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Fiction |
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I don't leave here much but they have to take me out sometimes.
They take me to a hospital 'cos when my head hurts I go to sleep.
I know that 'cos I wake up in different places and they give me lots to drink after.
The last time we went we didn't get there, our car had a crash, not a big one but some people
had to help me out, they were nice, they gave me some tea in a shop and a packet of
sweets so I went for a walk in the park to eat them.
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It was nice in the park, there were lots of people, big ones and little ones, I talked to some of them, 'specially the little ones with nice teeth and smooth skins. It made me feel really warm again but I didn't remember a lot 'til I woke up in the bus station. I was ever so thirsty like I always am after a sleep so I asked some people for a drink of water and they brought me back here.
I'd been away ages and they were really angry. I could tell that, they didn't shout like Mr. Robbo did but I could still tell. Even the brown ones didn't smile, they asked me where I'd been but I told them I couldn't remember.
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Next day we went into the little room with the puzzles and the drawings, some other people were there. They were carrying black cases and they all looked the same. Some of them were helpers, they wrote stories just like my helpers and they were all nice to me, 'specially the one who was a lady. She sat really close to me, I could smell that sweet milky baby smell all over her and when she smiled at me with her nice white teeth it made me feel all warm inside.
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She showed me a picture of a little lady with a big smile and nice white teeth on her smooth face. She told me it was a puzzle, just like the puzzles I did, only this time we could do it together, I looked at my helpers, the ones with the brown faces were smiling again. Then she asked me, like I knew she would, had I seen that little lady in the park? If I had, we could finish the puzzle and they would all be happy, but I knew, if I helped her finish this puzzle they would all be sad.
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Copyright © Denis Price. 2004
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Fiction - Kat Out of the Bag Chapter Two By Steve Rudd
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What's a man to do in Kathmandu? Pretty much anything he wants is the steadfast answer.
Sick of dull caravan-anchored holidays in Britain that plagued my ill-charmed childhood, adventure called and I responded.
Still, I would be
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Fiction - COLD WAR TALES- THE CUBAN MISSILE CRISIS By Denis Price
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The piercing insistent wail of the siren woke him. `For Christ`s sake now what!` Over the tannoy the
smooth expensive voice intoned languidly that this was only a drill and that all personnel
should continue with their normal duties.
He groaned and thought, this is my normal
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Fiction - Kat Out of the Bag Chapter One By Steve Rudd
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Above all else it was ignorance and arrogance that helped me pack my bags.
The ignorance and arrogance of myself, that was, and everyone else.
I was only interested in people and past-times that furthered humanity. And what was wrong with that?
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Fiction - Scrawls Of The Unexpected By Mark Pollard
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Professor Colin Pillinger, lead scientist on the Beagle II programme, was calm but well pissed off
inside. He had been clinging to the idea that his £35 million Mars Probe was stuck in a crater,
waiting for some narrow rays of sunlight to banish the shade for a few precious hours each day
in order that
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Fiction - A Short Story - The Beaver Stalker By The J.E.M. Cult
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I stepped out into the cold frosty air.
I pulled my muffler tighter round my hands and crunched across the frozen grass. Today was the first day of the beaver season- and by golly, I was sure gonna get me one.
I love beavers. I can't help it. There's just something about stroking that damp fur that sends me
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Fiction - The Art Of Being Alone In A Crowded Bar By Rich Mills
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What music are you into, man? The American exchange student who had earlier introduced himself, without any regard for Jean-Paul's need to be alone, suddenly threw a curve-ball of a question in his direction.
Well I listen to... What followed was a definitive list of bands from Jean-Paul's wide ranging rare vinyl
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Fiction - Old Tired & Completely Rucked By Martin Dale
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Of course, I used to be big league me. Right up there with the bigwigs I was. Every game I'd be out there, working my socks off for the club.
I'd be at the bottom of every ruck, in the thick of every maul, I'd cover more of the pitch than anyone else on the team.
Pretty good really, now that I come to think about it,
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Fiction - From a Spirited Beginning By Martin Dale
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My earliest memory? Isolation.
Being small, vulnerable, completely alone. I was surrounded by seemingly alien life, one with the life, but at the same time different, distinct. I came from this being, but I was no longer completely a part of it. I had a separate consciousness. No. Not yet. That was to come. At that time it was only an instinct.
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Fiction - A Man with Two Horses By Lazyswede
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I met a man today that had two horses, but he could not get the horses to go the way he wanted them to. The gray mare wanted to take the footpath to the left and the old chestnut mare wanted to take the footpath to the right, while the man wanted to go back the way he came because he knew he would be late for his dinner if he took either of the other two paths.
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Fiction - Halloween - One For The Road
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by Nicholas Boldock
Jason Travis tip-tapped the steering wheel in time to the music blaring from the car's speakers. He glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard - 16:53. The sky was darkening, even at this early summer hour, not as a result of the setting sun but brought about by the lumbering grey rain clouds overhead.
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Fiction - Telling Lies by Nicholas Boldock
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At half past five Harry arranged all the papers on his desk into neat piles, as he always did before going home. He shoved his pens into the blue plastic desk tidy and shut down his PC. He performed this same ritual every evening, did it automatically, even unconsciously. He felt overjoyed to be finally going home - the days seemed to be getting longer and longer and longer - even though home, to Harry, was only marginally more bearable than work.
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Fiction - C(P)U On The Other Side
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by Rich Mills
Roy carelessly tossed the apple core in the bin next to his computer. Constructed in a moment of sheer mindless boredom the waste-paper bin was an amalgam of newspaper strips and PVA glue, coated in a thick yellowing layer of varnish.
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Articles - My Mate Walters an Asylum seeker, From Cameroon By Rich Mills
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Walters is a black man asylum seeker in Hull, from Cameroon, the English speaking part, south of the country under persistent threat from the independent French speaking north population.
Although the North has its independence, the south English speaking section is under constant threat of terror.
He has lived here in Hull for four years, having
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