ponchosteele
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| Type | Title | Author | Replies | Last updated |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Story | Christmas Broth | ponchosteele | 0 | 11 years 11 months ago |
| Collection | Short tales of moral ambiguity | ponchosteele | 0 | 11 years 11 months ago |
| Story | The Final Adventures of Smoking Man and Beagle Boy | ponchosteele | 0 | 12 years 1 month ago |
| Story | Rusty McFerrin & Bub star in: Search For The Palace Of Love | ponchosteele | 0 | 12 years 1 month ago |
My collections
My stories
The Final Adventures of Smoking Man and Beagle Boy
Through the rotting plaster and peeling flock wallpaper, came a soft breeze. It gently skidded along the dust-stacked drawers before dissipating. Just under the heavy, black curtains. They quietly parted, having clung together as sun-lust lovers for over a decade. The light streaked through the pale and sallow eyelids of Barry Manvers ' sitting opposite - and scorched his sockets. Blinded and panicked, Barry grasped for the nearest object and hurled it in the direction of excruciating pain. The black cat hit the curtains with four outstretched claws, dug in and hissed violently. She hated heights, how would she get down?
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- 409 reads
Rusty McFerrin & Bub star in: Search For The Palace Of Love
Chapter one: in which Rusty breaks out "Here Old Ripper. Here. Guided by quite magnificent nostrils, the prison's prized sniffer-dog rounded the corner. He sauntered past the masked figure and delicately pawed at the beckoning aromas. Medium-rare. Peppered. Served with the appropriate garnish and a glass of full-bloodied red. Just how he liked it. "Good boy. The dog turned. But. Too late. The masked figure brandished a canister of sleeping gas. Old Ripper bellowed an odious riposte and passed out.
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- 498 reads
Christmas Broth
'Hair today, hair tomorrow.' Turning to face the sad old man, Rudolph put the brush down and buttoned his pleated, silk shirt. Bathing in shallow pools of light, his svelte, muscular figure failed to hide a hideous mask. Cleaved lips clung lustily to an oily, slick of features, anchored only by monstrous, varicose-stretched nostrils. Smeared into a smile, his lips moved, 'But you, my formerly fat friend. You will be gone. Unless you can pay what you owe by sun-break tomorrow, the factory is mine.'
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- 569 reads