A Good Time To Buy Stock The market was a patchwork of fruit and vegetables that looked more like they should adorn a Christmas tree than be consumed by wet, greedy mouths. Mervyn, an annual visitor, bought one hundred apples, fifty pears and seventy oranges. He took them home in his battered fiesta and put them in his shed. He waited twenty two days, and then on the twenty third day he went into see what he had created. When he opened the door a cloud of flies escaped, but some swerved about, dizzy in the rising odours. The pile in front of him was transformed beyond recognition. Every orange had turned into a powdered white snowball, covered in tiny delicate whi
The Toogoods They'll grow out of it, was what people always said of the Toogoods, and usually how ironic their surname was came whispered cruelly after. Miranda was born first, on the second of March nineteen eighty six, Clara followed three years later on the twenty first of February, completely overshadowing Miranda's third birthday by arriving late. More children would come after Miranda and Clara, but they shared this special bond of hatred, they screeched and scratched their way through childhood. One Christmas day when Miranda was seven, their parents came down to find Clara opening all the presents, the bright pink wrapping paper strewn across the
The Memoirs of A Mysticrystal I, Amberbug Tumbles, have in this fair leather bound book written the abridged, completely truthful accounts of my life as Amberglass Mysticrystal, a most learned scholar of witchcraft and part time philosopher. (Note to reader: I discovered the knack to immortality long before my body was past its prime, so I have been alive for several centuries, the exact amount escapes me. I am writing these memoirs to give me something to do for eternity while I work out how to reverse this trick. For personal accounts of history please read my other publications; "The Toadstool Invasion of 422; I was there!" and "I Couldn't Believe My Eyes The Day the U
A Tale of Grievous Mistake A Tale of Grievous Mistake and DeathSampson dear ol' Sampson, a friendly hamster was he. But I neglected my faithful pet, And my comeuppance you shall see...His food I fed him once a month, a teaspoonful on which to munch. Yet he still lived on, thin but mild, pet of the evil, devil child.One day in my selfish haste, I accidentally fed him tooth paste. So when I came home that fateful night, I got an awful hellish fright.Frothing at the mouth he died, thus here ended his hamster pride, Or so I thought.. and so would you, but I found that this was not so true.One lonely night I awoke, and in my throat a scre
An Ode to Plates Plates, plates, plates, plates,without you I'd be Billy no-mates,You make sure the things I eat,don't touch my dirty, callused feet.I caress you after every meal,yet nothing sexual for you I feel.I like to drown you in water hot,along with grimy pan and pot,I give thee expensive bubble baths,fragranced with things like lemongrass.And then I'll stack you with the rest,old and chipped or Sunday best.You like to think I'd die for you,but in actual fact I prefer my shoe,Don't cry plate, you have no eyes,your only made for holding pies.
To Love In the English Language,that prim and proper tongue,To Love is classed a stative verb,and inactive its become.Well I declare revolt!'Cause how can that be true?It's nothing like To Sit or Think,Loving is something you do.To Kiss and Hug and Squeeze,To Run to them with glee,with open arms and joyful smiles,love does this, and more you see!It screams it at the sky,Dances it on the street,This is what happens whenTwo enamoured lovers meet.So trample English grammar,and rewrite all the rules,follow Shakespeare, Byron and Keats,and ignore those loveless fools.
I am not afraid to die I am not afraid to die, just of being forgotten. To become a faceless name, on a weathered gravestone, where none but the dead roam.I am not afraid to die, just of being forgotten. To become a nameless face, in a faded photograph packed away where none but spiders go.I am not afraid to die, of that now I'm not so sure. To have my achievements lost, my memories sold on, and to sink into an eternal oblivion. I am not afraid to die, of that now I'm not so sure.
Death Angel I crawled out, from under a stone, To ruin peoples lives, and leave them alone. My name is the monster who lives in the night, I am not a king, nor an honourable knight. I bring out the worst, Show them the bad, Steal their soul, and they know they've been had. Can you guess who it is knocking at your door, Come to steal you life, and leave you dead on the floor?
No reality I'm stood here, but I'm not there. I can hear you, but I'm not listening.I feel your kiss, but you're not real. I feel my heart beat, but its out of time.I look at you, and I see it all. Bare, showing, all for me to see.You look at me, you can not see, my blackened soul, my icicle of a heart.I revolve around you, I'm your world. I don't shatter illusions, but your not mine.You can call me, I won't answer, I never do, I just sit, in silence, staring at air.
The Recessive Gene They call it the recessive gene,for kids with it tend to screen,a fake front and live a lie,for their whole life, until they die.Its not contagious, nor hereditary,nor given by a magic fairy.The symptoms aren't always fatal,but everywhere they like to settle.In most cases the cure is just a friend,a person for with them time to spend,But sometimes it pulls them in too deep,and even lurks in their realm of sleep.You'll see they have dark ringed eyesand though they hide subconscious criesfor help, for hugs, for love from people,They deny it before jumping off the steeple.That's why its called the recessive gene,
Daughter Daughter, bitter daughter of mine,Why does though refuse to shine?For one so beauteous and so fair,why must thou into darkness stare?Thy once pure and innocent soul,is now hard and solid and cold,the revenge you hunger for,diverts thy mind from proper chore.While you sew with needle and thread,secretly you plot to steal her bed,the steel implement drawing blood,while in thy mind it falls in flood.Why does thou shun the mournful sun,and let thy radiant skin pale to dun?Is thou possessed by devil's slaves?Or bitten by some deathless shade?I apologise for this horrendous cure,which the doctor said would lure,t
Virgin Sunlight The new day screams a rainbow,like a mute baby born in a burst of gold,its mother, Night, fading away stealthily,as the loneliness bleeds away into the earth.Out of reach of this infant's light,hidden in the shadows of despair,sits the late virgin goddess of moon,quietly mourning her immortal life.Her bitter, acid tears searing face and hands,and burning rivets in her simple cotton robe,her once magnificent beauty pallid,fading until she is but a mortal, plain girl.The hands that once moulded and spun,and cared for the unworldly moon,are weak, flimsy and mortal.Her utmost fear is realised.For loving another she
In The Dark Of The Night FADE IN:EXT. HOUSE - NIGHTGIRL leaves house throw the front door, she is dressed up but looks tired and flustered. The house is brimming with noise and shadows can be seen moving in the window. As she walks she gets out her phone and begins to make a call. She leans on her car and speaks to the answer machine at the end of the line.GIRLHey! It's me! I'm just leaving now. Some guy was hitting on me so badly I just couldn't stay. I'll be back in about 40 minutes, speak to you soon.She gets in the car and fiddles with her phone, we see a shadow pass the back window of the car. She turns to look out the passenger window trying to see
Stress Stress.Argh.One syllable words are all we can find to vent our frustrated feelings. Gah.Meh. Resignation. To whatwe call life. Some life.Followed by a shrug, a sigh,or a yawn, perhaps?Spasm. Eurgh. Eyes droop involuntarily, and the frown lines, the ones we'll hatewhen we grow up, deepen.
Sta.sh
