Reflections in a Hubcap
Nonfiction, Entertainment, Drama, Anthologies, Fiction & Literature, Short Stories
| Author: | Steve Atkinson | ISBN: | 9781311640994 |
| Publisher: | David Vernon | Publication: | July 28, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Steve Atkinson |
| ISBN: | 9781311640994 |
| Publisher: | David Vernon |
| Publication: | July 28, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
Master story-teller, Steve Atkinson, showcases twenty-three of his best short stories in this clever anthology. Some tales are whimsically autobiographical while others visit the dark and murky places of the human mind. All are beautifully crafted and leave the reader with a thirst for more.
She lost her footing for a moment and watched, in a trance, as the slab of rudely disturbed granite plummeted three hundred feet into the dark, thunderous sea below. No sound reached her ears from its landing in the seething tempest that was the shoreline. She drew back from the edge, the chill of the night forcing her to draw her overcoat collar ever more tightly around her neck. It wasn’t just the night air. She recognised it for what it was: the clutch of fear.
— from "On the Rocks"
George sat on the circular water-bed, careful not to disturb the red and yellow rose petals he had ordered to be sprinkled on the eiderdown, over and between seven or eight sumptuous red cushions. He surveyed the room. Impressive. Two Regency chairs generously upholstered in green and, on the other side of the room, velvet curtained French Doors to a balcony.
He could see the ocean beyond and got to his feet to explore. He pictured her there by the balcony rail, her ready smile radiating warmth and intimacy, the soft breeze teasing her shoulder-length blonde hair.
— from "Falling for Charlie"
Gloomy posters broke up the monotony of the faded lime green walls, a pitiless gallery of medical advice ranging from How to Cope With an Epileptic Fit to Checking Bowel Movements. His eyes flitted from one depressing slogan to the next before alighting on the three other poor souls waiting blank-eyed to see the doctor. Elderly men, all; one was reading a Sunday Times supplement, with a picture of a smugly smiling George Bush on the front cover. Thank God, the world has turned a few pages since then, mused Johnson. The world may be sick and dying but at least the Land of the Free has finally stopped choosing its presidents on intellectual inability.
— from "Mustn't Grumble"
Master story-teller, Steve Atkinson, showcases twenty-three of his best short stories in this clever anthology. Some tales are whimsically autobiographical while others visit the dark and murky places of the human mind. All are beautifully crafted and leave the reader with a thirst for more.
She lost her footing for a moment and watched, in a trance, as the slab of rudely disturbed granite plummeted three hundred feet into the dark, thunderous sea below. No sound reached her ears from its landing in the seething tempest that was the shoreline. She drew back from the edge, the chill of the night forcing her to draw her overcoat collar ever more tightly around her neck. It wasn’t just the night air. She recognised it for what it was: the clutch of fear.
— from "On the Rocks"
George sat on the circular water-bed, careful not to disturb the red and yellow rose petals he had ordered to be sprinkled on the eiderdown, over and between seven or eight sumptuous red cushions. He surveyed the room. Impressive. Two Regency chairs generously upholstered in green and, on the other side of the room, velvet curtained French Doors to a balcony.
He could see the ocean beyond and got to his feet to explore. He pictured her there by the balcony rail, her ready smile radiating warmth and intimacy, the soft breeze teasing her shoulder-length blonde hair.
— from "Falling for Charlie"
Gloomy posters broke up the monotony of the faded lime green walls, a pitiless gallery of medical advice ranging from How to Cope With an Epileptic Fit to Checking Bowel Movements. His eyes flitted from one depressing slogan to the next before alighting on the three other poor souls waiting blank-eyed to see the doctor. Elderly men, all; one was reading a Sunday Times supplement, with a picture of a smugly smiling George Bush on the front cover. Thank God, the world has turned a few pages since then, mused Johnson. The world may be sick and dying but at least the Land of the Free has finally stopped choosing its presidents on intellectual inability.
— from "Mustn't Grumble"
