Vandemonium and CreativityTakesCourage
Welcome to our collection of Short Stories and Politically Incorrect Humour
THE SCENE: Dave and Sonya Brown, childless married couple, are sitting at the kitchen table. Dave has just come home from work; Sonya beat him by an hour and is dressed smartly. There is a small suitcase near the front door. Read More …
“Thanks for coming, sis. Are the kids okay?”
“Yes, they’re fine, Sarah. Mick is looking after them. They were sound asleep when I left.” Read More …
After being tied up for hours, I ran into the bathroom to relieve myself as soon as June released me. I knew I had to get out of there fast before my anger scorched me a path direct to prison. Passing through the bedroom, I noticed with some surprise, June at her nightly habit of writing in her diary. She looked exhausted but still she scribbled away, not even looking up as I strode past the end of the bed. The question of who or what manner of person writes in their journal after such a depraved event flashed through my head. At that point I had no answer. Read More …
“You must be Mrs. Brown.”
“Call me Sandra, please. You are Mark?”
“I am. Now, what is all this about, Sandra? You said on the phone that this was a matter of life and death.”
IN A DAZE, not even realising I was doing it, I stepped down off the little ladder I’d dragged from my closet and staggered back toward the bed. When it hit the back of my knees, I sat heavily; staring at the thing revealed by the open, dangling cover of the smoke detector. All the implications of why and how the object of my stare had gotten to be where it was, and exactly what it meant, flooded my mind. Read More …
OKAY, I ADMIT IT, I’m a people watcher. Naturally introverted, I like sitting back, watching people, then trying to guess what they do for a living, what they’re thinking, etcetera. I do it more when I’m bored or trying to distract myself. It started when I was a kid and involved in a six-car pile-up on the Hume Highway. Luckily, neither I nor my grandparents were killed, but things got broken. Lots of things got broken, like both my legs, my wrist, my collarbone, a few vertebrae. The list goes on. Read More …
Dear Diary. Yippee, Dave finally proposed to me today. On Valentine’s Day, of all times, the romantic great lump. Read More …
Lucy was sexually excited. Very sexually excited. She was sure she could feel her own juices running down the inside of her leg. Read More …
THE EARLY MORNING LIGHT streamed through the narrow gaps in the wooden venetians. Olivia Hammond rolled to her side and took a moment to admire the way the sunlight threw bands of light across the naked torso of her husband. At thirty-three he was still in peak condition and certainly didn’t perpetuate the stereotype of the scrawny computer nerd. Her gaze travelled up his body and she smiled—Steven had thrown his arm over his eyes, blocking the light. Olivia was convinced Steven was like a puppy and could sleep anywhere, in any position. Read More …
Julie glanced at me, stepped inside and shut the door behind her. I heard the deadlock engage like the closing of a coffin lid. Read More …