These are the excerpts from the above stories and poetry.

Pigsara : Story about reincarnation and the perils of magic

Anthony’s heart was beating wildly as he tried to calm himself down. ‘This must be a nightmare,’ he thought to himself, but banging his head against the fence did no good at all and he had nearly knocked himself out. He had read about these strange dreams in one of those woman’s magazines Jennifer would leave lying around the house. The kind where you woke up within a dream but could not somehow escape it. Anthony had woken up in the body of a pig, of all things, and he didn’t like what he was seeing, hearing or thinking. He ran towards the fence one more time but was scooped up by a man. The farmer’s hand came down and reassuringly stroked his back. ‘This is a nightmare,’ Anthony thought to himself and tried his best to keep calm. He took a seat beside the other piglets and tried to recollect what had happened. He remembered lying in bed with his wife, and the banging noise outside, which woke them both up. He had placed his slippers on and told his wife to stay in bed, and he then put his jacket on and grabbed his shotgun. It was while looking across the yard of his own farm that he felt the cold, hard, whack across the back of his head. And then blackness. And then this. Jennifer was sat down at the kitchen table. Her head and shoulders were hunched forward. Her strawberry blonde uncombed hair was held tightly in her fists. The policeman’s notebook was on the table and his pen to its side. Outside the flashing blue lights of the ambulance whirled around endlessly like the nightmarish thoughts that spun around inside Jennifer’s mind. ‘I just need to go over your statement one more time Jennifer,’ said the policeman. The policeman’s face was as weathered as the countryside he lived in. His ruddy complexion matched the red wine that Jennifer was drinking as fast as she could.

Anna and the Moon : Story about magic and revenge

Marcus had a six-figure salary, a Porsche 911 in the garage, plus a few more in storage. He also had a five story Victorian house in central London. Life was good for Marcus you might say. Very good indeed. When he bought clothes he never had to look at the price tags. Luis Vuitton and Prada where stable mates in his wardrobes. He ate in celebrity restaurants and sneered at the homeless in the streets when he passed them by.

‘Get a job you fucking scum.’

Marcus looked in the mirror. He adjusted his cufflinks and carefully inspected his suit for tiny specks of fluff. He then looked at himself and smiled. ‘Are you looking at me?’ He looked over his shoulder and away from the mirror as he mimicked the scene from his favourite film.

The candles were lit and the incense was burning. Outside the window she could see a clear moon, ‘perfect,’ she thought. She started her mantra while laying out some incense sticks which she then lit. It all started to look a bit serious. Anna sat back and thought she was clearly mad, then Sheila pulled out a small bag of powder, placed her fingers inside, and threw a pinch of it over the incense sticks. A flame erupted from the sticks and Anna jumped. A quick wind blew around the apartment knocking a vase off the windowsill and Anna felt a cold icy wind blow directly up her spine. In fact, it felt like her spine froze for a moment and in her ear she heard ‘you’re spineless, too weak, passive aggressive’ Anna jumped up, ‘Stop it! Stop it now! this is just a bit too weird,’

Chasing your Dreams : Black humour spiritual adventure

I have always been looking for some kind of buzz. The buzz of alcohol, the buzz of drugs. The buzz of not knowing what will happen next. Each buzz more intense than the next. Drugs more intense than beer, ecstasy more intense than speed, acid more intense than amyl nitrate, and the notion of suicide, the most intense buzz of them all. I tapped my fingers across the scars on my wrists as if playing the piano. As the song goes, clearly the drugs no longer work. Lucky for me the human body has tough sinewy wrists, and coupled with my inability to see any project through – whether an A level, or suicide – I gladly gave up, called the police, and like all good children returned to the family home. ‘Your dinner’s ready son,’ bellowed my father. When my father shouted you moved quickly. Even though I was twenty-eight his voice still made my stomach rattle with nerves. He was an ex-sergeant major with thirty years in the Scots Guards, and two tours of Northern Ireland under his belt. I didn’t feel like I could question him. He was a bona fide Scotsman. A successful piper. That’s bagpipes to the uninformed. He wore a kilt, drank whiskey, and on occasion swore like a trooper. You couldn’t get more Scottish than my parents.

Hadn’t Albert Camus once claimed that the concentric circles of central Amsterdam somehow resembled hell? But one man’s hell is another man’s heaven and the Red Light district appeared to me every bit as beautiful as Gogh’s Irises. The canals and alleyways of central Amsterdam reminded me of the twists and turns of all our lives. It was easy to get lost in Amsterdam, it was easy to be found in Amsterdam. ‘Are you a tourist?’ asked the man. I turned briefly to face this tramp that I had been trying to avoid. He looked like an old hippie protester, with a beanie hat dragged down over his head covering his ears. His tangled hair that sprouted beneath his hat looked greasy and frayed. It was difficult not to mix with the underbelly of society around here and it was either him or the six foot tranny reading her torn copy of The Bitch.

Once When We Were Human : The rise of fascism today

There I was lying stretched out in my hammock – A Molotov cocktail in my hand, two shots of vodka, a slice of lime and a dash of lemonade. And just for luck a shot of dark rum… don’t forget the ice.

Life was good for me. A dog’s life one might say. The cold concoction slipped down my throat quickly and drowned out the troubled thoughts of my mundane life. These wolves thought they had it all, but I knew that just as empires rise, they will also fall. I was about to nod off when my nose started to twitch then came the low buzzing sound that reminded me of a beetle in mid-flight.

‘Here’s trouble.’ I thought to myself. I jumped out of the hammock as the neighbourhood drone hovered into view. Anger rose inside me followed closely by fear as I reminded myself to keep my mouth shut. The drone hovered twenty feet above my head, in a strange way, it reminded me of a gigantic button. The kind my Mother used to keep in a sewing tin. It had a playful appearance despite that fact that its shadow filled half the garden. The drone flipped and swayed nimbly like a ballet dancer, it was trying to figure out what I was thinking, but not even I knew that. I opened my eyes waiting for the blinding flash of light to hit me.

“IDENTITY CHECK PLEASE”

16 Short stories

She pulled the curtains back ever so slightly and peeked out onto the cobbled streets. She stepped back from the curtains and looked the other way looking out for anything suspicious. Things out of place. Signs or symbols that might hint at a good or bad day ahead. She stepped back from the windows and then retired into her armchair sofa. The rest of the room was dark, and all the other curtains were drawn. It was eleven o clock in the morning and the sunlight outside was begging to be let in but that couldn’t be done until 12 o clock.

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The clock tick-tocked around the clock face as Michael lay on his bed watching the thin black arm jump rigidly past the numbers. One. Two. Three. Michael was obsessed with time. Then his phone started to ring and he pulled himself up quickly till his feet were back on the ground. The clock tick-tocked while the mobile phoned shrilled in short bursts. Michael just stared at the phone watching the digitized name flash over a luminous back-light. It was Dasein calling him again. The clock tick-tocked while the mobile phone vibrated across the floor. Michael watched the vibrating phone slide moment by moment across the bedroom floor while the clock tick-tocked. He picked up the mobile phone and answered it.

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It’s been two days since the world ended and I have yet to pluck up the courage go outside. I grabbed another can of baked beans from the stack and started to twirl the can opener around the edges. I grabbed two slices of bread from the mountain of bread that I had stashed in the corner of the room, and proceeded to butter the slices. I must admit, it wasn’t the best survival plan I had in mind but then again I didn’t have much time. As soon as the second sun appeared I knew we were fucked and while the rest of the media mocked the lunatics for preparing for doomsday I knew the shit really was about to hit the fan, so I just dashed to the shops and grabbed what I could.

Poems : Absurd, Religious, Curious.

Hey you junkie! Brown-eyed and bushy tailed. Crying like a true artist. Tears soaked all over your suit. Thoughts written across your face. Your brick-heavy head lies Dead on my sofa while You dream of methadone martyrdom And fields made of needles And wishes that betrayed you.

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You see me here pondering. Bedraggled old loner. Unshaven hunter of dreams. Writer of words not yet written. Singer of songs not yet sung. And the lover of loves Not yet won.

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I hold past and future like lilies In the palms of my hands. I appear At once in all directions. My many Faces; reflections of the divine.

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‘I’d like you to meet the fabric of existence.’ Do you think they would be shocked? ‘What’s his name?’ cries your Mum. ‘Where’s he from?’ enquires your Dad. ‘And what do his parents do!’

Emily’s Adventure : Paranormal thriller : Grief, God and Psychosis.

Emily leaned in closer and placed her ear near her father’s lips. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek and held her breath, trying to catch his words. She pulled back after a moment, her face puzzled. “Three… six… nine?” she said softly, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. Her mother’s eyes were fixed on her, full of hope, as if expecting some important final message. Emily shrugged, feeling a bit lost.

Emily started to cry in the dream. Her tears turned into an ocean, and she swam alongside the dolphin, feeling peaceful but sad at the same time. She swam for what felt like a long time, lost in the dream. Then, Emily found herself on a quiet beach, looking out at the ocean. The bright colours of the sky hurt her eyes, so she raised her hands to cover them. Suddenly, dark clouds started to form, and they seemed to warn her of something that was going to happen. A path appeared in the ocean, splitting the water in two. Emily felt like she needed to follow it like it was a journey she had to take.

Then, out of the abyss, two glowing eyes emerged. Round and luminous, they pierced the darkness, and Emily immediately recognised them. Boo. The cat stepped forward, its massive, hunched shoulders rolling like waves as it moved. First the shoulders, then the large paws, and finally its sleek, muscular body emerged fully into view. Boo sat down, its tail curling gracefully around its feet, and fixed Emily with an unblinking stare. Emily stared back, her heart pounding, but not with fear.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the surreal moment.