Short Story

Bus Station - 20 years of Big Issue

It's been 20 years of the Big Issue.

So when I was trying to pick a short story to publish this week, it had to be Bus Station.

It's a story that comes from a writing prompt:
Taken from a Writer's Cafe writing prompt...
Character: Mack Till
Setting: Bus station

I chose not to use the name in the story, and up until writing this "Behind The Keyboard" I had forgotten that the character had a name. Which is somewhat relevant...


Bus Station

I sit at the bus station, hovering at the border of unconsciousness. I'm so hungry, so tired. I can't afford to pass out though - I'll miss my chance.

Hopefully these cramps will pass.

I grip the ticket a little tighter, trying to pull myself together by focusing on it, until there's nothing else in the world but my ticket at the end of a dark tunnel.

My ticket out of here.

Pain from the cramps again.

I look up at the clock. Two hours until the bus leaves.

Bristol. That's where I'm going.

Short Stories

I have a small collection of short stories, often formed from writing prompts, sometimes just written on themes that pop into my head.

They're kind of like practice writing.

When I think they're worth publishing, they end up here...


I am the first to set foot on it in all humanity.
Well, I say set foot on it.
In it would be more accurate.


If the earth is a blue marble, then EM4 is just a blue ball. A giant, blue ball.
Gravity is slightly higher than earth, and the surface is about half a foot deep. And the surface practically gaurantees death. But I feel we have to do this as a race - we have to walk on this planet, after all we've done.


We? Who am I kidding. I.

Captain's Duty

The Captain reclined in her cradle, reviewing her status.


Whatever the Mote of Dust had hit, it was big enough to cause serious damage.


No matter. What had happened could not be changed. The Captain was more concerned with the present. Almost all of the passengers and crew were on the lifeboats now. She reviewed the lists that Mote had spat out at her. Two unaccounted for, which was pretty good. And one of those she felt confident she could find - confident enough to leave it until the last lifeboat, at least.


Sometimes I prefer fiction to fact... (The Incompetent Co-Worker)

It was past time to put up some fiction, I think.

I've started with a short story called "The Incompetent Co-Worker".

Much of my short fiction is written on the train to work. I fire up Writer's Cafe, plug through a couple of writing prompts until I have one I feel like doing, and then start writing.

The Incompetent Co-Worker

"We need to talk, Bob."


Bob's shoulders sank. He knew what was coming next.


"Levi, if this is about what I think it's about, then I don't want to hear it."
"He's dangerous, Bob. He'll get us killed."
"He's in our squad. We fight with him. That's the way it is, Levi."


Levi sulked, and the two of them carried on stacking crates onto the cart.


"Can I ask you a question, Bob?"


Bob looked at a particularly large crate. Its markings showed it contained mortar rounds.


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