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On the morning, just after eleven o'clock, of Tuesday 22nd November 1988, I drove my bus, a Service 4, slowly into Ryde Bus Station – I was looking forward to a break, something to eat and a hot, sweet and milky cup of tea. As I rolled the last few yards, I noticed the tall, dark and rather imposing form of the duty inspector leaning on the information board of the bus stand. My first thoughts…
Many years ago, when I was a bus driver, there was a regular passenger who, for reasons that will soon become obvious, was known amongst the drivers as Mrs Shit-Shit. Now, Mrs Shit-Shit was actually a perfectly respectable lady. She was tall, well dressed, retired, and pleasant enough. Unfortunately, she suffered from Tourette's Syndrome. What made matters worse was that she was desperately…
I don’t honestly think I’m a bad person. I’ve worked hard all my life. I obey the law. I pay my way. I’ve helped little old ladies across roads and done countless small acts of kindness that nobody ever notices. Yet there are three things that have repeatedly challenged my rather flattering image of myself: lust, ego and alcohol. Especially when I was younger. Perhaps this is a confession. Perhaps…
Many years ago, before I became a bus driver, I worked for a while in the Wines and Spirits department at Tesco. It was hard physical work, shifting heavy boxes of bottles around all day, but it was more than compensated for by the laughs. My supervisor, Albert, possessed a wonderfully wicked sense of humour. He looked remarkably like John Thomson from Cold Feet, although shorter and perhaps a…
Back in the late seventies, my friends and I were regulars at a bar called the Ocean Breeze on Sandown seafront. Aptly named, it stood just across the road from the beach and the English Channel, where the salt air drifted in through the open doorway on warm summer evenings. In those days I worked a steady nine-to-five job with weekends free. Weekends meant drinking, socialising and, on very rare…
When realities are told, why should you refuse if it's the only reason you're alive? The hills rose like the arched backs of sleeping beasts under a sky the colour of bruised iron, where the late sun bled through rents in the cloud as though the heavens themselves had been stabbed and could not staunch the wound. Below, the valley held its breath in a green and golden hush: the river coiled slow…
Reborn in the sunlight. A song of praise and bible verses of praise. Because all Glory and honor belong to our creator YAH. Spring up o well yes sing about it which princes dig which great leaders hollowed out with their scepters and staffs. Num.21:17-18 Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the lord. Giving thanks always for all…
Throughout generations people seek healing of the physcial body. But neglect the need of spirit healing. Herbs and knowledge of the use of herbs has been passed down for generations. Often taught by elders, in some cases it comes naturally with seeking wisdom and the studying of herbalism written by elders. The Wisdom of the Green Things Long before there were pharmacies, hospitals, or books…
Decades ago, I met a girl at the Eastcliff Nightclub—long since demolished—and we seemed to hit it off rather well. Before we parted that evening, I suggested we meet up during the week. “I’ll be here on Thursday,” she said with a smile. “Catch you then.” “Okay,” I replied, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. “That’ll be great.” Naturally, I spent the rest of the week looking forward to Thursday…
It was a couple of weeks before my twenty-first birthday. I was still seeing Claudia—the same Claudia I’d once hit with a table-tennis bat—but not for much longer. A week earlier I’d learned that I’d failed my first year of an HNC in Applied Physics. I could have passed easily enough had I bothered to work, but by then I’d lost motivation and was beginning to question everything, including the…
growing up sounds so fun and cool as a child, at least until you're not a child anymore. :P When I grow up, I want to help you whenever I can. When I grow up, I want to have an amazing future ahead of me. When I grow up, I want to be successful. When I grow up, I want to have opinions that are respected. When I grow up, I want to read all day. When I grow up, I want to be with all my friends…
Grandmothers near and far were warriors in the home and outside the home. How did they survive the wars, the famines, the distance. To be born to the true warriors and heroes. As I sat with grandmother and listened to her life and the things she lived through. I asked grandma how did you do it? How did you take the beatings? How did you take having kids alone, and take the abuse at the same time?…
The seeker, seeks wisdom and knowledge. From within and without. Seeking wisdom and knowledge: As I sit here in the midnight air I smell the silence of the day The air purifies as the cool wind blows The stars shine bright above As I look at the moon I cant help but to be thankful for another long day I gave it to God to take away the pain and sorrow Now I sit and enjoy the breeze Drinking my…
took out (the original) act 1 think it flows better now Remember the Name Act 1 In his cavernous bedroom, the only light coming from the small cracks in his door, casting the room in a tilted sort of gloom. He could hear his Father raging, bellowing, into, even at, the night. "Damn it, Woman!" he roared, letting his Southern accent loose. "His name," taking a long time on that last word, letting…
Envy. For the blood I seek through destiny, I have wished for what was never meant to be mine. I have stared through the golden windows of another life, watching beauty breathe where I was given decay, watching fortune rest upon shoulders that never begged for it. How easily the world crowns some men, while others are taught to kneel. Envy drips slowly through my breaking thoughts. How beautiful…
The Caged Bird Freedom can sometimes be an illusion. We are taught to work hard, build a better life, become successful, and reach a place where we no longer have to struggle. But the bitter truth is that success itself can become a cage. A person can work so hard to escape one prison, only to build another with the very things they once believed would set them free. Being strong is not a bad…
Part One: The IQ Test I’ll be honest: I struggled at school, despite passing the Eleven Plus. At grammar school I performed poorly from the outset. During my first two years the highest I ever managed in term work was second from bottom, while in examinations I peaked at twentieth out of twenty-seven pupils. It was hardly a record to inspire confidence. In 1970 the school became comprehensive and,…
Back in the seventies I worked on the mainland and commuted home each evening to the Isle of Wight. This was long before the catamarans arrived, when the crossing was still made by ferry. One evening, at about eight o'clock, I boarded the boat at Portsmouth and decided that what I really needed was a cup of tea. I headed down to the buffet at the bow of the ship, only to be met by a particularly…
I spotted him through the haze of cigarette smoke and flashing lights on the crowded dance floor of the Prince Consort. He was about six feet tall, a couple of inches taller than me, blond, athletic, and would probably have been considered handsome had it not been for the permanent sneer etched across his face. He was eighteen. I was nineteen. Everyone called him Barney. He came from the rough end…
"Home Sweet Gnome" is a prequel short story to the novel "Witchcraft and Hustle Culture", the beginning of the Hazel LeFay Gig-Economy Witch series. It is the story of how Hazel first met Lech, the brownie. It's a story of the importance of home and human connection. She didn’t look like she had ever been to a construction site before. She barely looked capable of pushing a wheelbarrow on her own.…
Now in those days nations rose and nations fell. Then, behold, a tree sprang up in the strongest of the nations and the people saw that the fruit was good to eat. So they took and ate. And, indeed, there was no law against it. Then they gave it to their brothers and sisters, their husbands and wives, until every nation had tasted of the fruit. But some ate more than their share and so were wiped…
A spiritual conotation is a thread in this short story. A fictional setting but a very non fictional spiritual theme, angelic if you like. A Divine Love Short Story arousing ones soul to seek truth on a continued life's journey after the physical experience here on this beautiful planet. Divine Love Short Story ‘Ole Smokin Joe’ Author Brooke Folk . August 2026 Ole Joe was old when he showed up one…
A non fiction short story with a fiction character that inspires ones own journey in seeking spiritual truths. Doubting Thomas A Charlie Chaplin inspired short story by : Brooke Folk, author, SoulOlogist / SoulScientist “Just call me Tom. Don’t need to know a last name. Haven’t used one in years,” he sneered. But in those tired off shaded blue eyes, I sensed specks of hopeless humor when he tagged…
Wish. There was a man who had never considered himself particularly unfortunate, which was perhaps why, when he was given the opportunity to ask for one wish, he did not immediately know what to say. He had grown up in a small house where the walls were thin enough to hear his neighbors arguing and the roof leaked whenever the rain became serious, but he had also known the peculiar warmth of being…
"If you promise to stay the night, Matt, then I'll let you sleep with me." "Yeah, okay then," I'd responded flatly. I wasn't that fussed either way. But since I was there, well... Her little plain face had lit up, like a punter pulling three cherries on a fruit machine, and she said, all excitedly: "I'll go and set up the camp bed then." "Why do you need to do that?" "There's only one bedroom and…
For many, many years I had been repressed both sexually and socially. As a person I wouldn’t say boo to a goose except when I was angry or afraid, or both, and then I could border on violence; I remember in my last job a couple of individuals who thought they could take the piss or attempt to intimidate me backing off in fear when they’d wound me up to such a pitch that metaphorically I’d turned…
There was, in a certain city, a man whom almost everyone considered extraordinarily intelligent, and it was difficult to argue with them because he had spent his youth winning prizes, his early manhood correcting professors, and the rest of his life explaining to ordinary people what they had failed to understand about their own lives. He possessed the irritating habit, common among clever men who…
2 Phoenix Ash, P.I.: The Case of the Lost Village of Twilight Hollow An Erotic Adventure - Episode 1 - A Short Story by Randy Gonzalez A raging nightly storm poured a deluge on the nearly vacant old red brick office building. Built over a hundred years ago, a few offices remained as urbanization threatened historic landmarks. In the softly lit confines of Phoenix Ash's detective agency, the…
Jebediah Orpheus is a young panhandler in the lakes of Oregon escaping his past life. A dark cowboy gives him the chance to bring back his dead wife, but he will pay for it if he can even succeed. As the sun slipped behind the Cascadian mountains, Jebediah pulled out his harmonica. He had spent the better half of the day panning for gold in the Snake River only to find shiny pebbles and a handful…
A young archeologist is tasked with overlooking a dig site that he despises. The wrokers uncover the entrance to an ancient building which might be his ticet back home. The humid desert heat was finally getting to me. Archeologists are expected to work through harsh climates. You must put on a ‘stiff upper lip’ as the phrase goes. Such funny idioms. I called for one of the locals to bring a wet…
Two snails meet. They become best of friends. But neither can invite the other over to their house.
I enjoy the challenge of writing meaningful short stories, which are less than 100 words, that make the reader contemplate about the meaning. She crammed all of her deepest thoughts into his scuffed suitcase. Bulging! She wrestled with the zip. At the station she boarded a train. It pulled away. Through the window she watched. The case, alone on the platform, faded from view.
Inspired by the abstract works of artists such as Francis Bacon or imperssionists such as Van Gogh, I aim to write a work that is evocative by virtue of how the words and sentences feel, rather than the meaning derived from the usual grammatical construct. The skin shudders as the wretched fingers of anxiety molest the body, crawling over the form with legs of barbed tarantulas which open a cut so…
Everyone knew that he was unhappy, though nobody could agree on when it had begun, and perhaps that was because there had never been a beginning at all, only a long accumulation of small humiliations, disappointments, foolish decisions, and injuries which, individually, would have been too insignificant to explain the man he eventually became, but which, when remembered often enough, seemed to him…
Perhaps, being invisible even though doing everything is the worst feeling in the world. Or is it? There lived, in a narrow apartment on the fourth floor of a building which had once been painted yellow and had long ago acquired the color of something that had been forgotten, a man named Pavel Andreyevich, who was thirty-nine years old, although people often guessed him to be older, and this did…
A Poem For Juls Pain destroyed, in the darkness No air needed, breath expired Gentle void, reveals the starkness Heartless feeding, body mired Eons passed, to silence waken Cold pale gaze, a lovers lost Shadows cast, reality shaken Minds a haze, among the frost Searching now, drowned in hope Treachery waits, suspicion lit Cannot allow, bound with rope Invoke the fates, permission writ
Professional cold writer changes her life influnced by a very unlikley source. A Waste of Life By C. W. Leffel Hello, my name is Joan Tucker. For the last ten years I’ve been the Lead Political Correspondent with the Dallas News. Worked there for fifteen years, ever since graduating from the University of Texas, Austin, with a Master’s Degree in Journalism. With honors, of course. Since starting…
Juls wakes buried, her memory missing and Coralene gone. In a city of blood and secrets, she'll stop at nothing to find her daughter. (Part 1) Weight. The heaviness of packed earth was the first thing to touch my awareness. Secure. Protected. Safe. I could lie here forever without a care in the world. The world... There was one, wasn't there? Somewhere beyond the warmth of the dirt and the faint…
Isaac was working on his house when he met Alex. Alex had just moved in next door with his Peepaw, Bailey. Alex was a young boy that had been through many hardships. He had braces on his legs, walked using crutches, his father was in jail, he was taken away from his mother, he had never had a friend, and his Peepaw was old, poor, and in a wheelchair. But Alex had one amazing skill that overcame…
It was the absurd twisted sense of melancholy is what makes life interesting. Man is unhappy because he doesn't know he's happy; only because of that. I do not wish you much happiness--it would bore you; I do not wish you trouble either; but, following the people's philosophy, I will simply repeat: 'Live more' and try somehow not to be too bored; this useless wish I am adding on my own. You cannot…
Was the cruelest and twisted of all Dreams is the one you wanted to leave the most? Or is it the one, once experienced, hoped it lasts for eternity as it makes the reality feels like the illusion? The banquet hall of the Alliance throbbed with hollow splendor. Chandeliers cast fractured light over the assembled, their voices rising in forced exultation. “Feast!” “For the Alliance!” Handkerchiefs…
The devil spoke to the author in a low voice, "Your worst sin is killing and destroying yourself for nothing." -Devil The soul is a spiritual thing within our minds, an essence woven into every fiber of our being. It was conscious. It was alive. But what does it look like? How does it work? A devil—so beautiful, so strong, with a charisma that even an angel might court. He had no horns like the…
I keep thinking and thinking without pause as if my mind refuses to breathe, jumping from one question to another—what is the meaning of life, no that’s too cliché, everyone asks that, maybe meaning isn’t something to be found but something imposed, but imposed by who, society, biology, or some higher structure I can’t perceive, and if it’s society then why do people who reject society still…
And the truth's laying there-motionless, yet, perhaps, been refused. The silence had come first, or so he told himself later, in the long nights when the mind, that most treacherous of companions, began its slow unravelling. It was not the silence of empty rooms, nor the silence of the grave, but something thicker, more absolute—an eternity pressed into a single breath that would not end. Before…
If there were still a whispers of soul, why must the revelation of truth be unveiled as the sorrows were solved? I died. Darkness engulfed me as I gripped the cradle. My consciousness slowly fading into oblivion, and yet. I still regrets not having to finish my favorite meal. Didn't savor it enough. Such pity as I say. Maybe the idealisms I advice in my friends would be enough, hollow words, yet…
its the first part of the story The Whispering Pines of Blackwood Ridge.... hope you enjoy it :) more parts dropping soon Chapter 1: The Inheritance The rain in the city did not fall so much as it drifted, a endless grey mist that smelled of exhaust fumes, damp concrete, and old garbage. For five years, Ethan had lived on the fourth floor of a decaying brick walk-up in the eastern district, in a…
its my first story pls like it :) The rain in Oakhaven didn’t fall so much as cling. It hung in the air like grease, dampening the collar of Arthur’s jacket until his skin felt pickled. He had taken the job as caretaker for the Blackwood Estate because the pay was absurd for a man whose previous employment was sweeping out a bowling alley: four thousand dollars a month, board included, to live in…
I wrote this becasue my thoughts wouldn't leave me alone. I don't have a big lesson to share just me at my cluttered desk overthinking. Am I normal not sure, but I am real. I'm just letting you inside my head for a little while. Enjoy and please hesitate to contract me. Joy is the thread I keep pulling. I tug and tug, and somehow it only leads me deeper into emptiness and dread. The everyday hum…
Wild wind howled through the crisp dense woods as I stumbled into them; the only light was provided by the moon and the stars. Cold air covered me in a freezing blanket as I continued going deeper,the further I got more and more Fog spread around the grounds of the forest taunting me and making it nearly impossible to find my way home. As the night stretched on I struggled on finding the path,…
