short fiction
Dark Web I don’t often venture on here to discuss what’s happening in the theatre of doom we call the news. Sanity is aided by indifference to same. Now and then an item of reportage seeps through and I find myself grappling with the significance and meaning of the event. The character in this scenario …
I once read a cheaply produced paperback called ‘The Mark Of The Beast‘, the mark being microchipped humans. Someone slipped it into my hand at Hammersmith Tube Station. It had a lurid green cover, I recall, and a traditional image of a horned devil. I remember sitting on the top of a London …
A man on the brink of unemployment listens to a voice that tells him what to do next.