Welcome To Hellville - Part 12 By Rich Mills

next page Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. 11.

"Whoa, I think I'm gonna be sick." Alan spoke the words out loud for the captive audience of one. Days of wine and roaches had taken their toll, numb now becoming a commonplace emotional placebo in uninvited preferences to those of active and creative thought processes. Clearing his head while reviewing the short dopey ramblings he'd so far managed, Alan decide that the warm security of dreamtime was calling up to him. Another day's dying embers sank into alcohol-fuelled submission, for the danger of forehead meeting keyboard became all too tempting.

Goodbye harsh squealing reality, hello the metaphor driven haven of R.E.M.'s recharging chemicals. "File," Bleep! "Save," Bleep! "File," Bleep! "Close," Bleep! "Shut-down," Bleep! The machine buzzed and clicked as in its death throes it put in a request for a final stay of execution. While it was still pleading for mercy Alan made his decision final and threw the switch at the wall. CLUNK! Then nothing more from the dreaded grey machine. A sharply inaudible squealing silence had entered the room in its place. Alan left unnoticed.

Click, the machine whirred into life, not that it had ever died as the tiny lithium battery had kept the internal clock ticking. Computers don't die, they just become reborn again and again, being nothing more in life than the software that is required to run them. However it is the electrical energy that pumps through them that allows the software to take on a life of its own, to become integral to that particular machine while the hardwired components are configured so as to run at a particular efficiency level.

Good computer engineers build reliable computers, just as any decent God worth his sodium-chloride would build a reliable human, but that isn't always if ever at all the case, is it? Sometimes you encounter an unknown glitch in the system, an unexplainable occurrence that defines the apparent nature of the machine, causing it inexplicably to take on a character all of its own. You can take it apart and examine all the separate circuit boards, swap them around, try some new ones, try a combination, it's all just a matter of trial and error. But often at the end of the day, try as you might, the anomaly always seems to hang in there.

Once a troublemaker always a troublemaker, that was the nature of most of the computers Alan had come across and why he had left the computer manufacturing industry. Too many problems, and as technology had increased and manufacturers promised the earth, so the dysfunctionality of the machines he encountered increased. Now he only made use of this kind of technology when it suited him, and at this moment in time (that being his current spacio-temporal position in the universe), it was a case of needs must when the Devil drives.

Or some such cliché that fitted what he was trying to get at, not that he was entirely sure what that particular cliché meant, but it seemed to fit where he was coming from. Basically it was just so much easier to be able to tap away at a keyboard than it was to make that irreversible commitment of pen to paper. Plus he'd been given the machine anyway, so economically it made sense, as paper was an expensive commodity now. He'd liked to have been a New-Age Luddite, but deep down no matter how much he protested, technology excited him in a dangerously cataclysmic hope for a pulp sci-fi future.

Continued ....next page,

Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 14 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
	Daylight broke through the darkness like the show's arc lamps. I was back in my orphanage bed but where were George's cold feet? What were those mounds on the floor wrapped in blankets? A sniff of dank air reminded me where I was. I pulled the warm blanket around my shoulders and scrambled up on my bunk to look through the porthole. Beyond a narrow stretch of water were Read more...

Fiction - Zero and the Neighbours Part 1 - Demo version 0.1 By Joe Hakim
	Frank was one of the regulars. From the first day I started dealing poker on the tables, Frank was there. To look at, he was your typical moody old man - old in the Father Christmas sense - white hair, a huge white beard and a round gut that hung out of his shirt and over his belt. You could imagine him sat in a grotto in the bottom of Princes Quay with some mewling Read more...

Fiction - The Wall by Darren Sant
	Sometimes your best is just not enough. Panic stricken and panting I arrive. There it is, a fucking huge wall. An obstacle blocking my progress. A visible representation of all that I can't achieve. Nervously I look behind me. I lash out at it, kicking and punching but to no avail. It is rock solid. I jump but find it too high. I take a running jump Read more...

Fiction - Just like Eddie by Bob Spence
	I don't know exactly when I got into it but there you are. Like most lads, I suppose it was the thought of being Bristol's answer to Elvis that was some kind of inspiration. Yes that was always there in the back of my mind, but the accent never sounded quite right to be fair. Anyway. The South Deans Village Youth Club was a right place back then and we used Read more...

Fiction - Scissors, Paper, Stone! By Bob Spence
	The Lord Nelson was your typical run-down seventies pub. The decor was in disarray, with half a mind to venerate the Royal Navy's biggest hero or to catch the eye of the potential clientele with the latest fashion. In this manner it achieved neither. Mickey was the prototype glass collector for every Read more...

Fiction - Divine by Blair Ashworth
	"Mein Führer? Mein Führer?" The old man in the long grey coat was bent over the body slumped in the chair. "Give it a few more seconds, Henry," said the doctor. "Do you speak any German? It might lessen the shock." No, Henry didn't speak any German and he didn't much care about any shocks he might deliver. Behind the heavy oak chair, Read more...

Fiction - Drowning, Swimming By Joe Hakim
	Keith sat and stared at his wife, who was holding his daughter and staring at the 28" Philips Widescreen TV situated in the corner of his house, on his laminate floor, flanked at either side by his Sony sound system and his X-Box. He was sweating and his head was throbbing - the general effects of the weekend Read more...

Fiction - The Death and Birth and Death of a Legend By Bob Spence
	Goober liked to be busy. Some people could handle doing nothing, not Goober Walton. Running the tidy but ancient gasoline concession suited. Suited well. It was orderly and everything clearly had its place. Some would say it looked almost military in its order and for that it Read more...

Fiction - Feller's in Cut By Maurice Fairfield
	Well that's her gone. You don't remember me do you? I'll have a pint while you're thinking about it. It's me Jack, Harry Fergus's son. Here for the funeral. Thought I'd see her get put under. Not sure why. It's always a laugh though, watching a parson doing a Read more...

Fiction - Kat Out of the Bag Chapter Ten By Steve Rudd
	As the sun rose, so did my spirits. The men before me were all aged and seemingly wise. You could just tell that all three of them had been born in this valley, and had all lived and worked there ever since. If any, or all, of them genuinely believed in a heaven, then it wouldn't be an, other-worldly place delighted by harp-twanging angels. Read more...

Fiction - Fishheads By Michelle Dee
	Monstrous silver and blue -green severed fish heads emerged at the forefront of her mind. Open, close, open, close the gaping mouths. She fancied there were others behind it. Each time the razor sharp teeth were bared she looked into the blacker than Read more...

Fiction - Firm but Fair By Mark Pollard
	Cry-Baby Jim Breaks. He pioneered it, they say. And the hushed, almost ecclesiastical tones of Ken Walton had heralded it's entry into Saturday afternoon folklore: the bright lights of Blackpool and Great Yarmouth, down to the lesser reputes of Ilfracombe and Skegness had all borne witness Read more...

Fiction - Puzzles By Denis Price
	I've got a really nice room, when the door's closed I feel ever so safe and warm. It's quiet as well, just the swish of the wind in the trees outside. I like the trees; they hide the big tall fence. My watchers say the fence is there to keep me safe, and that's their job too, they're always there Read more...

Fiction - COLD WAR TALES- THE CUBAN MISSILE CRISIS By Denis Price
	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 Read more...

Fiction - Scrawls Of The Unexpected By Mark Pollard
	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 Read more...

Fiction - A Short Story - The Beaver Stalker By The J.E.M. Cult
	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 Read more...

Fiction - The Art Of Being Alone In A Crowded Bar By Rich Mills
	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 Read more...

Fiction - Old Tired & Completely Rucked By Martin Dale
	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, Read more...