bahern7

                                    When she got to Heaven, Diana Dashwood, daughter of the sky god, walked past the winepress—think beautiful angels dancing on grapes—to a small table where the bottles lay. The table had once belonged to Vincent Van Gogh. In Diana’s first paradisal impressions, this was how it seemed.   Maybe daughter of the sky god is a slight exaggeration; her father had been a big cloud in the city’s meteorological office; a dictatorial depressive, killed in the end by alcoholism.   Coming in, the whole business with Saint Peter at the gate had proved relatively straightforward. In fact, it was just like Diana always imagined it would be. The hallowed saint seemed eminently approachable, his manner not half as stern as his station might warrant. There was barely any gravitas whatsoever. In fact, he gave all the appearance of merely going through the motions. “En...

 

Hi, I've just put my latest story up on Amazon Kindle Direct (link below). It's called Tiredness Kills. Hope you'll enjoy it. Brian https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BKY5NYQL

I saw a man with a troubled mind Digging two graves by the roadside, He looked at me and I could see That in fact he was me, I threw his body into one of the graves Blessed myself and said 'Jesus saves', I stood staring down at the other pit And knew I had to climb into it. Chorus: When you go to seek revenge, Dig two graves, 'Cause it's you in the end  Are the one who pays. © Brian Ahern 2022

 

  In the country of Runway Four, in the north of Bludgeon City , just over the Regal Canal , the Lie District is found. If you drill down into it via Google Maps, your eyes fall on a vast warren of bleak houses, the layout broken in key parts by a grim prison, a mental institution, and a large Gothic cathedral, rebadged as Secular Hall. Nestled deep in this maze of misery is Rodent Street where lives a man of little renown and even less significance. He dwells in a pokey little room—his very own rathole—in a house of spartan flats. He is tall, fair-haired and twenty-five years old. His name is Grudge Galmount.                                                               *** Grudge was alone in the rathole with only his thoughts for company. His Spanish girlfriend, one Beatrice Marcos, was back in Madrid. The pair had enjo...

  The government newspapers—a daily tabloid and a broadsheet, The Orb and The Inquisitor —were open under their noses. Pictures of the exterior of the latest murder house, along with photographs of the victims extracted from their Asylum patient files, took prominence on the front pages. The headlines screamed: Butchery in Lie , Death in the Community , Fresh Murders , with the promise of more details and further pictures—shots of the butchered corpses—on the inside pages. As ever, the press had their sources, and a scurrilous police photographer had provided the goods. The fifteen minutes of morning break was almost up and by now an audible buzz was about the room on the subject of these murders most foul. People were animated by the heinous crimes. Joe and Mordechai began to vent on the topic, too. —“I hope they get the fucker soon,” was Grudge’s contribution to the discussion. “He must be one sick bastard! Look at the details, he chopped them to bits.” —“I wouldn’t count on the...

 

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In 1994 Colm O'Byrne lent me an issue of Time magazine to read on my tea break in the Apollo House canteen. I remember having my interest piqued by an article I found therein outlining the many wonderous possibilities that would soon emerge on what was referred to as the 'information superhighway', commonly known, as I write this in 2022, as the internet.  Nowadays, there is increasing talk about something referred to as the 'metaverse'. We are told it is in this metaverse we will live our future lives. I'm starting to believe it's going to take off and be as life-altering as the internet has proven to be. 28 years later, I'm feeling that same piquing of my interest about an emerging new world that I felt when Mr Blobby (O'Byrne's nickname) lent me that magazine in 1994.  © Brian Ahern 2022

READ ALL ABOUT IT! A Musical Son IS NOW ON Amazon!  LINK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09PKDZYTJ