Tag: Fiction

Victoriana 15

Tachybaptus, Going Postal


Chapter 15
The departure of the cart had not however, passed unnoticed; little Emmeline Trelawney had hardly been able to sleep, partly because of the excitement of being allowed to accompany her Papa and Mama to a Highland camp while her Papa was on active duty, but mainly because of the thought that soon she would be able to ride the delightful Shetland pony that her parents had bought for her to make up for the prolonged absence of her best friend Victoriana.
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Twenty Five, Part Two

Coloniescross, Going Postal

Twenty Five is a series of semi autobiographical short stories based on the life and times of a character I have chosen to call Colin Cross. Colin is partly a fiction, an amalgam if you like of a real person who has lived through turbulent times, combined with historical events and sometimes people that reflect these times and their influences. Some of the things portrayed as happening to Colin may well have happened to others and been witnessed by the author, others will be totally fictional constructs based on the writers knowledge and personal understanding of time and place.

Although the majority of the characters and places portrayed in these stories are based on real people and places some of the names have been changed for obvious reasons. Some of the stories which will feature have already appeared on Going Postal, most notably the Incarceration series, they will need to be rewritten but will contain the facts as first published.

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Victoriana 14

Tachybaptus, Going Postal


Chapter 14
Later that night, after a hearty supper of locally caught mackerel, the four were upstairs in Irving and Fingers’s room, trying to make sense of the day’s events.
Rusty spread out the documents he had taken from McHerring’s pea jacket. One of them was much thicker than the others, and opened out into a large map which showed Scotland, the north of Ireland, and Iceland. It was marked with numerous lines and two large and enigmatic circles.
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Victoriana 13

Tachybaptus, Going Postal


Chapter 13
After they had walked a couple of miles they sat down on a bank at the edge of the road for a rest. Victoriana laboriously unbuttoned her boots and rubbed her feet vigorously.
‘They do feel a little sore,’ she admitted to Irving.
At that moment, a horse pulling a cart loaded with bundles of straw came clopping smartly up the road behind them. Irving sprang to his feet and stepped out in front of it.
‘Hey, buddy, can ya give us a ride?’ he asked, startling the figure who had been lolling on his seat, seemingly relying on the horse to find its own way.
‘Mebbeasyerenoasassenach: whauryeboundthin?’ asked the driver.
Rusty got out his translator box and turned the little wheel.
‘Mebbeasyerenoasassenach: whauryeboundthin?’ said the box.
Irving grabbed it from him and gave it a sharp smack on the side of the cart, then turned the little wheel again.
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What Might Have Been, Part One

Cynic, Going Postal

King Philip of England

Yes, he was once King of England, although the English don’t much like to think of him in that way. The man who sent the famous Armada against England in 1588 (and several others at different dates) might still have been King had his wife Mary yet lived. The Historical and National Narratives, and his role in them might have been very different. Just think how history might have been different if Mary had borne him at least one child who survived, as she so ardently desired.

Let us imagine that Philip had a son. Why not call him Alexander? Supposing that Mary had died at the same time as in our version of history, Philip would have been left as Regent for his infant son, the putative successor to all the Habsburg domains. With Henry VIII and Charles V as his grandfathers he might even have been an imposing and successful conqueror. Alexander King of England and ruler of the Habsburg Empire. It was already an imposing Empire, comprising the kingdoms of Spain, to which Portugal was soon added, along with their overseas domains, the Netherlands, with most of Italy apart of the Papal States under its influence if not its direct rule, and closely associated with the Holy Roman Empire of the German states. Already it was the Empire on which the sun never set.

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Victoriana 12

Tachybaptus, Going Postal


Chapter 12
Rusty did not hesitate. With the briefest of glances at the map, he shouted ‘That one!’ and pointed at the easternmost of the three holes. Irving picked up Victoriana and Fingers seized Rusty, and they bolted for the geyser with Molotok’s gang in pursuit.
As they approached the hole, to their relief they saw a doorway in the wall with an iron door standing open, through which they flung themselves. Fingers slammed the door shut, dropped the bar to lock it, and looked around for a way of securing it more firmly.
There were rails running through the doorway, and inside was a small truck filled with broken stone. With a convulsive effort the four of them managed to get it moving down the slight slope towards the door. It crunched into the iron panels, which were already beginning to resound with the battering of Molotok’s men. Fingers spun the handwheel that applied the brakes, and Irving put stones under the wheels for good measure. ‘Dat’ll hold ’em f’r a bit,’ he said.
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War Crimes Part 6 – Morrison’s Story

Blown Periphery, Going Postal
“People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”

This is fiction. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is coincidental. The events outlined have never to my knowledge occurred.

Morrison came down to breakfast and looked at the offerings the Pacific Plaza hotel had laid out for their delectation. He baulked at the fried rice and eggs and knew that misery followed the consumption of the freshly peeled fruit on ice. He settled for white rolls and conserve. Even with the air conditioning, it was getting hot and immensely humid and it had rained for most of the night. He saw Mitchell dressed similarly to himself in a dark suit. Opel Canyon Securities insisted that all of its operatives dressed in dark suits for city business and airport runs, a lightweight linen suit for work in the field. Smart professionalism at all times. He joined Mitchell at the table and ordered coffee from the Philippino waitress, slightly puzzled.

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A Corbynesque Pact

Mr A, Going Postal

FX: SPOOKY MUSIC (THEREMIN etc). THEN A ROLLING CLAP OF THUNDER AND AN EVIL GHOULISH LAUGH.

CORBYN: Who’s that?
DEVIL: (Oily, sinister, unctuous): Hello Jeremy, surely you must remember me? Even with the rapturous reception your speech received at the Labour Party Conference, you can’t have forgotten our little deal all those years ago?
CORBYN: Oh, hello, Mr Mephistopheles. Or is it Mx Mephistopheles? I wouldn’t want to assume your gender. What can I do for you?
DEVIL: Well, I thought that would be rather obvious Jeremy, what with the ecstatic fervour that your millions of true believers received your rehashed plate of old Marxism, wouldn’t you?
JEREMY: What do you mean?
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Victoriana 11

Tachybaptus, Going Postal
Chapter 11
The temperature had been dropping rapidly for some time and the stowaways were shivering in their hideout.
‘Wadya reckon, Oiving? Guess we’re headin’ north much as east?’ suggested Fingers. ‘I t’ink I’ll try an’ get some coats fer us.’
He slipped silently out of the lifeboat, returning after a short interval with an armful of peajackets. Victoriana barely stifled a giggle as Rusty pulled on the huge warm coat and nearly disappeared from view.
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War Crimes Part 5 – Cynthia’s Story

Blown Periphery, Going Postal

This is a work of fiction and depicts a London that no longer exists. Thank goodness that the nation’s capital is now such a diverse and culturally enriched metropolis of civilization.

On a day in April 1977, the same day that German Federal Prosecutor Siegfried Buback and his driver were shot by two Red Army Faction members in Karlsruhe, a young woman left Tottenham Court Underground Station and walked down Soho Street to Soho Square. The Curzon Cinema on Shaftsbury Avenue was showing “The Eagle Has Landed.” The private cinema on Romilly Street was showing “Swedish Nympho Slaves.” A cold front had moved south with accompanying winds, but the streets were dry and her overcoat blew open. She was wearing a short skirt and diaphanous blouse. The cold wind was nipple stiffening.

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