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:iconsimeberg:

~simeberg

part sime, part berg
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All Lit
deviation in storage by ~simeberg
Bull The bull rounds on us, snorting and stamping its hooves. There were no warning signs. No one told us that this was a field that contained a solid ton of angry meat with horns. As it moves around I see the matted fur, the gathered froth on its lips. I turn to run. But she grabs my hand and says

"Don't run. Just keep walking straight ahead. Be calm." And I do as I'm told and we keep going. Up ahead I can see the stile and I am desperate to make a break for it. But we can only walk with firm and deliberate steps, willing it to come closer.

I hear a ripple of thunder behind us. Almost feel its canter in the soil beneath my feet. She squeezes mBull by ~simeberg
Final Analyses "Tell me about the changes."

"Everything."

"What do you mean everything?"

"Everything will change. The seas will boil. The sky will turn black. Our resources will be completely exhausted. People will turn against each other. At first it'll be fighting over the last scraps of fuel and food. Then there will be no food left. Then it'll be each other's flesh. The only commodity left."

"And when you say 'they', you don't include yourself in that?"

"No. I know what to do when the time comes."

"Which is... Oh. Yes. Of course. So, erm, you say you've seen signs that this is already happening. I presume by that you mean global warming, recessionFinal Analyses by ~simeberg
All is Conflict Chapter 2.

Two men sit playing chess. They are arguing over the previous move. For one, this is part of the game. For the other, it is cheating. One says,
"All is conflict." The other one leaves.

Chapter 1.

Two men sit playing chess. One gets up and leaves. Above his fallen king, a crow squawks.

The crow flaps away and flies in wide circles over fields and hilltops and woods. It settles on another tree close to the edge of a forest.

Below, a boy on the cusp of adolescence stands with a toy bow and arrow in his hand. He is looking at a young girl sitting in another tree.
"I can become anything you want me to be," He says, "I can submiAll is Conflict by ~simeberg
All Lit
Short Stories
The Quilt It began with the dreams. Minute, stabbing dreams that hit me in the back of the neck like torpedoes, shattering my rest only minutes after I had passed into sleep, leaving me shell-shocked and frightened in the seeping darkness and crowded shadows.

I say dreams - and not nightmares – because they were not uniformly horrific. Not, at least, in content. But they all shared one thing: they were physical in nature – received not just by my mind’s eyes and ears, but by my whole body. And one other thing: never in any case was I transported, as is usual, to some far-off dreamscape – nor even to any reconstructed scene of my eThe Quilt by ~simeberg
The Sprog by ~simeberg
The Monkey-Puzzle Tree  There is a monkey-puzzle tree on Aberdare Close. It towers out of the front garden of number 26, a semi-detached property which is divided  into 26a, 26b and 26c, and casts snakes of shadow across the road at most times of the day but especially in the morning. The tree has been the subject of a great uproar in the street, many neighbours finding it objectionable, including the tenant at 26c. But the tree belongs to 26a, which has tenure of the front garden. Many visitors to the street find the controversy surrounding the tree surprising to say the least, for a monkey-puzzle tree is a thing of strange and unusual beauty. It is generally feltThe Monkey-Puzzle Tree by ~simeberg
James Ratt JAMES RAT

Listen! Listen! Here's a story: James Rat was a nasty young man and he spat on everybody and everything he met. I don't mean despised, I don't mean he hated, although those were also true and that was largely the reason why, but he spat – literally. If you met him in the street and asked him the time, he'd spit on you. If you went to the supermarket where he worked at the checkout for one day, he'd spit on you. If you were a teacher or a tramp, a parent or a beautiful girl, he'd spit on you. Even if you were his bank manager telling him that he was getting a massive dividend from something, he'd spit on you.

He wore one of those bJames Ratt by ~simeberg
Short Stories
Flash and Micro Fiction
Flash and Micro Fiction
Flash Fiction Month 2011
A Wizard by ~simeberg
Into the Woods We went into the woods together. There were three of us. Kim was the girl. She was a strange mixture of personality traits and physical attributes that were at once appealing and repulsive. Rufus was my childhood friend. Strong and self-assured but occasionally unexpectedly cold. I think the coldness masked moments of deep personal turmoil, things that he had crushed in order to construct his sense of self but which were kept so well-hidden that even I had no knowledge of them. Walking behind, him in his great-coat and heavy boots, her in her combats and padded jacket, it felt as if we were marching off to war.

And I, I was just me. Loyal anInto the Woods by ~simeberg
Bull The bull rounds on us, snorting and stamping its hooves. There were no warning signs. No one told us that this was a field that contained a solid ton of angry meat with horns. As it moves around I see the matted fur, the gathered froth on its lips. I turn to run. But she grabs my hand and says

"Don't run. Just keep walking straight ahead. Be calm." And I do as I'm told and we keep going. Up ahead I can see the stile and I am desperate to make a break for it. But we can only walk with firm and deliberate steps, willing it to come closer.

I hear a ripple of thunder behind us. Almost feel its canter in the soil beneath my feet. She squeezes mBull by ~simeberg
Final Analyses "Tell me about the changes."

"Everything."

"What do you mean everything?"

"Everything will change. The seas will boil. The sky will turn black. Our resources will be completely exhausted. People will turn against each other. At first it'll be fighting over the last scraps of fuel and food. Then there will be no food left. Then it'll be each other's flesh. The only commodity left."

"And when you say 'they', you don't include yourself in that?"

"No. I know what to do when the time comes."

"Which is... Oh. Yes. Of course. So, erm, you say you've seen signs that this is already happening. I presume by that you mean global warming, recessionFinal Analyses by ~simeberg
Flash Fiction Month 2011
Flash Fiction Month 2010
Flash Fiction Month 2010
Flash Fiction Month 2009
Neilah “Penitence, prayer and charity avert the evil decree.” – Unetana Tokef, Day of Atonement prayer.

Sighing heavily, Danny scrunches down the backs of his ancient trainers and flicks them across the room. Suit removed, he lays it carefully over the edge of a moth-eaten armchair. He had partially forgotten, but there’s nothing quite like the feeling of getting back from shul. One day a year of shriving and chest-beating.

Except that it isn’t over yet. This is just the end of part one. An entire day of starvation and boredom lies ahead. He drops into the armchair and puffs out his cheeks. What to do, what to do? Patting Neilah by ~simeberg
deviation in storage by ~simeberg
Reptiles Me: I love all those birds that live in the hedge. When the sun shines through it, you can see them all flitting around in there.

Upstairs Neighbour: Yes, they're very pretty.

Me: I like to think they might eat up all the spiders.

Upstairs Neighbour, laughing: There used to be an Italian woman who lived in your flat. She said she couldn’t open the windows without reptiles coming in.

Me: Reptiles?

Upstairs Neighbour: By reptiles, I think she meant spiders.

I laugh. But I really hope she did.Reptiles by ~simeberg
The Cold, Cold Sea I was weak. But getting better. The flu had passed and I had come out of it. Not like some of the others.

Looking out across the cold, stony bay with its outcroppings of porous rock and sudden, black depths, I saw the algae hanging there, suspended under the surface like green stars in a nebulous cloud.

The sickness it had brought had passed after six hours of nausea. But still I was wary of drawing close to its shifting mass.

In the shallows around me, something shifted. A vast shape rolling under the water. I waded out a little and dipped my head under.

Its size alone was enough to freeze the blood in my veins. A great eel, neither headThe Cold, Cold Sea by ~simeberg
Flash Fiction Month 2009
ID and Stuff
ID and Stuff

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The Quilt It began with the dreams. Minute, stabbing dreams that hit me in the back of the neck like torpedoes, shattering my rest only minutes after I had passed into sleep, leaving me shell-shocked and frightened in the seeping darkness and crowded shadows.

I say dreams - and not nightmares – because they were not uniformly horrific. Not, at least, in content. But they all shared one thing: they were physical in nature – received not just by my mind’s eyes and ears, but by my whole body. And one other thing: never in any case was I transported, as is usual, to some far-off dreamscape – nor even to any reconstructed scene of my eThe Quiltin All Lit, Short Stories
135 Comments
Neilah “Penitence, prayer and charity avert the evil decree.” – Unetana Tokef, Day of Atonement prayer.

Sighing heavily, Danny scrunches down the backs of his ancient trainers and flicks them across the room. Suit removed, he lays it carefully over the edge of a moth-eaten armchair. He had partially forgotten, but there’s nothing quite like the feeling of getting back from shul. One day a year of shriving and chest-beating.

Except that it isn’t over yet. This is just the end of part one. An entire day of starvation and boredom lies ahead. He drops into the armchair and puffs out his cheeks. What to do, what to do? Patting Neilahin All Lit, Flash and Micro Fiction, Flash Fiction Month 2009
6 Comments
The Sprogin All Lit, Short Stories
34 Comments
The Monkey-Puzzle Tree  There is a monkey-puzzle tree on Aberdare Close. It towers out of the front garden of number 26, a semi-detached property which is divided  into 26a, 26b and 26c, and casts snakes of shadow across the road at most times of the day but especially in the morning. The tree has been the subject of a great uproar in the street, many neighbours finding it objectionable, including the tenant at 26c. But the tree belongs to 26a, which has tenure of the front garden. Many visitors to the street find the controversy surrounding the tree surprising to say the least, for a monkey-puzzle tree is a thing of strange and unusual beauty. It is generally feltThe Monkey-Puzzle Treein All Lit, Short Stories
27 Comments
James Ratt JAMES RAT

Listen! Listen! Here's a story: James Rat was a nasty young man and he spat on everybody and everything he met. I don't mean despised, I don't mean he hated, although those were also true and that was largely the reason why, but he spat – literally. If you met him in the street and asked him the time, he'd spit on you. If you went to the supermarket where he worked at the checkout for one day, he'd spit on you. If you were a teacher or a tramp, a parent or a beautiful girl, he'd spit on you. Even if you were his bank manager telling him that he was getting a massive dividend from something, he'd spit on you.

He wore one of those bJames Rattin All Lit, Short Stories
0 Comments
In Arcadiain Flash Fiction Month 2010
0 Comments
Venison and Pithivierin Flash Fiction Month 2010
4 Comments
The Virgin Birthin Flash Fiction Month 2010
6 Comments
Who's Vicky? Blam, blam. Flat-foot slam.

"Who's Vicky? Who's Vicky?" He screams, thinking that these veal-shouldered, thick-gold-chain-necks are perpetrating some dire misdeed. Some case of mistaken identity. Low green ceilings spool past. He twists his head but all he can see is chipped cement painted in a pale shade of blue-grey that's probably too ugly to have a name.

"Where are you taking me?" He pleads, but the veal-necks never answer, never say anything. They just keep walking, their fingerless gloves tight around his ankles and wrists.

--------

Three days ago, Charlie could never have anticipated this. He was working hard, as ever, screwing hisWho's Vicky?in Flash Fiction Month 2010
0 Comments
Epitaph Whistling through the graveyard the other day, I happened upon an unusually large tombstone. It was tall and slim, sort of like an obelisk, whose flat surface, facing me, bore an inscription that filled its length from top to bottom. I made a note of it:

"En route to visit an acquaintance, I crossed the path of a gypsy hag. She said to me, "You are going to be so famous. And you don't even know it." I was an actor by trade and not a very successful one, so this pleased me immensely. A year to the day I was shot by a policeman without just cause."

My pencil lead snapped against the notepad. Hang on a second, I thought, then how did you...

BEpitaphin Flash Fiction Month 2010
0 Comments
Archwayin All Lit, Flash and Micro Fiction, Flash Fiction Month 2010
3 Comments
Octopus Tattooin All Lit, Flash and Micro Fiction, Flash Fiction Month 2010
7 Comments
All is Conflict Chapter 2.

Two men sit playing chess. They are arguing over the previous move. For one, this is part of the game. For the other, it is cheating. One says,
"All is conflict." The other one leaves.

Chapter 1.

Two men sit playing chess. One gets up and leaves. Above his fallen king, a crow squawks.

The crow flaps away and flies in wide circles over fields and hilltops and woods. It settles on another tree close to the edge of a forest.

Below, a boy on the cusp of adolescence stands with a toy bow and arrow in his hand. He is looking at a young girl sitting in another tree.
"I can become anything you want me to be," He says, "I can submiAll is Conflictin All Lit, Flash and Micro Fiction, Flash Fiction Month 2010
2 Comments
North Circular, Westbound Confused and bleeding, Ronnie and Helen fled the scene. They broke into a house so enormous that they couldn't find the light switch. Ronnie asked Helen for a glass of water. The taps didn't work. Neither did the TV. Exhausted, they fell onto a bed.

They awoke. Crowds were milling around, ignoring them. A man in a suit approached, saying:
"I'm the Officer for Wayward Spirits. I've come to escort you off the premises." They reached a warehouse where hundreds of people stood in lines.
"Is this queue for the afterlife?" Asked Ronnie.
"No," said the suit, "You're in Ikea."North Circular, Westboundin Flash Fiction Month 2010
4 Comments
Constructin Flash Fiction Month 2010
0 Comments
True Noirin All Lit, Flash and Micro Fiction, Flash Fiction Month 2010
0 Comments
The Dustbineer's Wifein All Lit, Flash and Micro Fiction, Flash Fiction Month 2010
2 Comments
Pornography of the Avant Garde Frank and Heather were art students. He wore creased shirts and ragged corduroys. His lank hair brushed against his eyelashes. She wore dungarees and had a pierced nose, her hair a rainbow by Schwarzkopf. They were adventurers. Thirsty for experience.

You are sitting in a theatre. The lights dim and the small crowd sighs with an expectant hush. Red velvet parts. On stage, there is a black screen lit by a small table lamp on the floor in front of it. Minutes pass. Boredom sets in. You fidget in your seat. You look at your watch. You begin to feel your eyelids getting heavier.

You are half aware of a soft androgynous voice emanating from behiPornography of the Avant Gardein All Lit, Flash and Micro Fiction, Flash Fiction Month 2010
6 Comments
A Troo Hastrae ae Macdonaldsin Flash Fiction Month 2010
6 Comments
Fenwick's Window In the back, back, back, way beyond, a boy stands at his bedroom window, staring out through shifting, spindled darknesses as the rain comes tumbling down. His name is Fenwick Hatton and he is thirteen years old. He does not see the bilious moon, nor the insulated glow of the clouds. He does not even see the raindrops flung against the glass only inches from his face.

Instead, he listens. He listens while, below, adults chatter and laugh. He can hear the clunking of their feet and the clinking of their cutlery. He hears the low, sonorous voices of the men and the high pealing chimes of the women. When, occasionally, he can make out words or Fenwick's Windowin Flash Fiction Month 2010
0 Comments
Haiku This Haiku - Oy vei!
It's like bottled spring water
Nought but packagingHaikuin All Lit
2 Comments
Dinner for Two You eat, thinking of your loved one. Where could she be tonight? What's holding her up this time? You miss her tender lips, her body, the taste of her.

"When did she say she'd get here?" You ask your host. "I'm terribly sorry, it's not like her to flake out two nights in a row."Dinner for Twoin Flash Fiction Month 2010
0 Comments
Tomorrow + Tomorrow + Tomorrow Concrete is cut in clean lines, from the old service path along which Man and Boy meander to the megalithic support structures of the motorway above them, and of course, the mighty road itself. The concrete, in truth, is far from clean, but in the dull orange glow of the evening it is transfigured into huge abstract slabs of black. Boy points up to the leviathan shape of the road, where sharp points of white light flash intermittently along its length, illuminating swirling gas clouds as far as the eye can see.
"What are those lights?" Asks Boy. Man looks up from fiddling with the mini-com on his belt and smiles, happy to be asked such a siTomorrow + Tomorrow + Tomorrowin Flash Fiction Month 2010
0 Comments
The Doctor is Inin All Lit, Flash and Micro Fiction, Flash Fiction Month 2010
2 Comments
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