MicroFlashFiction - Short Stories and Experimental Narratives. '...my experimental approach to writing is suited to this medium...it's an odd kind of laughter sometimes...and it's always in the hidden places...(an ongoing series of) imaginative journeys into experimental fiction...' Writing Review, Q+A - 2024. Steve Coel
Here -
Where...slim concrete staircases funnel nervous jealous glances..
Where...starched wrinkled skin sticks to stretched bone..
Where...young people die old..
Where...unopened door fades into peeling brick and small bottled yard..
Where...glum dance patters aggressively on fractured acre..
is the place language comes to die.
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
Here -
Where...barber shop windows reflect passing stooped daytime..
Where...cheap toys are solitary on garden wall and stolen trolley..
Where...lost faces merge with elderly condemned brick..
Where...suspicious tin badge statements are worn like dismissed broken attitude..
Where...wild animals pass through broken door work place..
is the place language comes to die.
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
promise is a promise
today doorway long corridor
place used to be arcade not now
shops are long gone
roof caved in steel mesh windows
ripped out by scrappies
walls decorated courtesy
of local youth
no charge nice touch that
so you could say
it's quiet around this way
now there's nothing left to nick
council says places like this
is going to be developed we'll see
meantime it's where I comes
to spend my days
to finish jobs
I been doing during the night
I'll have finished in about
six months anyways
do what the fuck they wants then
all of them
and if they ever finds out
what I been hiding round here
won't be any comeback
promise is a promise
* Originally published: Tin Collector, 2015. An 11.59 Publication
Here -
Where...hammered workplace shoulders scratch tattoo vein..
Where...elevated mirror views reach into roped water..
Where...rapid stone road footstep signals are passed among rivals..
Where...casual shop window seats remain chained to suspicion and small debt..
Where...old newspapers stay untouched..
is the place language comes to die.
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
Here -
Where...recycled gloves spill glassed ale in corner seat of damp pop-up..
Where...grey cigarette stained trackies stand broken in cement bank shelter..
Where...midnight football is supported by passing runaways heading to early morning meal..
Where...cupped smoke and industrial strength poison cans work full-time to keep the cold out..
Where...sharp light slices into puddled indoor short-cut..
is the place language comes to die.
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
Recent MicroFlashFiction Stories
from
An 11.59 Publication
[ Enquiries - Steve Coel: Ingot Studios, Birmingham ]
***
Chewed up...Walled in Wasteland...Broken Light...Secret Keys...Push Chair...Welded Arm...Small Fish...Glass Light...Evenings Shadow...Plastic Shoes...Lost String...Tacky Metal...Dull Flowers...Sleeping Path...Dark Glass...Oiled Doorstep...Fuzzy Pictures...Passing Rumours...Rings on her fingers...Smells of Time...Local Trade...Small Pockets...Whistled Anger...Empty Chair...Half Stolen Buildings...Up at the Knock...The Right Shadow...Write with your Ears...Thin Whistle at Dawn...Prison Ship...Heathland Water...Early Shift...Empty Corners...Dead Trees...Small Country...Bitter Fingers...A Tram - to Nowhere...Robert Johnson: 1911 - 1938...Shopping Trolley...Heavy Locks...Sarn Elen...Arglwyddes y Lon...Solo Rooms...Fuzzy Pictures #2...Deaf Ears: Part 1 - 4...Fallen Brick...Today Not Tomorrow...Steel Mesh.
Illustrations / Images: Documentary Fiction Photography - An 11.59 Publication
Here -
Where...shaded front windows blank out screamed memory..
Where...watered gravel road hides handshake meeting..
Where...cheap endeavour is forced..
Where...emotion is mid-air and blank eyed..
Where...coat collar romance is early evening and drunk..
is the place language comes to die.
Here -
Where...flakey water and chipped clog merge into whispered avenues of nervous laughter..
Where...wrinkled hands, that snap splintered cotton sleeves, grip trolley and last nights hiding place..
Where...free newspapers haunt forgotten cold meals outside cracked broken shops..
Where...ringed fingers shadow lager bottle and small, tight fisted girlfriend..
Where...cheap vinyl mattress' sell dreamless arrival and soulless departure..
is the place language comes to die.
[ For Alan and Charlie ]
