Laurie Whiteley

When Davis regained consciousness, he knew he was in trouble.

He’d been walking peaceably down Cemetery Road – a broad, tree-lined avenue on Milton’s outskirts – just after dinner. Dappled spots of sunlight peppered the tarmac and he’d stopped to listen to a thrush as it trilled and sang the start of the evening.

A pickup truck sped by, going much too fast. Davis shook his head. He knew the type: taking the wrong parts of life far too seriously and ignoring everything they didn’t or couldn’t understand. This is a lot to infer from a sunburned arm hanging out of the window of a battered red pickup truck; some would say the gun rack in the cab and the empties rattling around the flatbed were also somewhat indicative. Continue reading →

Sam stopped drumming his fingers on his desk when he heard the clock ticking. The office was always so busy that you never really heard it, not unless…

His eyes whipped to the clock. Damn. He stood up and cleared his throat. “Alright, guys, why don’t we pack up? It’s far too late, and most of you should have gone home already: I’m looking at you, youngster, with a baby on the way. You should be home with your wife, rubbing her feet and tending to her whims. All of them.” He looked over his reading glasses at the junior clerk who’d gone pink around the ears but was grinning hugely. He went on, cheerfully. “And the rest of you – and I mean this in the nicest possible way – please get a life. Really. Continue reading →

Authors are notoriously bad at naming their work. If you have a better suggestion for the name of a piece, or if you’re not sure that I’m aware that a piece I’ve recently published has a ridiculous title (trust me, I probably already do), please leave a word or two in the comments.

For that matter, if you have anything you’d like to point out, be it grammatical, technical or editorial, please do so. And don’t forget to rate the piece!

Thanks,

L.

Bad weather always reminds me of the Belaqua. Dropping down through the cloud cover over New London and seeing the city spread out below us, I was disappointed. I’d hoped to arrive at night and see the city twinkling and shimmering like a dream of old Paris. Our actual landing time was late afternoon and so I’d hoped to race through docking procedure and get out on the town: Beautiful New London beckoned and I longed for her. I should have known better, though – it had been a long-haul jaunt, we were importing mineral samples, and we’d arrived home with more crew than we’d set out with. Not a recipe for speeding through customs.

Continue reading →