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I’ll never have a best friend again. In fact, I’ll never have a friend again. They suck the life from you, all but your very last breath.
Alan was my friend. We met at a St James’ Club meeting, like-minded philanthropic individuals who happened to like a pint or two. Harmless fun most of the time, helping others, doing good. St. James’ Club has a “wives” wing, imaginatively titled Wives of St. James. But Alan didn’t have a Wife for Wives of St. James. Alan was “a singleton”. Continue reading
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I like to sit here, looking over the park, soaking up some rays. Except I can’t feel them of course and I’ll never get a tan now. Occasionally I’ll wander over to someone just to be close. Yesterday it was a young woman with a pushchair. She seemed to feel me there, and she tightened her scarf around her neck and quickened her pace. I’m sure she shuddered, albeit mildly, which is bad. We walked together for a while, but she just seemed to get more uncomfortable so I moved away. I felt a bit like a stalker, which wasn’t good. Continue reading
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The room was full of sleeping strangers. In fact the room was strange in itself, not quite right, and in the darkness Campbell surveyed the interlopers with confusion. A regular high pitched pulse emanated from the room. What the hell was this? He moved onto the landing and glanced though the broken bathroom door, a single depression planted dead centre at shoulder level, as if a punch had been aimed fair and square, and delivered with some force. Continue reading
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Denton Fedrell sighed and leaned back into his wing-backed cracked leather armchair. He raised his glass of McClelland twelve year old single malt to his lips, sipping gently. The log fire crackled and hissed, throwing grotesque shadows dancing onto the heavily embossed reproduction Edwardian wallpaper on his study walls. The warmth of the fire contrasted sharply with the cold of the outside, as torrential rain rattled against the windows behind the heavy velvet curtains. He was at peace with the world. Continue reading