Unordered Tales
By brighteyes
- 1997 reads
You Can Draw Transformers
He tugs on a sheepish grin, pulls the book from its carrier - receipt fluttering like a fallen harrier - and strokes the cover thin. Apologises for the luxury –
1001 Nights Now
Atop my blue-biroed Christmas list, one wish in green ink, drizzled from my favourite, least-used space pen. Please bend the frames of days. Give me enough time to handwalk a marathon, string together
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- 1993 reads
A Three Pipe Problem
In response to Jack-Cade's "Jeremy Brett"
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- 3049 reads
Amazing Dog in River Drama
You be hard pushed to say whether Minto was more amazing before or after the incident. Whether dragging to the surface of a murky little ecosystem a child, its asthma medication and a long-lost Roman artifact
Black Diamond Heavies
Sent from the richest mad professor Mafia boss. Truly, the geek inherited. He rules in silk bespoke lab coat, commands his robot bully boys to yoink information, whatever the equivalent of the Bruce Partington Papers is
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- 894 reads
Carousel Fraud
A guide for those who would be savvy: Beware carousels that have no horses painted in E-number colours, slow-motion pogoing, speared on gold rods. Besaddled boxes with penned-on eyes are sadly common
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- 978 reads
Dating the Milky Bar Kid
Just for the record, I don't endorse Nestle. They are evil stains.
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- 1165 reads
I Will Be Tired Tomorrow
I will rise, obedient to the alarm, terrified of setting off late, of seeing the minute hand leech past the hour, wolfing down Rice Crispies, using the hands of a mannequin, sellotaped
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- 815 reads
Mute
It's only now I'm pressing Equals, realising your faults are mine mirrored. In games you are hysterical and I forget myself and whine. I realise your faults, and mine
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- 787 reads
On Underground Virgins
Escalators. Escalators, for Christ's sake. The tourists from a country where moving steps are the flake on an ice cream dream (apparently), these tourists from some country
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- 936 reads
o, oxford street!
The boy with the flashing shoes hand in hand with his mum is beating us and our engine and I hate myself for thinking that dress in the window of Selfridges dress with the price tag like a stabbing ha
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- 2025 reads
The Levels Drop
The cars snap at my back wheel, buzz my heels: my muscles, hard though they have grown, no shield. The cars snap. Trapdoor spiders, they lunge in,
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- 874 reads
The Escapologist's Water
Every time I begin a receipt for someone pleasant, I vow to make my handwriting really nice. This is just about possible in theory, but my hands rebel every step of the way.
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- 1450 reads
I Dreamt I Took Nick's Insulin
Initially for safekeeping. He gave up the pen, chunky as the twenty-coloured marvels of secondary school, and I slipped it into my old pencil case; I have carried
The man in the fez with the Britney mic
Clemmy whispered something to him just after she'd gone under, while she was sat there, snorelessly inert.
You Can Draw Transformers
He tugs on a sheepish grin, pulls the book from its carrier - receipt fluttering like a fallen harrier - and strokes the cover thin. Apologises for the luxury –
- Read more about You Can Draw Transformers
- 1127 reads
Sigyn Kills Time
So get out of this one, Wizard. Never ones to do things by halves, they’ve pretty much stitched you as tight as can be. As tight as your lips that time, thick crisscrossed twine
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- 838 reads
Monsters of London #1
They warn you it's coming, in dry, overhead tones, resigned, as if we could no more stop it than fashion bones into bedspreads. The ground shivers; mini scout rumbles
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- 765 reads