Archives: Short Stories

Your Own Adventure (Choose It)

Your Own Adventure (Choose It)

Hello interneteriat.


I want to conduct a little experiment to see whether a Facebook page (or blog) can be used as a medium to tell a story- specifically, a ‘choose your own adventure’ story that would capitalise on the interactive nature of social media.

To that end, I have a text-based adventure for you, dear readers. This is a short supernatural story set in the modern world (for ease of description, etc) and would simply involve you folks making decisions at key points to progress the story.

You can partake on Facebook or my blog by commenting (but don’t do both at the same time for the sake of tallying results. The most popular choice wins.

Each post will be a ‘scene’. Each scene will have one or more decisions that resolve it, which you can vote for by commenting with 1, 2, 3, etc.

To gauge level of interest and give it a quick test, I’m going to let you choose the story’s protagonist. The tale will be set in modern-day London, unless a sudden whimsy takes hold of me to move it.

  1. Kate ‘Karma’ Glover, 20 year old programmer and hacker. A little unsociable but bearing great willpower.
  2. Youssef Khalid, 40 year old shopkeeper and amateur boxer. Disillusioned but very kind and capable.
  3. Stephen Atwood, 30 year old mechanic and ex-con. Conflicted and angry but unerringly loyal.

What say you?



Our Daily Beard – 22/03/13

Well, it’s snowing again.

Mid bloomin’ March!

It’s a bit of a head trip, so I’m going to make the most of it and ‘do’ a flash fiction for today’s post.



Snow Business

Frosty sighed with relief as he signed the last document in a stack of one hundred.

“Frosty T. Snowman, President,” he muttered under his breath as he scribbled his signature. He didn’t like using a pen; they were hard to hold in his stick-hands.

He leaned back in the chair and groaned. If he had to sign just one more permission slip, he’d simply melt. Across the world, thousands of junior snowmen, flake engineers, drift co-ordinators and cloud chillers were making snow and they needed his official sign-off. Of course, winter was the busiest time of year- it was strictly seasonal work- but it still made his head ache like an ice-cream brain freeze.

The intercom on Frosty’s desk buzzed. He grumbled and pressed the button.

“Sir, I have a call from Jack Frost-”

“Yeah, yeah, put it through, Darlene.”

There was a moment of silence and electronic clicking.

“Hey hey, how’s my favourite fat snowy bastard?!”

“Frostbite me, Jack. What’s up?”

“Chill out, dude, or you’ll pop a coal. I just wanted to find out whether you’re going to need frost in the UK this week. A lot of the guys are grumbling about this late winter.”

“Just one more week, if you can, Jack. I know it’s a pain, but you must have some frosters that want the overtime?”

“Yeah, I’ll find someone. How much snow are you making? You know it’s almost spring, right?”

“I know, but I promised Easter that I’d cover for him for a while. This is the last of it.”

“Should have known that hopped-up bunny would be to blame. We still on for poker tonight?”

“Damn, is that tonight? Okay… I’ll have to check with Sue first. I’m meant to have the snowkids.”

Jack Frost made a whiplash sound down the phone.

“Jees, grow a pair of snowballs, Frosty!”

“Whatever, asshole. We’ll see who’s laughing when I take all your money tonight.”

“Ha, don’t get your hopes up. See you then.”

Jack hung up as Darlene knocked at the door and entered. She had a gorgeous, round body of nicely compacted snow. Frosty couldn’t help but admire her curves- and those dark coal eyes.

“Shall I process all these permission slips, sugar?” she asked.

“Please, Darlene. And hold my meetings for a few hours.”

“Yes, sir. You have a 4.30 with the senior snowpartners, shall I cancel it?”

Frosty groaned- he’d forgotten about that.

“Nah… just… wake me up at 4. I need to catch up on my sleet.”

Darlene closed the door and Frosty took out his eyes, leaning back in his chair. The sooner that the summer holidays came, the better.

Just as he did every day at 3pm, he briefly considered retiring. Then he smirked- of course he’d never retire. The job was part of him. He muttered to himself as he dozed off:

“There’s no business like snow business.”



The Saga of Sweetangel – Part 14

Well, thanks for staying with it folks!

Here’s the last part of Sweetangel!

Uhoh, better start thinking of new stuff to blog about.


Have a good weekend!


“Just Longthorn, Poulter and Elsewise,”

“Though Elsewise doesn’t like to do fieldwork,”

“So young Turtle will stand in his stead.”

Before Dhrudj could ask what he meant,

One, then one more, of the kidnappers fell,

And Poulter stood behind them, blade red.


Dhrudj screamed for his men to attack,

And so Longthorn seized his chance to escape,

Rolling away from sword-point with speed.

Though Dhrudj’s men attacked Poulter,

Suddenly they were outnumbered three times,

By urchins and the adults they freed.


The skirmish was bloody and swift,

And not all of the weakened slaves survived,

But Turtle and Frog fought tooth and nail.

Together the urchin girls leapt,

Savaging a captor with kicks and bites,

Quickly dragging him down to the shale.


Longthorn dragged himself to his feet,

And though bloodied and beaten he faced Dhrudj,

And said: “Stand down- we came for the girl.”

“Never!” spat Dhrudj and raised his sword,

But Longthorn had taken a souvenir,

From the workshop of Everys Pearl.


He reached behind, into his belt,

And drew out the little blunderkiss gun,

With its single buckshot blast of lead.

Dhrudj was not one for surrender,

So he swung his scimitar all the same,

But it did him no good, with no head.


Some of the men asked for mercy,

While others tried to flee up the mineshaft,

But the slaves were in no mood for grace.

After the bloodshed was done with,

Longthorn and Poulter were glad to see Frog,

With a smile of relief on her face.


“Thank you, thank you!” shouted Turtle,

Though Frog was too weak to get excited,

Underfed and fighting for each breath.

Poulter offered to carry her,

His heart restored by finding her alive,

Healing the wound of his poor wife’s death.


Poulter and Longthorn led them up,

Taking the lostlings to sky and freedom,

A haul of some thirty people found.

“We were only hired to find one,”

Joked Poulter, so Longthorn replied to him:

“They went not to the sea, but the ground!”


Turtle said: “I must repay you,”

“Me and Frog will work for your firm for free,”

“We’ll be your eyes and ears on the streets.”

Longthorn replied: “You have a deal,”

“And I believe we have room for some bunks,”

“If you think you’d like pillows and sheets.”


Poulter made no form of protest,

Knowing that he’d live if his heart could heal,

And that Longthorn needed some joy too.

Instead they led the slaves away,

To a flophouse where they could recover,

And then back to the fog they withdrew.


Dirtlings still talked of Sweetangel,

Though the nature of the myth slowly changed,

Due to what Turtle and Frog would say.

They would correct other urchins:

“Villains, not innocents, should be afraid,”

“Sweetangel takes bad people away.”