A collection of short stories written by Gareth Davies author of novels Maggie’s Milkman and Extraordinary Rendition. Over 800 free short stories and 100 poems. Please note all works are first drafts. Enjoy, leave comments, share on social media and be inspired.
Check out the details of my novels here
Monday, 24 April 2017
For audio click here. Not a complete red warning but this does contain scenes of a sexual nature.
Claire looked at the recipe and scratched
A blade of mace
a mouse’s tail,
12 cloves of
a slug or snail.
Why didn’t they suggest vegan alternatives?
This was 2017 not the sixteenth century.
She scratched her head and looked around
the kitchen. An old phone charger, that looked a bit like a mouse’s tail. That
would do and how about the gloop that collected in the plughole; that was slimy
and disgusting, she scooped it up and dropped it into the boiling pan. She
stirred the contents and tried to stop herself from throwing up, but there was
no time for that. Noises started emerging from the pan; heaving breathing, then
Claire could hear his familiar grunts, all the tell-tale signs. She looked into
the pot, covering her mouth. In the vortex, she could see them at it. It was as
clear as watching it on a TV screen. There was Neil thrashing away wildly,
loads of enthusiasm, very little skill. There was that bitch Anna, looking
Claire looked at the recipe again.
When you see,
what is clear to see.
drop in the scotch
Claire stood poised. A tear rolled down her
face as she watched the love of her life with his new partner. Just a few
seconds more and it would be over. He
began to pull that face. The face of disappointment, she used to call it. It’d
been her cue to start acting and he’d never once suspected her of faking it. And
now it was her cue again. She dropped the chilli into the bubbling concoction
and stirred furiously keeping the vortex going so she could see their reaction.
“Ah! Fuck!” Neil yelled.
Anna screamed. “Get off me, get it out of me,” she yelled.
Neil stood up and grabbed at his crotch.
Anna pulled her knees up to her chest, her eyes watering.
“It’s burning,” Neil said. “Burning.” He
was hopping around the bedroom.
Anna sobbed. “Me too,” she whispered. “My
sex is on fire,” she groaned, squeezing her knees with her arms as if to
squeeze out the pain. “Make it stop,” she said.
Claire had stopped stirring now and as the
vortex slowed the picture faded. She turned the heat off from under the pan and
flicked the TV on, mission accomplished.