Latest Fiction

Chapter 35 of the Light-Father: Harold's Army launch their suicidal attack and Harold finally confronts Schimrian and Pious in the Great Cathedral itself... “Fern, what the hell is Ivy doing?” Harold whispered urgently as the four Ferals slowly ascended the ivy that smothered the ancient stonework of the tower. There were no trees at the base and the Wiccan was standing in the open with her palms pressed to the thickest of the ivy stems ...

Part of a much larger piece of work - The Great War has been over for two months ...

Chapter 34 of The Light-Father - The Phoenix halts near the Great Abbey as Fern and the Mothers fend off Pious and the Angels with their illusion magic. Harold reluctantly plans their attack on the Stronghold of an Order that has wiped out humanity... “Ow-uh! The sun is burning my face,” Fierce grumbled as the Phoenix rattled on through the deserted and dreaming spires of the university towns of Thaneton and Fosskeep. “But this is ...

200 words ...

Chapter 32 of The Light-Father: the Phoenix leaves the railyard to take to rails neglected during six years of ceaseless rain. Luck is with them as fogs form but as they reach Beorminghas, the City of Towers, their luck runs out...  “Damn, I forgot to test the release,” Harold muttered as he reset the brake control. “Without a vacuum in the pipes, the brakes in the carriages will not work when we need them.”“Surely the ...

Chapter 2 of my work-in-progress novel ...

Chapter 31 of the Light Father: Abbot Pious, the cruellest of Schimrian's many Inquisitors returns to Britannia to hunt down Harold and the Scatterlings Blazing sunshine raked the tarmac and the concrete runways at Bede Airport as the storm-line moved away slowly northwards. Wisps of steam rose up from the super-saturated ground as it was heated directly by the sun for the first time in six years. By the terminus building, a short but obese ...

This is Chapter 1 of my work-in-progress novel, George and the Armadillo ...

It was a few days later and Doctor Scott had called round after evening surgery to see Ruth. He was made comfortable and had a cup of Camp coffee in his hand soon after sitting down. Ruth always had Camp coffee available; although not liking it herself, she knew it was James' favourite drink."Ruth, I want you to tell me everything about the time you took the picture of Walter, what you were doing, where ...

“Excuse me sir. I saw you park your rig.”He looked me straight in the eye. It wasn’t a friendly look. He paused in his chewing and lowered the mug of coffee in his huge right hand onto the battered table-top before he replied. “Can’t give rides. Company rules.”“Please don’t say that sir. I’ve been here since noon and made two coffees last three hours and I still haven’t been able to get a ride.”He chewed ...

Ruth Pointer was in the doctor’s waiting room awaiting her turn to be called. Normally she would have been irritated by the noisy children and sniffling adults, but it was clear from her appearance that her thoughts were elsewhere. The sign lit up for the next patient at the same time as the receptionist called her name. ‘Ah, Ruth, do come in and sit down, how are you feeling?’ It was just a week since ...

I kept asking myself why. Why was I going back? Would you? Will you? Why? The M1 and then the M6, mile after mile, and this question kept nagging me, like a lingering hangover, or teeth set on edge by a cold. Going back – was it something everyone wanted to do or did? To relive the past, for what it was worth? It wasn’t as if anyone I knew or had known lived there ...

The piano was unusual. It had lain undisturbed behind boxed cargo. The soiled tarpaulin told of a decade’s neglect. It would have remained undiscovered but for the highlanders’ committed quest for alcohol. Rab Niven lavished attention on it and, from unpromising beginnings, he brought it to life. ‘Gie us The Intermezzo Rab. You ken the wan.’ The small, malformed Glaswegian was a private in the HLI. The audience of mixed Highlanders endorsed the request; everyone’s ...

Since Atlanta, she had looked out the dining-car window with a delight almost physical. Over her breakfast coffee, she watched the last of Georgia’s hills recede and the red earth appear, and with it tin-roofed houses set in the middle of swept yards, and in the yards the inevitable verbena grew, surrounded by whitewashed tires. She grinned when she saw her first TV antenna atop an unpainted Negro house; as they multiplied, her joy rose. Jean ...