Men! All the same! But, all I want is a nice one! All he has to do is be interested in me, and throw rose petals in my scented bath (which he ran) just like in American Beauty! Not much to ask is it? I deserve it.
She walked in the countryside with him, hand in hand; there was plenty of energy in the new romance.
Love was in the air! Wildlife could sense this. Birds sang, grasshoppers rasped, and butterflies just did what they do.
They came across a copse. He said 'I've mountain biked here with my friends. I have a surprise for you. Do you like history?'
'Yes!' she replied (a bloke who has the ability to think! And with muscles! And he's nice!).
They entered the copse.
'No one else comes in here you know, it's a secret place.'
Fear shot across her mind, but was quickly replaced by gratitude. He was showing it to 'her'! Love! At last. In her head she thanked God, and immediately thought she would tell him.
'I've just thanked God for sending you to me.' She said, looking into his eyes.
'Oh, yeah! I'm an atheist, but ta anyway.' He replied, after thinking for a few seconds. A few seconds later, he led her into a clearing.
'Tra laaaa!' he exclaimed! What do you think?'
'Wooooow! What a wonderful place,' she replied, hugging his arm.
'Its quite old,' he said, referring to the ruined church. She screamed in a squeaky manner and gripped his arm tighter.
'What's up?' he asked.
'What was that scream above us in the trees?' she asked.
He laughed. 'That wasn't a scream; it was the cry of a carrion crow. Look up.' She did, and squinted a little. There were two large black birds in one of the tall trees. 'Oooooh! They're looking at me!' she exclaimed.
'No,' he laughed. 'They nest here each year, and it's spring! Love is in the air. Can't you feel it?'
'ooooh yessss,' she said, hugging him now and kissing his chin. 'Look up again, follow my finger, see their nest?' Her eyes followed his finger. 'That black thing with sticky out bits? The sticks?' she asked.
'Yes' he replied, 'chicks in it, probably'
'Babies? How do you know?'
'Because they're both looking for food. All bird chicks are very demanding.'
He put his hands round her waist and pushed her gently away and walked on. 'Look! here!' he said.
She looked once more at the crows, who were preening, (she thought them horrible) and then went over to him. 'What?' she asked. 'Gravestones! Wa haaaaa!' he replied..'You're stood on dead people!'
'Don't be horrible!' She said. But, really, she was interested. 'I'm going to study these. Hey look; 1782 this woman died. And this one, 1783, buried with her husband. How sad.'
He had wandered a few feet away, and was looking at the crows again.
'Sorry?' he asked.
'These gravestones. Aren't they old? Why are you staring at those birds?' she asked him.
'Ahhhh. Just watching. I'm in the RSPB you know, the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. They're fascinating. Look over there, by the edge of that bramble bush.'
She walked over, avoiding sticky bramble stalks, and did. There was a large flat gravestone, with a large cross at the head of it.
'Wooow, 1637! I can't read the slab, it's all faded. Can y...'
The rock smashed into the side of her head as she turned it to look at him. She fell to the floor, blood gushing from the wound. The expression on her face was that of a confused Jesus as the first nail went home to mamma. He hit her twice more, until she was still, forsaken by her non existent maker.
The crows just carried on preening, well used to the sight of death; all in a days crowing, actually.
When he was sure she was 'gone' (an expression of non atheism) he walked to the side of the flag gravestone, bent down, and put his fingers under it. With great effort, he lifted it. It fell with a whooshm onto the floor. No open grave greeted him. No dilapidated, dry corpse. Not a bone!
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
He pulled her by the arms, and dragged her down the steps. Her head banged on each one, twenty in all. She had stopped bleeding by now, the platelets hadn't realised they were homeless and would soon die and decay. How sad.
In the room below, there was a lorry battery with a cable coming from it. He hit the switch, and a light came on … kinda dim really, but enough. There were two tree trunks, both four and a half feet tall, with a large flat gravestone atop of them…his 'slab'.
He got her on her back on it, and stripped her bare. He threw her clothes into a black bin bag. He went to an old set of drawers in one corner of the room, and opened the top one. There were a selection of scalpels, and other small instruments. He withdrew a scalpel, and the cutting began.
Thin strips. Three inches by one quarter of an inch. He placed them on a tray which he got from the second drawer down. When the flesh was cleared, he cut the bones with a saw from the third drawer down, and put them in another bin bag.
He was hot. He decided to take a rest.
He opened the fourth drawer down (there are five) and took out a Mountain Biking magazine he hadn't yet read, and a torch: he bought them, didn't read them, and put them in the drawer to read whilst resting in the middle of a dissection. That way he didn't get bored. He put the used ones in the bones bin bag.
Who would know?
Organs? He had a boiling pot heated by a wood fire - very Hannibal Lecter, but so what? Kept him healthy!
She was healthy, and now at least, she would be 'with him' forever. Even after shits.
Intestines? Well, he squeezed out the contents into the bones bin bag, and then gave them to a friend of his
who made very popular sausages ... 'skins'.
The skulls he de-brained with a hook (like the Egyptians), and then boiled them. These were sold with candles within to Goth shops in London.
It was better than working! Christ, all you had to be was romantic!
He took hold of his tray, covered in meat strips and climbed the steps. But first, he opened the fifth drawer, and removed the contents.
'Oldie! Bill! Food!'
The crows dropped from the trees and landed on the gravestone cross he stood by (their old poo on it said it was their favourite landing place), and he fed them the girl. Some of it they took for their hungry chicks.
He then walked out of the copse and onto the grassy bank. He put on the leather glove, and tied some meat he'd saved onto the end of the leather string. He then, lasso like, waved it in a large circle around his head.
'Jenny! Jenny! Come on girl!'
The Kestrel caught the bait, and feasted. Made a change from shrews.
The next day, he took the bin bags to the tip and threw them into the incinerator. Then he went to feed his pets again, before the body rotted.
One week later, he went out for a drink, and met a lovely girl. She was single.
'How would you like to go for a nice walk in the country with me tomorrow?'
'Oh, I'd love that!' she replied (a nice romantic man!).
Fiction - All The Fun Of The Fair By Nick Quantrill Photographs by Darren Rogers
Jimmy held his hand out to the old man lying in a bed of wet cardboard boxes. 'Help you up, there?'
The old man took the hand. 'Good on you, son.'
Jimmy took the strain and pulled. 'No problem. You might want to get your face looked at, though.'
The old man took a tissue out of his pocket and wiped the blood from his nose. 'Don't worry about me, I'll be fine.' He laughed and wiped his hands on his trousers. 'So who are you, then?'
'New around here?'
Fiction - Side Orders - A Joe Geraghty Story By Nick Quantrill
'Ahmet's paranoid, man.'
I turned to Darren and shrugged. Ignoring him, I continued looking out of the car window and into the Hull night, the city flashing by. 'You've been robbed twice this week' I said. It had just turned midnight. People were staggering home, the streets slowly emptying, but plenty of drunks still wanted their fix of fast food.
'Bad luck, Joe. That's all. It happens.' Darren laughed. 'It's cool to have a bodyguard, though.'
'I guess so.' It'd make a good story down the pub, if nothing else.
Fiction - A Story About My Brother By J.W. Robinson
I was about twelve-years-old when my brother, James, came home from the supermarket carrying an enormous cardboard box and announced that he was going to live in it. He had been behaving strangely for a while. My mum said it was a phase he was going through and she didn't like to antagonise him too much; he was prone to emotional outbursts. Nevertheless I think she worried when he took that box up to his bedroom and climbed inside.
Fiction - Mary and Me By Leah Scarpati
The train station was full of children, a mass exodus of sorts. Some were crying, others were brimming over with the obvious excitement of their impending 'holiday'. A variety of ages, the children were all dressed in their best clothes and stood around on the platform with their boxed up gas masks hung over their shoulders and suitcases littered around with their names and destinations printed on them.
'Now you listen to me Billy,' his Mother said. Her voice wobbled a bit.
Fiction - Incident Number 33217 By Grant
Colonel Hafetz strode purposefully down the hall of the Knesset. He gripped the attaché case firmly and braced himself for his meeting. A quick reveal of his ID causes one of two guards stationed to open the door and announce:
'Mr. Prime Minister, Colonel Hafetz.'
Colonel Hafetz enters and a silent Prime Minister gestures him to sit.
The Colonel places the silver case on the desk, unlocks it and turns it to
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - Summertime By Julie Hines
The curtains of early darkness are drawn back for summer.
Gardens become beautiful this time of year.
Contrast of flowing colour. The fragrances of the pink Fuchsias draped in deep purple emphasizing their elegance. The Stock has a powerful aroma. Yellow Marigolds resembling regimented soldiers.
Placing the bulbs into her basket, she made her purchase.
Fiction - Fiend By Jarrett
It happened when I was only seven. They let their eyes off of me for only a moment and he snatched me away. I never saw them again. They are the only ones I ever loved. In fact, it was so long ago I don't even remember how it feels, and to be honest I don't want to; I'm sure it will only bring pain.
I don't know why he did it. I'll never fully understand why he did, but I've come close. I guess like me he yearned for that same feeling so many people take for granted, love.
Fiction - Leonard By Frankie Lassut
Ring ring, Ring ring ...
Leonard smiled, and tubbed his hands together. He picked up the phone, and went into voluntary professional mode:
'I've got nothing to live for. The credit card companies are threatening to take my house away to
pay my bills, which they have piled the interest on.
My wife got fed up of it and left with my children, and my firm has collapsed.
I don't know what to do.
Fiction - One All By Mike Watts
The knock on the door sounded official; usually callers just pressed the bell, but this morning, they didn't...
Dean's heart rate moved up a notch.
'Who the fuck's that?'
He stood up from the chair that he was slouched in and walked over to the window.
Parting the curtains slightly, he observed two powerfully built characters standing there.
One was holding a clip-board; his sleeveless arms were loaded with tattoos
Fiction - The Dance Of The Pheasodile By Tim Roux
I have to admit that I am in a bit of a predicament.
I have regained consciousness to discover myself swinging upside down outside the plate glass window that wraps around the lawyers' office where my wife works - where she is a partner, in fact. I am bumping up against the pane as I dangle here. I can see several of the office staff taking pictures of me with their mobile phones, and feverishly distributing them somewhere over the ether.
Fiction - Conversation By Scott Rorrison
Rome! Have you ever seen the Colosseum? Beautiful isn't it; how strange it is that things of immense beauty contain contrasting qualities. From the outside tourists marvel at the grand scale and arresting architecture, it is ideal for a photograph or postcard. Step inside, though, and a whole complexity of emotions will haunt the senses. Stand on the arena floor and wonder how many men and women have followed your steps into oblivion.
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - The Mother From Hell (following on from A Depressive and a Botched Suicide) By Laura Fry
Outside, a woman in late middle-age tries to look through the large crematorium doors.
Despite the November wind, she is dressed in six-inch stilettos, thin stockings and a tiny mini skirt which leaves nothing to the imagination.
One mourner hears a sound over the music and makes her way outside, aghast.
Fiction - Loved Ones By Emma Williamson
I remember the day my mother and father split up. All the family had gone out for the day with our parent's friends, Claire and Craig and their two daughters, Lauren and Molly. Me and my two younger brothers, Jasper and Cohen were in the ball pit with Lauren and Molly.
'Silver, drink!' Jasper announced, he was only 3 years old and hadn't quite grasped the concept of full sentences yet.
Fiction - What Colour My Dear? (Exercise in experimenting with different voices)
By Michelle Dee
"What colour my dear?"
"Blue. Yes blue to match my mood."
"Why so blue dear on such a promising day?"
"Well I'll tell you. I have just this moment been turned down yet again for employment; that is the third this morning if you please. I am doomed never to find a suitable position.
Fiction - Replacing Sheila By Gary Clark
She was a sorry sight Sheila, sat all day in a corner of the room, moving only occasionally to look through the window when the front gate rattled or a car door slammed.
But it was never him and her watery eyes soon closed again, sadly, as she returned to her fitful dozing. Old age takes its toll on us all eventually.
Poor Shelia, cast aside like an old