Humor
A normal day in small town England
A normal day in small town England Nothing worth mentioning. It was a dark and stormy night, well actually, a chilly wet November day but the concept is the same. I parked the car in the high street, main street for any Americans who read this, and wandered over to the door of a well decorated coffee shop. The door opened as I got near and two very well-dressed middle-aged ladies emerged. They ignored me and hurriedly crossed the road to a waiting car. I entered and found a vacant table, ordered a double shot of unsweetened plain Expresso, which turned up surprisingly fast. I sat back in the chrome and black vinyl chair and took a look round at my fellow customers. All appeared to be well off financially, well dressed, well fed and professionally groomed, it wasn’t much of a guess that ladies hair salons did well in this town. No leather jacketed unshaven bikers or guys in working clothes were in this café. Even the obviously younger members of the clientele were well behaved and were smartly dressed, as if in a 1950’s TV commercial. There was no background music, conversations were subdued and what laughter I heard was polite rather than raucous. I finished my coffee paid the waitress and left. I crossed the road and walked into a clothing store, the serving staff greeted me and politely asked if I wanted anything specific, when I said I was just browsing they retreated behind their serving desks and left me to my stroll around the shop. I saw nothing that appealed and so found my way out and wandered the street window shopping, until I saw a jewellers with an eye-catching window display of dazzling diamonds. My opening the door operated a musical alert to the staff, but they did not appear to notice. I looked at a display of necklaces some very expensive and all very well designed. Even to my untutored eye they looked elegant and well made. Even the lowest ticket price was too high for my bank balance, but they were nice enough to look at. I wandered further down the street and found a book shop. Again, the staff were all politeness and careful deference, I found the historical fiction section and spent a very pleasant half hour sample reading some of the newest offerings. The staff were very attentive providing an apparently endless supply of coffee and friendly advice on the latest popular authors. On leaving the book shop I crossed the street to the municipal museum and art gallery. There was no charge for entry, and the place was warm and comfortable, a small group of children, escorted by their teacher, were studying a display of water colours all painted by the same local artist. The artist’s name was unknown to me, but they were technically well done but lacking that hard to define “something” that separates a technician with a pencil and brush, from a truly compelling artist. The children were all so very well behaved, studiously taking notes as the teacher spoke. Not one gave me more than a glance, their attention focused on the teacher and the paintings. I wandered up the wide staircase and entered the rooms housing the towns official archives. There were 3 rooms all spotlessly clean, interconnected and painted in soothing pastel colours. They depicted the towns growth from a tiny hamlet, created by housing for farm workers, to the busy market town and then onto the present residential dormitory town where most people worked in the city 20 miles away. All through my study of the town’s history, the unobtrusive security staff kept a discreet watch to ensure nothing was removed from the displays. Since I was naked, I had to wonder where they thought I could hide any document if I stole one.
By Peter Rose17 days ago in Fiction
The Empty Chair
I sit in my living room and look upon the empty chair. Once, a human being sat there, with life and love within him. A person with dreams, goals, and the ambition to achieve them all. Now there is only air. Empty air, dusty air, illuminated by the scant sunlight that drifts in through the dirty window.
By Ophelia Keane Braeden17 days ago in Fiction
The Next Morning
Sunlight spilled across my face, waking me. I rose slowly, a bit slower than usual, probably one or two martinis too many. I’m glad I pulled my robe around my body: I heard voices coming from my bath as I tread through the arbor joining it to my chamber. Sure enough, there my brother was, having a hot tub party in my bath. He took one look at my face and quickly escorted everyone somewhere else.
By Harper Lewis18 days ago in Fiction
The Honk That Nobody Heard
The sky began humming on a Tuesday. Not loudly. Not urgently. Just a soft, mechanical vibration that settled over the town like background music no one had selected. It buzzed faintly in teeth and window glass. You could feel it in your ribs if you stood still.
By The Kind Quill19 days ago in Fiction
Hey, Doll
"Hey Doll, open your eyes.” Barnaby’s house was not new to Marion, but it was still a nice gesture that he would carry her over the threshold. She could see it now, for the first time, as their home. He set her gently down on the floor and, locked in a tight embrace, they kissed. Before long they had moved to the bedroom to consummate the marriage.
By Amos Glade20 days ago in Fiction
Valentine's Day Sucks
Valentine’s Day sucks. Boyd sighed as he saw Charlie sidle up to the bar and order a beer. A few feet away sat his girlfriend. This was a problem. His friend Charlie ran a standard Valentino scam on vampires: He would seduce them and then kill them. He was good at it. However, he had a healthy libido, so occasionally he would fall for a target. This could cause complications.
By Jamais Jochim22 days ago in Fiction
