The Truest Story of Romulus and Remus

Old heads on young shoulders, that’s what Uncle Faustulus said – didn’t he Remus?” The brother’s minds melded, in the way twin’s minds appear to do.

“Often so, Romulus. It was like he somehow knew we were destined for high achievements.”

The Writer noted the impressive, mountainous back-drop for the conversation and thought it appropriate.

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Reverse Following

(This was a light, short piece of creative writing I shared with others where I work, prompted by a photograph taken by http://zachrowlandson.com/)

Soho, London: It’s a little after midday, fairly busy, the lunch time attracting customers. It is also my first day as a newly qualified spy for MI6. During the morning, I’d blended effortlessly into the background. Or at least, I’d thought I had. Now I realise, this wasn’t the case.

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The New, New Normal.

“In case its passed anyone by,” Professor of Psychology Daniel Moccasin said, as he tapped the knuckles of his left hand against the wall-mounted presentation screen-still displayed in front of the small class, “things have changed. And by this, I mean things have changed again. We now face a new, new normal. One that no one could have predicted, not even if they’d had a crystal ball could they have done so, no…” He paused and looked around at the clueless expressions tied to the front of each student’s face. A hand went up, emerging confidently from the back row of the classroom. “Yes, Butterley, isn’t it? Stand up, what have you got to say for yourself?”

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Dead Giveaway

Alright, Oliver I am totally fed-up with this conversation.” Charlotte said, her smouldering eyes staring out one thousand yards across the vast void that was their marbled dining hall. Beyond the red Jarrah hardwood dinner table and chairs, the mirror-panelled wall reflected back her expression into Oliver’s view. He felt a twinge of sorrow for her, which he kept to himself.
“Great! I’m relieved, its felt like an intensive interrogation for over the last twenty minutes.”

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Bessie’s Aim

Bessie waited impatiently as the paper target neared her, carried along by the antiquated, creaky rope pulley-system. Meanwhile, a twisting plume of grey-coloured smoke wisped out slowly from the barrel of an H&K semi automatic Universelle Selbstladepistole Elite 45, left abandoned on the counter top before her.

As the light bulb overhanging her shooting booth flickered briefly, she heard movement coming from behind.

“Do you think – perhaps – that you might need glasses?” A male voice rang out into the desolate aural soundscape.

Startled, Bessie spun around aggressively, to find herself staring directly into the rich brown-coloured eyes of a man several units of measurement taller than herself. The stranger had a kindly face. Immediately, she believed his words of wisdom had emerged from an altruistic place, quite probably released from deep within his velvety heart.

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Katie and Bradley

Katie’s story:
“After we kissed for the very first time, I felt a little lighter, less blue than before. It was the first French kiss I’d ever experienced and admit, it’d seemed rather novel, leaving me feeling somewhat mysteriously stirred and happily bemused.”
Katie giggles.

Bradley’s story:
“When she agreed to a date, I determined in my mind that should she give consent, I would kiss her with my speciality, slow-repeater tongue-tip poke, kiss technique. I already knew it as a winner, with all the other girls I’d tried it on.”
Bradley beams.

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Dry Lips Kiss

As a spectacular, high summer holiday sunset splashed red across the sky, a glockenspiel-version of their joint favourite Ramones’ song played out from speakers, atop the departing ice cream van. However, already all was not as well as appearances might suggest, evidenced moments earlier outside the door to number 12A, Fulchester Lane.

Tom was no fool and had read a significance into their most recent kiss. If honest with himself, it’d begun to bug his brain. Managing only to poke his tongue into Brooklyn’s mouth for but a brief second or two, their dry lips parted, leaving him momentarily lost for words and uncertain what exactly to say next.

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Being Gay

Of course, we’d found much more to talk about than work. Then I’d let him see me home, that was my first mistake. We’d reached the door to my apartment and although it was late evening, the town lights had lit up the whole scene around us.
“Joshua.” I said, admiring his finely formed facial structure, responsible for a pair of prominent, killer cheekbones.
“Jakob?”
“Joshua, you-know I’ve had a great day, a great evening…” As I said those words, with the crashed intonation at the end of the sentence, I stood stock-still staring at Joshua, wondering. Did he fear what was coming next? Could I detect an outward appearance suggesting anticipatory dejection? I decided it best to press on. “A really, really great, fun time with you, Joshua. However, I am not the person you probably think I am, or perhaps had hoped me to be.” Still, his precise demeanour I could not decipher.
“You mean, you’re not actually gay, are you Jakob?”
Reading his expression in the light of the streetlamps, I came to understand Joshua as being a little ahead of me in the plot. This realisation left me somewhat taken aback, feeling foolish and naïve.
“How did you know?” I spluttered, “What we did together earlier, under the altar table in the church. This, followed by the restaurant meal afterwards and then the cocktails and dancing in that flashy, basement bar.” I quickly regathered my thoughts together. “When did you know? How exactly, did you work it out?”

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Frozen Ball

“Doctor, how do you expect me to take you seriously? It can’t be who you say it is.” Nurse Anna Kuznetsov declared. “It’s the year 1955, was he not supposed to have died nearly ten years ago to-the-day and in such a fashion as to leave no trace of his body?”

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