MicroFlashFiction: Half Stolen Buildings, Set - 3/6/2024

Roped Water - Steve Coel

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.

Evenings Shadow - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...narrow lane adventures are captured in muddy headlight and cry of tortured bird..

Where...broken lives are inherited..

Where...evenings shadow lies distressed on ripped rock and moss border..

Where...isolated youth walk through decades of frosted vision..

Where...small trees blanket fallen brick..

is the place language comes to die.

Sad Eyes - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...crowded thoughts are positioned above empty guide dog begging..

Where...plastic bag clumsiness shelters in fenced bus stop..

Where...glassed humour becomes bitter and sad-eyed..

Where...blistered wood window sills hold signed memories of yesterday's bargain..

Where...puddle damp trainers split through confused traffic..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings: Steve Coel, An 11.59 Publication

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

MicroFlashFiction: Half Stolen Buildings, Set - 20/5/24

Solo Rooms - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...plastic fairground jewelry lies chewed up..

Where...kerbstone wheels dawdle in tune with open door security..

Where...words spoken in jest between strangers are echoes of threat to local trade..

Where...shuttered motor industry is impatient and bolted into the fabric of labour..

Where...failure becomes habit..

is the place language comes to die.

Deaf Ear (Part 1) - Steve Coel

Here - 

Where...loyalty is sought and funded through dark glass..

Where...anger is buttery..

Where...doorstep begging is hasty and youthful..

Where...brave words are thrown away with cheap lager and soapy gritted water..

Where...curled up broken yard hideaways become legend..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography

Celf Stryd - Lloegr

An 11.59 Publication

MicroFlashFiction - Escape Bags

Escape Bags - Steve Coel

Here - 

Where...painted grief remains peeled along rubbished waterway..

Where...stabbed fist gestures halt illegal commerce..

Where...distorteding voices emerge from collapsed shop door crowd..

Where...coin bagged exchange between enemies is shaped by secret patterned movement..

Where...loose clothing slopes into hidden wood seeking instant escape..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography - Arbrofion

MicroFlashFiction - Etched Arm

Etched Arm - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...ripped memory is etched into electric wall..

Where...enveloped escape payments lie forgotten..

Where...plastic shopping bag purchase is photographed and questioned..

Where...traffic stamps impatiently along ditched street..

Where...broken fence literature is sprayed on machined older arm..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography - Arbrofion

MicroFlashFiction: Scratches jotted on car door handles, An 11.59 Publication

Scratches jotted on car door handles

Steve Coel

You walk ahead so you can keep an eye on his back. Even now when you've both been outside for six months and you're both still wearing trademark greys with parallel pockets and your newest clasps. Like all bad habits, is difficult to break. Of course we see your interesting walk straightaway. Looks like you're both walking at the same pace. But you isn't. It's a trick you'll need to learn and practice. Brings unneeded attention if you look like you're running, which you is really. Even so, you're brave. Have to be round this way.

Thing is you've both got to try harder to stop being this stupid. Although, fair does, everyone knows two heads is better than one. So well done there. And it's clear people have got to break you up if they're going to get the better deal. And that's how it always starts. Always. Takes three to break two and four to break three and so on. Is how wars start. So; twos easier to deal with. Trust like.

Documentary Fiction Photography (2024)

MicroFlashFiction: Stuff Outside, An 11.59 Publication

 

Stuff Outside

Steve Coel

Like looking out through the window I does. Looking out I sometimes wonder to myself what it must be like negotiating a way through all the stuff on the sidewalk. Bit of an adventure I suspect. We've had all sorts of complaints I'm telling you. Bruised knees is popular. Letters from council has finally stopped though. Owner will probably be pleased when I see him.

Still; we never have customers, so looking out the window gives me something to do while I wait to answer the phone and pass on the message. Doesn't really explain all the stuff outside the shop on the sidewalk though does it. Can't help wondering where it all comes from to be honest.

Documentary Fiction Photography (2024)

MicroFlashFiction: Tidal Movements, An 11.59 Publication

Tidal Movements

Steve Coel

Walking across the field that afternoon the man and his daughter had come upon the young man picking mushrooms. Greeting him simply, as was their way, they commented about the chill, damp day and continued on their walk. The younger man returned to his now shattered day dreaming while the man and his daughter concluded a queer conversation about the animals they had been carefully placing on the opposite side of the valley that morning.

Later that week, in the local newspaper, the man and his daughter spotted a picture of the same young man and a short report about his tragic accident at sea. They smiled at each other with relief, recalling precisely the words they'd spoken to him. They also spoke briefly and secretly about his sad ending, and then continued constructing their models for the valley.

Documentary Fiction Photography (2024)

MicroFlashFiction: Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel. Set 2 - 9/5/24

Set 2 -  Half Stolen Buildings

Dull Flowers

Here -

Where...yesterdays comical events sit buried in vintage blue cement..

Where...blistered streams fall into backyard carpet shed..

Where...dull flowers pilfer hedgerow litter..

Where...stoney engined vehicle bruises centre lane grass..

Where..weightless men saunter early into cotton hospital shroud..

is the place language comes to die.

Metallic Stumble

Here -

Where...straight talking is a cold charmless metallic click..

Where...wind launched building demolition scratches neighbourhood itch..

Where...stickered light falls on damp nylon shoe..

Where...last nights takeaway guides corner walled stumble..

Where...bitter smoke sticks to dark glass passenger..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction: Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel. Set 1 - 9/5/24

Set 1 - Half Stolen Buildings

Today not Tomorrow

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.

Broken Light

Here -

Where...tacky metal emblems cling to half shredded walls of distant commerce..

Where...fractured gang lines decide night time movement..

Where...waistcoat watches lie trapped in muddied brickwork..

Where...shallow drunk opinion dominates afternoon decision making..

Where...beauty is hooded..

is the place language comes to die.

Rattled Stride

Here - 

Where...bladed vape chatter tumbles into unlit corridor..

Where...sour heeled machinery lies idle..

Where...cracked glass memory leans into elbowed temper..

Where...crippled time shelters from hillside churched solitude..

Where...rusty thimble alcoholics drink cold cartons of charity coffee..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction: Market Dish

Market Dish - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...beggared coffee is alley fresh..

Where...small change cups are collected for market stall dish..

Where...sweeping eye line catches weak fumbled glass..

Where...failure becomes habit..

Where...folded arm argument frames evening entertainment..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography

Celf Stryd - Lloegr

An 11.59 Publication