A Pair of Shorts #7

He didn’t recognise the stamp on the postcard.
By: James

“Who the hell are Diane and Mark?”


“I said, who the hell are Diane and Mark?”

“Sorry, didn’t get that. Who’s dying what?”

“Fuck’s sake. Who the hell- you know, if you’d come to the top of the stairs you might actually be able to hear me down here. Who. The. Hell. AreDianeandMark?!”

“How the hell do I know?”

“Well I don’t know a Diane, or a Mark,”

“Well neither do I, what the fuck are you on about?”

“It’s this postcard. Looks like it’s from some couple in Morocco or summat. Sounds like they’re having an alright time,”

“What’s the weather like?”

“It just started raining,”

“Eh? In Morocco? How’d you get that from a postcard? What is it, an iPostcard or some shit?”

“Not fucking Morocco. I thought you meant now… Um, they don’t mention the weather, but apparently there’s loads of beggars and that,”

“Sounds a bit shit.”


“Yeah. Anyway, come and look at this, I think the Pebble Crown works quite well with the bathroom suite, but it kind of clashes with the Shanghai Gist on the landing. What do you reckon?”

“Na, I’m off out,”

“What? I need your opinion on this!”



Beleaguered Castle Blues
By: Lydia Crow

Everyone knew she was going to give in eventually. Why continue to struggle, to put up resistance?

She’d stood impenetrable, undiminished and unspoilt for decades, centuries even, but now she had met her match. And she knew it, though she refused to surrender.

It was, if nothing else, mildly frustrating, thought Ulric as he perched on his haunches in the rain, staring up at her. She towered over him, resolute against the darkening sky.

He grinned to himself as he sharpened his weapon, ignoring his sodden clothes.

It was only a matter of time.



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