Old Hag You Have Killed Me

An explosion of sound hit young James full force almost freeing him from his perch behind the battered leather sofa. The notes flew from the fiddle as Sean sawed away crazily with the bow, his focus only broken for an occasional glance at his fellow musicians. James let the music wash over him, relishing each wave, allowing it to drip down deep inside him. click here to read the rest of this short story

Crossroads Blues

A shimmering sun beats down mercilessly on Robert’s head. The wooden signpost offers his back some solid support as he sits, his legs stretching out in front of him. His battered brown guitar case, also availing of the signpost’s services is visible from the corner of his right eye. The piece of twine he’d taken from the post office is wrapped around it, tied with a basic knot. It keeps the lid closed and prevents his pride and joy from tumbling out, face first onto the dried yellow grass. The air is stifling, oven hot, the heat haze sets the horizon hovering in the distance. Continue reading “Crossroads Blues”

The Boxer

I watched as he pushed against the heavy wood framed door and staggered through when it gave in to his weight. Even from a distance of some twenty feet I could see the shattered face was covered in fresh reminders of some brawl or other or maybe several, it’s difficult to be sure. The broken nose pushed flat against his face reminded me of the Sphinx; a plastic surgeon’s nightmare. His left eye was a slit peering out of a huge swollen black eye, although it was more a dark shade of purple. This almost merged with the sickly yellow, tinged with blood-red bruise on the cheekbone on the same side. As he approached I could start to make  Continue reading “The Boxer”

Strings Attached

‘Pssst.’ It came from the direction of the darkened doorway he had just passed. He chose to ignore it. ‘Hey.’ Louder but still sotto voce, ‘Maestro.’ That stopped him subito. Nobody had recognised him for years never mind acknowledging his former prowess. He could hear the applause, the crowd on its feet. ‘Encore, encore.’ The ladies in the front row openly weeping joyous tears, roses strewn about his feet. Continue reading “Strings Attached”