sudden stories
 

he crouched under the sagging slate-grey clouds of the estuary at low tide, watching them stretch away into the gloom of the east wind.

he crouched under the sagging slate-grey clouds of the estuary at low tide, watching them strech away into the gloom of the east wind.

Something touched his bare foot, and looking down he saw a pale yellow bottle with a note curled up inside.

he crouched under the sagging slate-grey clouds of the estuary at low tide, watching them strech away into the gloom of the east wind.

Something touched his bare foot, and looking down he saw a pale yellow bottle with a note curled up inside.

Upon opening the bottle he read, "Go immediately to the fish and chip shop on the front. There you will meet a man named Marion".

he crouched under the sagging slate-grey clouds of the estuary at low tide, watching them strech away into the gloom of the east wind.

Something touched his bare foot, and looking down he saw a pale yellow bottle with a note curled up inside.

Upon opening the bottle he read, "Go immediately to the fish and chip shop on the front. There you will meet a man named Marion".

the blood pumped in his ears as he raced past the pastel homes on the marina, the voices in his head screaming "Marion, oh Marion, WHY ?"

he crouched under the sagging slate-grey clouds of the estuary at low tide, watching them strech away into the gloom of the east wind.

Something touched his bare foot, and looking down he saw a pale yellow bottle with a note curled up inside.

Upon opening the bottle he read, "Go immediately to the fish and chip shop on the front. There you will meet a man named Marion".

the blood pumped in his ears as he raced past the pastel homes on the marina, the voices in his head screaming "Marion, oh Marion, WHY ?"

drawing nearer to the fish and chip shop, he recognized his son marion, leaning against the wooden pole near the entrance - "you're late again, dad, did you find my note?"

he crouched under the sagging slate-grey clouds of the estuary at low tide, watching them strech away into the gloom of the east wind.

Something touched his bare foot, and looking down he saw a pale yellow bottle with a note curled up inside.

Upon opening the bottle he read, "Go immediately to the fish and chip shop on the front. There you will meet a man named Marion".

the blood pumped in his ears as he raced past the pastel homes on the marina, the voices in his head screaming "Marion, oh Marion, WHY ?"

drawing nearer to the fish and chip shop, he recognized his son marion, leaning against the wooden pole near the entrance. "you're late again, dad. did you find my note?"

"okay son, you've made your point, i'll get you a top-up voucher for your mobile phone on the way home, but this is the last time" he said, slowly shaking his head as they waited for what seemed like forever on their haddock suppers to be cooked.

She tried to lie still as the machinery whirred and clicked softly overhead.

She tried to lie still as the machinery whirred and clicked softly overhead.

The noise, usually so familiar and exciting, now sounded sinister and wrong - she could not lift her head and her wrists were tied to the wooden bench beneath her.

She tried to lie still as the machinery whirred and clicked softly overhead.

The noise, usually so familiar and exciting, now sounded sinister and wrong - she could not lift her head and her wrists were tied to the wooden bench beneath her.

"your glands," professor dinzdale explained, jovially rubbing his hands together and wantonly eyeing her, "will be stimulated by this."

She tried to lie still as the machinery whirred and clicked softly overhead.

The noise, usually so familiar and exciting, now sounded sinister and wrong - she could not lift her head and her wrists were tied to the wooden bench beneath her.

"your glands," professor dinzdale explained, jovially rubbing his hands together and wantonly eyeing her, "will be stimulated by this."

Disgust turned to fear, fear to horror, before horror ultimately turned back to disgust as Dinzdale slowly withdrew a crudely fashioned, but seemingly well-worn, apparatus from beneath his cloak.

She tried to lie still as the machinery whirred and clicked softly overhead.

The noise, usually so familiar and exciting, now sounded sinister and wrong - she could not lift her head and her wrists were tied to the wooden bench beneath her.

"your glands," professor dinzdale explained, jovially rubbing his hands together and wantonly eyeing her, "will be stimulated by this."

Disgust turned to fear, fear to horror, before horror ultimately turned back to disgust as Dinzdale slowly withdrew a crudely fashioned, but seemingly well-worn, apparatus from beneath his cloak.

The professor lovingly caressed the handgrip of the device, his finger teasing its trigger with playful, feathery flicks, as he advised her with a crooked smile that "you might experience a slight... twinge," while he slowly squeezed the trigger all the way back as, at the far end of the mechanism's slender, impossibly long shaft, the teeny weeny fingers of a tiny articulated hand clutched the air with a barely audible squeak (but then again, perhaps the squeak was, in fact, her own).

She tried to lie still as the machinery whirred and clicked softly overhead.

The noise, usually so familiar and exciting, now sounded sinister and wrong - she could not lift her head and her wrists were tied to the wooden bench beneath her.

"your glands," professor dinzdale explained, jovially rubbing his hands together and wantonly eyeing her, "will be stimulated by this."

Disgust turned to fear, fear to horror, before horror ultimately turned back to disgust as Dinzdale slowly withdrew a crudely fashioned, but seemingly well-worn, apparatus from beneath his cloak.

The professor lovingly caressed the handgrip of the device, his finger teasing its trigger with playful, feathery flicks, as he advised her with a crooked smile that "you might experience a slight... twinge," while he slowly squeezed the trigger all the way back as, at the far end of the mechanism's slender, impossibly long shaft, the teeny weeny fingers of a tiny articulated hand clutched the air with a barely audible squeak (but then again, perhaps the squeak was, in fact, her own).


perhaps not.

deeply lost in thought, looking down at his bare feet, claudio climbed the worn-out stairs to face the 3 most important people in his life.