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Lost by Gerry Webber

On February 14, 2016 By Gerry Webber
Lost The summer of seventy six was hot. It was fearsome. The road that ran past our farm – well, it wasn’t our farm then – had been surfaced inexpertly with tarmac just a few months earlier, a symbol of modernisation. Now it was melting in the heat of the afternoon, sticky beneath my feet [...]
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A Man’s a Man for A’ That by Liz Logie MacIver

On January 27, 2016 By Gerry Webber
A Man’s a Man for A’ That Weel what can I say aboot him? The first time I clapped eyes on him I was stricken. He was wanderin up Anchor Close. A narrow lane, dank and drookit after the rain that morn. A dark smelly place it was. But he brought a licht to it [...]
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Bowhill Yul by Catriona Windle

On November 28, 2015 By Gerry Webber
Bowhill Yul We drive through the bleak council estate on a dull December day in Bowhill. Its nearly Christmas but it doesn’t feel like Christmas here. We pull up outside a dismal looking house and knock on the door. It is answered almost immediately by an incredibly handsome man. He looks like Yul Brynner, with [...]
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So long, farewell by Gerry Webber

On August 29, 2015 By Gerry Webber
So long, farewell Throughout the spring and early summer, Friedrich rose early each morning and climbed the crag behind his farmhouse to tend the herd. Today was no exception, apart from one thing. This was the first time he had ever seen a nun running towards him over the brow of the hill. Her arms [...]
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Psychobabble by Spiderboy

On July 14, 2015 By Gerry Webber
Psychobabble – Next question. Would you describe yourself as decisive or indecisive? – It depends on the circumstances. – Ok, indecisive. – No. I wouldn’t say that exactly. It’s just that I’m not impulsive. – Right. Question 30. If you enter a room full of strangers do you feel excited or anxious. – What sort [...]
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The Big Bar – L (Glasgow 1973) by Catriona Windle

On June 14, 2015 By Gerry Webber
The Big Bar – L (Glasgow 1973) Sometimes we would go and stay at my Granny and Grandpa’s house, just me and my little brother. Grandpa was a prison officer at Barlinnie Prison and they lived in a prison house right next to the wall. The wall was as wide as a pavement and the [...]
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Clean forgotten by Gerry Webber

On June 8, 2015 By Gerry Webber
  Clean forgotten   – Where are your glasses, mum? – I lent them to one of the prison warders. – Which one? – The fat one with the dirty hair. Susan. – Are you sure that’s her name? – I think so. Why? – Well that’s my name, mum. – Oh yes. Of course. [...]
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New Year by Pat

On May 24, 2015 By Gerry Webber
New Year Sammy showed his mother his school socks. The heel was at his instep. His mother hmmmed and asked him to put his shoes on. They suddenly looked alright. “Wear them until people can see that they´re too small and then we´ll get you some new ones”. Sammy had grown to be a shade [...]
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The meaning of Lent… by Spiderboy

On May 9, 2015 By Gerry Webber
  The meaning of Lent I met Miranda at a reading group and lent her a book which she didn’t return. It was a first edition of “The Collector” by John Fowles. I left her a voicemail about it, to which she didn’t respond. She stopped attending the book club, but I knew where she [...]
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Little Punks by Catriona Windle

On February 3, 2015 By Gerry Webber
  They come through her letter box every day at three o’clock, they are very punctual. They start off small then get larger as they approach her. They are mean and nasty and she sits in terror as they dance in front of her calling her foul names. They nip and kick her but are [...]
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Custard Creams

On May 24, 2014 By djmac
“Hi Percy, how are you?” – “Like this” he said, palms upwards. “And how is this?” – “Oh so so, any chance of a biscuit?” His wife had asked the doctor to admit him because she couldn’t manage his obsessive eating any longer. Despite guzzling all day he had taken to getting up through the [...]
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  • An anthology of modern short fiction recounting the quirkiness of the everyday, featuring DJ Mac and others.
  • DJ Mac is a writer based in Edinburgh, Scotland who fouters (dithers) with an itchy, scratchy pen in the moments when the bewilderment provoked by life settles. He is easily distracted by the bright pictures in his gallery.
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