All stories

Too Savage

by unknown....

With hindsight, perhaps my response was extreme, possibly unethical. It confirmed though that I am not to be trifled with.

Three years ago, I woke suddenly to the sound of Blue, my normally good-natured canine, growling fiercely. Adrenaline surging, all thoughts of sleep banished, I got up to investigate what had alarmed him. On opening my bedroom door, two things struck me – firstly, I did not remember leaving the yellow night light on and secondly, I could hear footsteps from downstairs. I lived alone, with the dog next to me, remaining vigilant with his sharp, white teeth on show. “Go!” I commanded. He ran, snarling and barking as he rushed down the curve of the stairs. I remained upstairs, fighting the urge to follow, and wincing as the fight started – the growls offset against the swearing and the crashing. It sounded like Blue was winning but I was uncertain, holding my breath. I rasped an overdue inhalation as I heard footsteps running to the back door, accompanied by the clatter of Blue’s claws on the wooden flooring. A sudden silence. Then happier paw-steps trotted their way back to me; a bloodied, torn cloth proudly presented as a trophy – presumably from the intruder’s clothing. Blue had performed marvellously as a guardian, protecting me and our territory. I had never been more impressed. I packed the bloodied cloth into a sealable plastic bag as I called 999 to report the burglary and the few items of plunder the perpetrator had managed to escape with. They were of no value, not even sentimentally. I was offended more by the invasion, the violation of the crime than the losses incurred.

Back then, I was a practicing dentist. That morning I reached my offices in time for my first patient, due in for a root canal; a potentially excruciating operation if the pain management medicine was incorrectly injected. Rodgers arrived a few minutes late and clearly in some discomfort from a poorly bandaged wrist, patches of blood oozing through. “Oh my! What happened? Let me clean that for you and bandage it properly.” “Thanks” he hissed, wincing as I stripped the cotton from his arm “Damn dog bit me last night. Reckon it’s infected.” “I agree. I think you need to go and see your doctor; it looks nasty. You must have been up to no good to receive a mauling like that.” I joked as I completed cleaning and wrapping his wound. “But it will wait for a couple of hours – as you’re here anyway, let’s get on with your treatment. “Now lean back, relax – this won’t hurt a bit” I reassured him as I injected the pain medicine, missing the inferior alveolar nerve. “Funnily enough, my dog bit someone last night, a trespasser who broke into my home. The police are on their way here to interview me once we’re done here.” I continued innocently, relishing watching the colour drain from his face as the precariousness of his situation slowly began to register.

Too Savage

by unknown....

With hindsight, perhaps my response was extreme, possibly unethical. It confirmed though that I am not to be trifled with.

Three years ago, I woke suddenly to the sound of Blue, my normally good-natured canine, growling fiercely. Adrenaline surging, all thoughts of sleep banished, I got up to investigate what had alarmed him. On opening my bedroom door, two things struck me – firstly, I did not remember leaving the yellow night light on and secondly, I could hear footsteps from downstairs. I lived alone, with the dog next to me, remaining vigilant with his sharp, white teeth on show. “Go!” I commanded. He ran, snarling and barking as he rushed down the curve of the stairs. I remained upstairs, fighting the urge to follow, and wincing as the fight started – the growls offset against the swearing and the crashing. It sounded like Blue was winning but I was uncertain, holding my breath. I rasped an overdue inhalation as I heard footsteps running to the back door, accompanied by the clatter of Blue’s claws on the wooden flooring. A sudden silence. Then happier paw-steps trotted their way back to me; a bloodied, torn cloth proudly presented as a trophy – presumably from the intruder’s clothing. Blue had performed marvellously as a guardian, protecting me and our territory. I had never been more impressed. I packed the bloodied cloth into a sealable plastic bag as I called 999 to report the burglary and the few items of plunder the perpetrator had managed to escape with. They were of no value, not even sentimentally. I was offended more by the invasion, the violation of the crime than the losses incurred.

Back then, I was a practicing dentist. That morning I reached my offices in time for my first patient, due in for a root canal; a potentially excruciating operation if the pain management medicine was incorrectly injected. Rodgers arrived a few minutes late and clearly in some discomfort from a poorly bandaged wrist, patches of blood oozing through. “Oh my! What happened? Let me clean that for you and bandage it properly.” “Thanks” he hissed, wincing as I stripped the cotton from his arm “Damn dog bit me last night. Reckon it’s infected.” “I agree. I think you need to go and see your doctor; it looks nasty. You must have been up to no good to receive a mauling like that.” I joked as I completed cleaning and wrapping his wound. “But it will wait for a couple of hours – as you’re here anyway, let’s get on with your treatment. “Now lean back, relax – this won’t hurt a bit” I reassured him as I injected the pain medicine, missing the inferior alveolar nerve. “Funnily enough, my dog bit someone last night, a trespasser who broke into my home. The police are on their way here to interview me once we’re done here.” I continued innocently, relishing watching the colour drain from his face as the precariousness of his situation slowly began to register.

Too Savage

by unknown....

With hindsight, perhaps my response was extreme, possibly unethical. It confirmed though that I am not to be trifled with.

Three years ago, I woke suddenly to the sound of Blue, my normally good-natured canine, growling fiercely. Adrenaline surging, all thoughts of sleep banished, I got up to investigate what had alarmed him. On opening my bedroom door, two things struck me – firstly, I did not remember leaving the yellow night light on and secondly, I could hear footsteps from downstairs. I lived alone, with the dog next to me, remaining vigilant with his sharp, white teeth on show. “Go!” I commanded. He ran, snarling and barking as he rushed down the curve of the stairs. I remained upstairs, fighting the urge to follow, and wincing as the fight started – the growls offset against the swearing and the crashing. It sounded like Blue was winning but I was uncertain, holding my breath. I rasped an overdue inhalation as I heard footsteps running to the back door, accompanied by the clatter of Blue’s claws on the wooden flooring. A sudden silence. Then happier paw-steps trotted their way back to me; a bloodied, torn cloth proudly presented as a trophy – presumably from the intruder’s clothing. Blue had performed marvellously as a guardian, protecting me and our territory. I had never been more impressed. I packed the bloodied cloth into a sealable plastic bag as I called 999 to report the burglary and the few items of plunder the perpetrator had managed to escape with. They were of no value, not even sentimentally. I was offended more by the invasion, the violation of the crime than the losses incurred.

Back then, I was a practicing dentist. That morning I reached my offices in time for my first patient, due in for a root canal; a potentially excruciating operation if the pain management medicine was incorrectly injected. Rodgers arrived a few minutes late and clearly in some discomfort from a poorly bandaged wrist, patches of blood oozing through. “Oh my! What happened? Let me clean that for you and bandage it properly.” “Thanks” he hissed, wincing as I stripped the cotton from his arm “Damn dog bit me last night. Reckon it’s infected.” “I agree. I think you need to go and see your doctor; it looks nasty. You must have been up to no good to receive a mauling like that.” I joked as I completed cleaning and wrapping his wound. “But it will wait for a couple of hours – as you’re here anyway, let’s get on with your treatment. “Now lean back, relax – this won’t hurt a bit” I reassured him as I injected the pain medicine, missing the inferior alveolar nerve. “Funnily enough, my dog bit someone last night, a trespasser who broke into my home. The police are on their way here to interview me once we’re done here.” I continued innocently, relishing watching the colour drain from his face as the precariousness of his situation slowly began to register.

Too savage

by unknown....

With hindsight, perhaps my response was extreme, possibly unethical. It confirmed though that I am not to be trifled with.

Three years ago, I woke suddenly to the sound of Blue, my normally good-natured canine, growling fiercely. Adrenaline surging, all thoughts of sleep banished, I got up to investigate what had alarmed him. On opening my bedroom door, two things struck me – firstly, I did not remember leaving the yellow night light on and secondly, I could hear footsteps from downstairs. I lived alone, with the dog next to me, remaining vigilant with his sharp, white teeth on show.

“Go!” I commanded. He ran, snarling and barking as he rushed down the curve of the stairs. I remained upstairs, fighting the urge to follow, and wincing as the fight started – the growls offset against the swearing and the crashing. It sounded like Blue was winning but I was uncertain, holding my breath. I rasped an overdue inhalation as I heard footsteps running to the back door, accompanied by the clatter of Blue’s claws on the wooden flooring. A sudden silence. Then happier paw-steps trotted their way back to me; a bloodied, torn cloth proudly presented as a trophy – presumably from the intruder’s clothing. Blue had performed marvellously as a guardian, protecting me and our territory.

I had never been more impressed.

I packed the bloodied cloth into a sealable plastic bag as I called 999 to report the burglary and the few items of plunder the perpetrator had managed to escape with. They were of no value, not even sentimentally. I was offended more by the invasion, the violation of the crime than the losses incurred.

Back then, I was a practicing dentist. That morning I reached my offices in time for my first patient, due in for a root canal; a potentially excruciating operation if the pain management medicine was incorrectly injected.

Rodgers arrived a few minutes late and clearly in some discomfort from a poorly bandaged wrist, patches of blood oozing through.

“Oh my! What happened? Let me clean that for you and bandage it properly.”

“Thanks” he hissed, wincing as I stripped the cotton from his arm “Damn dog bit me last night. Reckon it’s infected.”

“I agree. I think you need to go and see your doctor; it looks nasty. You must have been up to no good to receive a mauling like that.” I joked as I completed cleaning and wrapping his wound. “But it will wait for a couple of hours – as you’re here anyway, let’s get on with your treatment.

“Now lean back, relax – this won’t hurt a bit” I reassured him as I injected the pain medicine, missing the inferior alveolar nerve. “Funnily enough, my dog bit someone last night, a trespasser who broke into my home. The police are on their way here to interview me once we’re done here.” I continued innocently, relishing watching the colour drain from his face as the precariousness of his situation slowly began to register.

Only work

by Dan

Eva passed the Hermes bags. Each cost $70000 dollars on its own. She wondered how many of the First Lady’s flunkies had been involved in the packing.

Her parents had known her family back in Slovenia and they were the same age. Now here they both were, on the other side of the world, one a cleaner and the other the “FLOTUS” (which Eva had thought was a Chinese flower). They looked nothing alike, Eva was short and stout with big eyebrows. “A real fucking woman” Luka had said “not a skinny-boned slut”. He was kind despite his language which is why she’d married him.

She had worked here for eight years but had never spoken to Melania. As a cleaner your job is to be invisible. It was dangerous to strike up conversations with the First Family. Once, she’d received an empathetic glance from Michelle Obama or “Your big black friend” as Luka now referred to her, lasciviously.

He was very interested in Eva’s work at The White House. It was just cleaning like anywhere else, she’d explained, but with more security. Eva knew that the moment where her own family’s American Dream came true was some way off.

Melvyn the lift operator was running a sweepstake on Melania’s future. It was odds-on a divorce he thought. Did you ever see the couple together?

And what of Trump? This yellow-haired old man who bellowed like a baby when his dentist gave him a filling. His bad teeth were deserved thought Eva, she was forever clearing his coke and burger cartons from the floor. He ate like a pig.

He had once heard her accent and asked why she wasn’t American. She’d thought she’d be sacked and wondered if he ever asked the same of Melania Knavs from Novo Mesto. Luckily he’d been distracted and she’d stayed out of his way since.

Eva went to the cleaning cupboard and removed her tabard, pausing for a moment’s rest inside the warm coccoon. Her knees felt the strain of a lifetime of hard floors.

A strange sound was emanating from the president’s dressing room next to the cupboard. Eva pressed her eye to the eyehole which had been gouged by her colleagues to see if they could see the president “hiding his sausage”. (So far there had been nothing to report.)

The first thing Eva noticed was that the president’s own bags had been ripped open violently and their contents, his clothes, slashed and scattered. Dozens of overlong red ties, were strewn around like security tape.

Then she saw the president himself, standing in the middle of the wreckage, naked apart from his red baseball hat, a pair of briefs and black shoes. Orange make-up was smeared across his cheeks. With a golf club in his hands he was attacking a line of porcelain cups with the desperate slashes of a man who’s been stuck in a bunker for hours. Between shots he blubbered to himself like a broken-hearted seal.

Eva removed her eye from the hole with a mixture of reluctance and relief and returned to the corridor. Her shift was finished. Next time she came the Bidens would be here. She was interested to hear Luka’s views on them. But not that interested. After all it was only work.

Overheard

by Jenny

You’d be surprised to hear the sorts of things people talk about when they’re nervous. Some of them go all tight-lipped and silent, others seem to think that, because you’re sitting behind a desk, you somehow can’t hear them and they discuss the most bizarre things. I mean I’m never listening, but you can’t help hearing can you?

Usually it’s because they’re nervous. No-one enjoys having the insides of their face prodded and pulled and scraped and scrutinised do they? And there’s always that fear that they’ll need something done. So they babble. I could write a novel with all the stories I’ve overheard in this job.

Like this one chap, came in with his lad who must’ve been about ten. He was so pale he was practically green. Now I’d seen this lad every six months since he was about five and he was always good as gold. Name was Lee and come to think of it, I’d seen his Dad in here every six months since he was more or less the same age as well.

They signed their names in the book and sat down just over there to wait. The Dad wouldn’t shut up.

“Now you need to be a brave boy, Lee. I don’t want any tears because you’re too big for that now. I remember once I had to have a filling. Know what a filling is? It’s when they drill right into your tooth and then fill it back up with metal. You get them if you have too many of those sweets you’re always eating. But before they drill you they stick this big needle into your gums.”

The kid’s eyes went wide and he stared at his Dad.

“Only the numbing stuff didn’t work did it? And then he came at me with his enormous drill and his pliers and I didn’t make one sound.”

“Do they really use drills in your mouth, Dad?”

“You bet they do. And sometimes he gets the scraper out…”

By this point Lee was shaking. I could see that he was terrified. The worst bit was that his Dad could see it too - and he was enjoying it.

Then I remembered something.

“Lee Davies? There’s a form here I need you to fill in for me. No need for you to come Mr Davies, just Lee.”

Lee walked over to the reception desk, ashen faced. As he leaned in I whispered in his ear.

“Now I’ve been a receptionist here for a very long time and I remember the time your Dad had his filling. Let me tell you - not only did he cry like a baby, but he was so scared he wet himself and had to come out into the packed waiting room with his jeans all wet and stained yellow.”

The kid gave a shocked giggle.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise, and if your Dad says anything different, you tell him to come see me and I’ll remind him of a few things, alright?”

Lee didn’t say anything, just went and sat down again by his Dad. But when the assistant called him he went off with a little smile at the corner of his mouth.

And the tongue

by James

Edward was a nice kid, quick with a smile, quick to crack a joke. All in all, one of the better grade of assholes that haunted Stu’s life, which made it a real shame that he was up on the bridge over the river having his forehead hit repeatedly against the stonework.

Stu was standing a couple of feet away, smoking his cigarette and looking out over the river. He liked the cool feel of the night air, how fresh and clean it felt in between drags on his cigarette. Each dull meat slap was followed by Arnie asking the kid a different question – you get it now, why we don't cut rocks? Stu couldn’t see the point in Arnie wasting his breath, the kid too dazed to do anything but mumble.

‘I think he gets it,’ Stu said.

Arnie smiled thinly. ‘Just making sure.’ He grunted with the effort of laying into the kid one more time. Arnie lit up, came over to join Stu in looking over the river. They smoked in silence for a minute.

‘Boss said to make sure he gets the message,’ Arnie said.

‘He also said not to send him to the dentist.’

‘Hey, if a job’s worth doing.’ Arnie flicked his cigarette butt into the darkness then wheeled around lazily to where Edward was flapping his arms feebly. Arnie kicked the kid's legs apart, then packed another one on the guy, right in the balls.

‘Bernice not up for it at the moment,’ Arnie said. "So why should this dink get his rocks off?’

‘You guys know what you're having yet?’

‘Please God, a boy.’

They both smoked another each, talking about the ball game, then Arnie wrinkled up his nose at the smell. Steam was rising from the dark patch of yellow spreading from Edward's crotch.

Arnie began to laugh. ‘Kid's pissed himself.’

Stu didn’t think it was all that funny, especially given the way the kid's hands were twitching, how his tongue was hanging out and how he was drooling.

‘I think you hit him too hard,’ Stu said.

‘No way. Front of your skull, toughest part.’

‘Tougher than stone?’

The shaking was getting worse, the kid’s tongue still hanging out, Stu not thinking to do anything about that till after the kid bit it and sent blood washing down his chest

‘Shit,’ Arnie said. He began to grin again. ‘His girl will be pissed, can't even eat her out now.’

They both drew back as the kid's feet started kicking.

‘You're clearing this mess up,’ Stu said.

‘Nae problemo laddie.’

Arnie went for the feet, the farthest point from the cappuccino mouth, tugging at the boots, getting the legs up and over the side of the bridge, pulling further until the kid was balancing on his butt, back hanging in mid-air, blood still dripping.

‘You want to say anything?’ Arnie said.

‘Just do it.’

‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,’ Arnie said, leaning over the side bridge, tugging the kid’s belt till he was past the tipping point. ‘We commit the body of this sinner’ – he paused for the splash, grinning about it – ‘to the loving warmth of your side.’ He looked round at Stu. ‘Happy?’

‘And the tongue,’ Stu said.

Fromage Pas

by Russ

‘You’ve made a wonderful meal, Mr Wilkinson,’ I said, trying not to get my nose too brown.

‘Daddy cooked for Prince William at University, didn’t you?’ Nikki added from across the table, delicately dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

I looked at her, a perfectly poised paragon, and thought about the first night we met. I’d nipped out to Ged’s garden for a break from the party, and there she was. Her yellow dress was so ripped it barely held on. She knelt in the boggy ground astride the chest of some girl she had pinned. There was mud splattered to her elbows and a thick streak across her mouth where she’d wiped the back of her hand. She had a pair of scissors in one hand, a bottle of tequila in the other, and she cackled as she hacked chunks of hair from the head of her victim, who at this point was simply sobbing into the night.

‘He always said I should marry a prince, isn’t that right?’ Nikki doubled down on her Daddy’s Girling. Mr Wilkinson looked toward me with disdain as he laid a cheese player on the table.

Lightning had the next moment in that garden, and the dark clouds burst, which Nikki took as her cue to end the assault. She grabbed a handbag from the mud, packed the scissors and a fistful of severed hair into it, and walked directly towards me. Five minutes later we were destroying Ged’s little sister’s bedroom, ruining her Frozen™ bedcovers with mud, red wine, and at least three different bodily fluids. I’ll never forget the look Olaf gave me as Nikki screeched and bit deep into my shoulder, his snow-white body now matted with Merlot and soil.

‘You don’t need a prince, dear,’ her father spoke as he led the delicate adding of cheese to cracker. ‘A lawyer or a doctor will do just fine.’ He laughed, the way I imagined a horse might.

‘What about a dentist, Daddy?’ Nikki said, clacking her teeth together as if to clarify what she was talking about.

‘So long as they’re private!’ Mr Wilkinson answered in a beat, which, judging by their joint reaction, was quite hilarious.

I took a knife to help myself to cheese as I thought about how only twenty-four hours before I’d seen this Victorian doll order a steak blue and proceed to pick it up to eat directly out of her hands, pink blood dripping over her chin as she did.

I felt the room go cold as the memory dissolved, it happened so quickly I froze with it, freshly cut cheese still on the end of my knife.

‘I think you should leave,’ Mr Wilkinson said, and it didn’t sound like a joke. I looked to Nikki, she dropped her eyes to the table in what looked like shame.

‘I will not have the sort of savage who cuts the nose off cheese at my table, or anywhere near my daughter,’ he added flatly, before rising to show me the door.