the land between the Castle and Princes Street to be flooded. The idea was that it would strengthen the Castle’s defences.
Initially it was common for the fine people of Edinburgh to set float in a boat on the moat but then over the years like a lot of Edinburgh’s streets, it became a dumping ground for human waste and the decision to drain it was eventually taken almost 300 years later in 1759.
Almost another 300 years on and the smell of methane gas that used to plague the many nearby Closes has finally subsided!
Now, you may be wondering how the Nor’ Loch got its name. I can assure you it had nothing to do with stock cubes. I can just picture King James’ men stirring the water with paddles to make a tasty broth! Seriously though, the name comes from the abbreviation of north, as the Loch lay to the north of the Castle.
Now, which of you can tell me what douking means? Well, the Nor’ Loch was also the scene of many drownings in the 16th Century. Suspected Witches would be dunked or douked twice into the water and if they sank and drowned they would be found innocent and if they stayed afloat then a worse fate awaited them as they would be deemed a Witch and burned at the stake! This was the original ‘no win situation’.
As we can see in front of us now, where the Nor’ Loch once was, lies the peace and serenity of Princes Street Gardens. These gardens are an oasis of calm from the nearby bustling shops on Princes Street itself. There’s not a witches scream or cackle to be heard, just the sound of birds singing happily in the trees.