Debauched Duchess demanded; demure dairymaid denied; damsel damned. Dapper daredevil defeated Duchess. Damsel deflowered!
‘Short stories’ Category
-
D
August 20, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
Category Short stories | Tags: | No Comments
-
Three hot words
August 20, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
Sad little pony
Crying before, after
I’ll disobey you
Just three more
Day before deportation
Only me? Liar
We’ll start again
First slap warning
Pillow over face
A cajoled yes
More than cousins
My sweetest friend
A little bite
Focus on pain
Cut myself today
Nothing changed afterwards
Toothpaste oddly erotic
Be my Huckleberry
Need your DNA
Hot room shiver
Mime girl screamed
Sock puppet threesome
She packs meat
Furry girl purred
Iron Man fantasy
Sobbing won’t help
Stupid biological imperative
I want candy
Only lab coat
Bound her, left
Willing to learn
Scratch my itch
You’re my cowboy
Let forever be
Intent to misbehave
Come break me
Many objects vibrate
Someone is crying
Until it’s light
Area vagina inspector
Swedish, Japanese, next?
Poetry gets results
Dressed as zombie
Sudden supermarket slap
We both pretended
Dark eyes, hair
Disobedient girl bitten
Writers get fucked
Brat me, huh
Future fuck guaranteed
Ties for tying
Bite, spank, repeat
Whispered brand names
Play my game
Oh man, Latina
Asleep inside you
Deliberate condom break
Mouthful hot tea
Nightclub, here Puss
Don’t tell Dad
Hippiegirls don’t shave
Drunken accidental blur
Cough was clench
Bound my Asian
Reckless teenage babysitter
Wrong number bootycall
Alone in morgue
Grave, shovel, darkness
Intelligence my aphrodisiac
Stopwatch camera cucumber
Little death again
Lie to me
Keep it secret
Giggly Jewish girl
Collar and leash
***
A Twitter game that is also a good writing exercise.
Category Short stories | Tags: | No Comments
-
Pomegranate innards
July 9, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
‘Pomegranate innards,’ said James.
Mrs Hutchinson turned on her spot so quickly she was almost a blur. ‘THAT word, James, will not be used in my class room.’
‘What, pomegranates?’
‘No, the … other one. I do not want to hear it!’
‘Innards,’ Pike whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.
‘I said, Mr Pike, that I did not want to hear that word.’ Mrs Hutchinson shook herself in disgust. ‘That word is so … squelchy.’
****
Yet another fragment.
Category Short stories | Tags: | No Comments
-
Puritan Monkey
July 9, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
Of all the varieties of monkey — trust monkey, suck monkey, policy monkey — there are none as persnickety, as finicky, as ‘holier-than-thou because I’m wearing pants and you are not’ as the Puritan monkey.
This species, easily identifiable by the furrowed ‘I told you so’ brow, and pointed waving finger, are also known as the preacher monkey. They delight in telling people off and curtailing any kind of fun activity.
Frequent letter-writers and campaigners against, well, practically everything, they have in recent years orchestrated campaigns against: butter, I can’t believe it’s not butter, butter-flavoured popcorn, shorts, open-toe sandals, balloons, shiny objects, string, fruits that are too ‘fancy’, and croutons.
Currently, they are waging letter-writing war against the Monkey Knife-fighting Association (MKFA). Their main forum of complaint is on the eBay pages that sell MKFA merchandise. Their tightly worded missives (which try to avoid too many verbs because they ‘excite the lustful urges’) are the equivalent of a handful of poo flung at random people — they hit, but have no effect apart from making people angry.
It is quite sad that the Puritan monkey has chosen this path. Back in the day they knew how to rock out, like, seriously.
From en.wikipedia.org
***
Years ago I went out with a lovely girl named Tali. This is an email I sent her from work.
Category Short stories | Tags: | No Comments
-
Babies with moustaches
July 9, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
We had blood-blisters, ink stains and dirty knees and James said if the pumpkins he planted don’t grow then he’s going to:
Burn
Shit
Down.
Kelly doused her fingers in turpentine and then a tissue and started cleaning hands. Flashback to primary school parties, cake and being sticky 90% of the time.
That sounds about right said John and he has a statistics degree so he’d know.
Nothing on the web so far said Amanda and kept hitting refresh.
Emily was sitting quietly on the sofa, deep into seeing if it feels like reality has bent enough tonight. She’s half-breathing, lips open and closed eyes still blinking. Running from the corners of her eyes are thin blue lines of ink, tracing the beginnings of crow’s feet, tracing old age creeping up.
Someone has started a website of babies with stick-on moustaches said Amanda and hit refresh again.
I’m serious. I’ll burn shit down said James.
***
Man, this needs some explaining. What the what? Pumpkin planting, checking the web and seeing if reality has been bent enough? If I could remember I’d tell you but I honestly cannot remember writing this nor remember what it is about or if it is even finished. Sometimes these random fragments turn up during the chatter and I dutifully write them out, again.
Category Short stories | Tags: | No Comments
-
Claude the Claustrophobic Summer Seal
May 8, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
The Continuing Adventures of Claude the Claustrophobic Summer Seal was cancelled six episodes in and a minor wave of protest rose up online and James tried to get his work involved but most of them were zombies and more interested in marketing plans for brand extension, segmentation, brains and what tweens thought was hot this quarter because the pre-tweens always trend up.
Elisa was on the web searching out not just data or datum but information itself. She tracked best boys and grips and first directors and makeup artists and pulled every thread she could until one of those threads led to Mark who was putting in the years as a near-nameless writer.
She met him on Saturday and we James Bonded it with the best of what we’d learned about surveillance from television. We had guys on roofs and cars rotating the lead and walkie talkies and even a complex code which didn’t turn out too well because everyone forgot what buffalo grass meant, especially when paired with a pink moon falling.
Andrew and Sarah were debating whether to hack into dedicated spy satellite and this debate went into high gear when Elisa grabbed Mark and zipped away from the cafe using William’s home-made zip-line gun. It was confusion multiplied then: fifty joggers in Sumo suits blocking the road, a bunch of hot air balloons shaped like dinosaurs floating up, a confetti and glitter tornado and a box of the most adorable kitties you did ever see.
We shut down the operation and went home only to find a shoe in the lounge and someone in the bathroom having a shower. A glance was batted around and James tried to do the one-eyebrow lift but those individual face muscles didn’t want to go it alone so both eyebrows went up. They were up and really had nowhere to go when Elisa walked Mark through the lounge, both wrapped in bathrobes, picked up the shoe and continued on to her bedroom as though no dairy based yellow solid would ever melt in her mouth.
James was all for teargas and kicking down the door and duct tape and shouting treason but Sarah calmed him down and pointed out how well the box of kitties had been planned.
They may have only filmed thirteen episodes of Claude’s adventures but with Elisa on the case, we’d get to see every single one and find out all the answers.
Who was Murmur the Not So Silent Mime working for?
What was Aromatherapist Horatio’s Secret Plan?
Why did Dr Moustache never enter Betty’s Garden?
Where was the Pie Baron hiding his recipes?
How would Claude uncover the truth and rescue Crystal Juliet?
Category Short stories | Tags: | No Comments
-
Sunshine
April 28, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
John was on the run, mud-splashed and wild and when he kicked in the front door Lucy went and locked herself in the bathroom.
He showed us the sunshine he’d stolen and smushed into an empty pasta sauce jar and James immediately sped out into the darkness of two weeks thus far to pick up some marshmallows.
For a while there was pleading but Lucy wouldn’t open the door, not even when John claimed he’d stolen it for her. She knew it wasn’t the truth because she’d been sober and straight the night two years ago when he’d come home from his bullshit callcentre job angry, furious really, at being the end result so far of millions of successful ancestors and there he was draining away every day, animate but not alive, moving but staying dead still.
John had rushed in the door and told us about the moment of clarity, the cusp of a grand idea which had hit six minutes after he got on the train to come home.
We were drunk and high, except Lucy who was sober and low and so while Andrew was quite willing to go along with the pretense of John doing it for her, she knew the shiny steel truth.
James was back with the marshmallows soon enough and we clicked off the lid and started roasting. Words words words wrapped together and thrown against Lucy’s knowledge with no result but then the scent of burnt sugar slid under the door and out came Lucy and no one moved or even pretended to notice when she hugged John from behind and pressed her face against his back.
Category Short stories | Tags: | No Comments
-
Glare
April 23, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
the glare party was a roaring success or a glaring success because the one thing about winning a glare is that roaring doesn’t help you
emily was throwing cheese on a pizza when simon and amanda started up and that pizza was cooling on the rack when simon finally cracked and amanda won
simon went off to surf the internet for tips on how to win a glare stating that when he came back he was going to:
1) wipe the floor with amanda
2) have some cocoa
jules started talking during his glare which isn’t against the rules but generally frowned upon but he was doing this dead-on impression of papa smurf drunk and belligerant, trying to return his movie ticket after walking out of pretty woman halfway through and papa smurf kept slipping into a scottish accent while complaining that pretty woman needed more car accidents and zebras and dinosaurs and capsicums and peppersauce and a pony named tony and BAM that was the joke that knocked emily right out of the glare
Category Short stories | Tags: | No Comments
-
Hardly at all
April 2, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
The room where they slept was covered with suicide graffiti. Shlom wrote “I wish I was an orange” on the wall with black marker. She had seen this two years ago when a boy she was going out with scratched it into the skin of a banana at her parents’ house. At the time she had laughed madly because she was madly in love with him. Later, when she was just in love with him she had laughed less when he did it again. When she wasn’t in love with him it was hardly funny at all.
Category Short stories | Tags: | 1 Comment
-
Black boyfriends
March 24, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
Emma and Sarah and Lisa talked about getting black boyfriends every now and again but this talk didn’t lead anywhere and the plans and schemes they devised were always missing a key ingredient or got put up on the shelf to be forgotten or were written in faint grey lead pencil so even when they got the scheme down it was illegible.
Sonya put up with the conversations for well over six months before she got so frustrated with their inadequate planning that she decided to take action and right soon.
First it was the internet where she found all these resources on meeting your goals and then how to actually set goals and time-limited goals and SMART goals and using a group to motivate you to complete your goals and then she hit the wrong key and found time-limited goats and SMART goats and how to buy a goat and how smart goats were compared to dogs.
The goat websites were way better than the goal websites and their forums filled to the brim with either fake-cheerful people or sad-fake-cheerful people or plain mean people who would tell everyone on the forum to stop whinging and just do it dammit. The goat websites were friendly and everyone there was so welcoming and the tips and tricks they gave were of actual stuff you could do, not just mental think yourself rich time-wasting.
For a while Sonya forgot all about Emma and Sarah and Lisa and why she’d even started down this path and dived as deep as she could into the goat websites until she finally drifted across to where to buy a goat and how to look after a goat at home and goat appreciation clubs. She wanted a goat so badly and really wanted to take the leap but the very helpful nice people on one of the goat forums told her to go to a goat appreciation club meeting first and so she restrained herself from clicking that buy button and took herself along to the meeting.
The goat appreciation club members were welcoming and happy and soon she had a biscuit and a cup of tea and they were all sitting down to watch a quick film on training your goat to do tricks. As the lights were turned down by Bert, the club president, Jake sat down beside her and took a bite of his biscuit.
Sonya glanced at him and saw he was cute and black and also a member of the goat appreciation club and the black boyfriend plan came crashing back so she whispered her name and he ignored her and five seconds later the get-a-black-boyfriend-and-a-goat-plan roared into life with step one being to accidentally brush her hand against his in the darkness as Bert’s trained goat on the screen jumped through a hoop with a newspaper in its mouth.
Category Short stories | Tags: | No Comments