Tag Archives: story

A seat

The bench, old and worn, was cold to the touch through the wool of my trousers

Hi

I could see a line of grime etched into the lines beneath her face as she looked up from her can and threw the shortest of dirty looks expertly mingled with a sound mixture of disinterested distain

Sometimes no doesn’t have to be put Into words or perhaps a look is the strongest no

Still and all it’s not a bad day all things considered

The look again this time I noticed a bunch of her hair stuck together with blood or sweat or vomit or whatever sticks hair together when a member of the human fraternity doesn’t get to avail of the washing facilities of a day or even a month

You can go fuck of if you think you getting something out of me I’m no hooker

I’m no punter either

Good cos I’m particular about who I be having the fun with

Me too

Yeah right

Yeah right exactly

Don’t be getting fucking smart you fucker

I just saying I not into hookers

You should be

Ah here

Well the state of you with the head on you and that Gammy eye and you look like your mother picked out the clothes. Is that wool?

Feck sake you’re worst than a commentator on one of them shows

What shows

You know the xfactor bollixology

Here listen don’t be using that kind of language in front of a Lady

Fair enough

And a slow breeze trailed across our path while we both looked on at the city passing by. a quietness in the kaleidoscope of hustle

You know no one talks as they walk

I looked up and listened and watched

Your man over there is talking on his phone

I thought I told you not to be a wise fucker

You only mentioned being a smart one

Whatever. He is on a phone that don’t count

Why not

It just doesn’t

Why

Cos it’s like the mad cunts who talk to themselves it’s not real talking it’s just pretend chitter chatter

I see what you mean

About the phone

No about them not talking they just are all rushing

Yeah

Yeah

Have you a light

Have you a fag

Yeah

Right then

And I saw her eyes were brown when she held the flame

She would have been a beautiful daughter to some Da a long time ago

She held the smoke deep inside, feeling it’s warmth before slowly releasing it back into the world

I better make a move

She nodded and looked back down

I touched her shoulder gently when i stood, the briefest of contacts; she didn’t react, maybe she hadn’t noticed

I walked on with out a word been uttered to a soul, a member once more of the rushing throngs

(C) frankie mcgivney

Just a random story of top of my head I hope it reads okay. The words I love to write

the coal man calleth

The coal man calls (for once a true story)

there you are
hows it going
grand
I’ve given up the wood
have you now
yeah
must have been a pain in the arse going around to a heap of houses
tell me about it, head melting boss
so what you at
I have something in the back of the van
have you now
I do
i’m not buying anymore pots
that’s was the Christmas special
lovely
pat bring up the chainsaw
ah here steady on I was only messing
no its a lovely chainsaw
pat hold on there now
pat get out the chainsaw
honest to god pat leave the chainsaw where it is
you can have it cheap
look at me
you what
what would I do with a chain saw
cut stuff
I’ve nothing worth cutting
270 euro its a grand chainsaw pat turn it on there for the man
listen I wouldn’t know one end of a chainsaw from another
are you sure its great value
honest
what about the path there
you couldn’t use a chainsaw on concrete
no cleaning
you’re alright
I’d do a lovely job
but its spotless
no its not
you cant see it when the car is parked up
i’ll throw in the chainsaw
stop it
and a set of knives
cut it out will you
how about socks and boots
I still have the boots from last year
I have lovely socks
pat grab a pack of socks
I still have the packet from two years ago
you mustn’t clean the feet to often
its was a 20 pack
are you sure
the wife thought I was setting up a sock shop when I brought them home the time
these are great ones
the last ones left the feet black with bits of stuff
ah those ones
yeah those ones
come on pat we’re going
see you later
go on see you around

The Hospital

“Just a private joke about my neighbours, don’t mind me” replied Patsy. The poor auld fecker he said to himself as the look of bewilderment on the surgeon’s face revealed the mystery. It was his eyes, one was going one way and the other was going the other, that must be a shocking hard thing to live with, he mused, there wouldn’t be many women would stand within a mile of the likes of that kind of disability, well not in a loving kind of way anyway.

“Okay well it is in fact our job to mind you. Don’t worry you are in the best hospital in Ireland. Your operation is scheduled for first thing in the morning, after it is finished you will be brought back to the neuro ward. You will have to stay a number of days for observation”

“That’s great” Patsy was in fact delighted to finally been treated for his crushed vertebrae, he had lost all power in his left hand and the right one was starting to malfunction as well.

“We will leave you with the nurse and I will see you in the morning, good night Patrick”. The surgeon said to him looking at him with the one eye and nodding to his merry crew to get out, with the other. Sweet dreams and don’t let the bed bugs bite Patsy finished in his head.

“Thanks Doctor, good night to you too.” He said realising he was also looking in two directions at the same time. Jaysus he said to himself aren’t I a shocking gob-shite, I forgot I have the same ailment myself. I better not tell anyone I forgot about it. But it’s easy to forget something when it’s the one thing which you can never see yourself. It’s the same as a woman having a big arse, they can only see a quarter of it at any one time themselves and don’t realise it’s only the tip of the iceberg. A level of sadness descended on him, as the truth, of what he had been thinking about the surgeon’s life, hit him as applying to himself too. His life had been pretty lonely but he had managed to block the speech impediment and the eyes out of his mind in the interests of sanity. It was only at times like this, he realised why women who had returned his smile usually then turned their eyes away.

“Are you okay?” A male voice interrupted his silence, instantly sending the mad thoughts back behind his sanity barrier, into the deep place where they lay forgotten, until the next time.

He hadn’t noticed them all filing out of the make-do tent, until Patsy and the nurse were left alone. He had never felt such disappointment in all of his life. He stared at the evening shadow and listened to the not quite deep enough voice of the male nurse. It was bad enough having to put life on hold to go into the hospital, but to not at least get a female nurse to root at you, well now it was just on the wrong side of injustice. He wasn’t fussy, any cut of a female would do, it wasn’t like he would be sharing the bed with her and he wasn’t some cut of a pervert but any man could do with the comforting nature of a woman, when you were about to have some foreign lad pull your neck apart and start beating into your bones with a hammer and a chisel. All he wanted to do was listen to her voice, feel the heat of her close to him and languish in the sweet musk of her perfume. Then maybe of a chance, perhaps a man might be fortunate enough to even get a glance, at the hint of a boob pressed beneath the linen of her white uniform. But sweet mercy he had instead ended up stuck been interrogated and probed at by a nurse with a flat chest and more hairs than a fecking orang-utan. Perhaps the unusual son of that auld Biddy, with the loud voice, would be interested in his big red head and bog Irish accent but Patsy Reilly was far from impressed.

“My name is John, I am your nurse who will be taking care of you tonight” the man who should have been a woman, said with a smile that needed a shave.

“Nice to meet you John” Patsy replied as the Irish desire to be polite overpowered his disappointment. You had to make do with whatever meal the devil served you up of a day, no matter who unpalatable or disappointing it happened to be.

(C) Francie McGivney 04.06.15

she left of a sunday

She left of a Sunday

Hello is there anyone there

Up here paddy

Is Mary about

No she went out.

Right

Make yourself a cup of tea,

Sound

Make me one too will you

Right, I didn’t see you at mass on Sunday

No I wasn’t able to get away.

Right you are, it wasn’t much good anyway

Come on up, drop of milk and one of them sugar cubes

Where are you

in the bedroom

Hi , that’s looks uncomfortable

Ah you get used to it.

Will I leave down the tea

No no give me a sup of it. Hold it there for me

Right you are

Jaysus that’s some weather hah, no wonder you’re in the nip

true, that’s a lovely cup of tea

So Mary she isn’t about

No she went out.

And left you there

Yeah she said she would be back soon

Ah fair enough so.

You wouldn’t throw the quilt over me there.

Right did she leave the keys to them

I don’t know I’m not sure.

Your hands look a bit pale.

Ah they’re grand

Fair enough are they regulation issue

She got them at a party

Ah right, I heard of those ones, the bolde Maggie ryan holds them

So was there many there

Half the women of the parish

No, at the mass

Quiet enough, loads at the early one for the match

The Usual

Yeah the usual

Give me another sup of the tea

That’s a fair small one you have there

What

You know your weaponry

Ah right

Never grew for you then

Nah that’s the length of it

Right so mary’s left then

She said she’d be back

Right so will I leave you to it

Yeah fair enough

See you then

Good luck

When did she leave by the way

Oh Sunday

Sunday, that two days ago.

Well you know yourself Sunday is fun day

Fun day?

Yeah you know, rolly polly day

Ah right, Sunday, sure that’s right

Right

Right do you think she will come back

She usually does

Has she gone before

Ah yeah, regular

Ah right

Right

Good luck then

Bye thanks for calling, give Josie my best

Fair enough

a paragraph I wrote and i just liked the sound of it

The only time he actually did bring us to talk to a man about a dog, he brought Nan along with him. We ended up in the cow dung splattered yard of some cottage up the hills half way between the middle of nowhere and the end of the road. There was the pure sickening smell of dogs mixing with the bovine excrement, filling the air with an intoxicating mixture. We all bundled out of the car on to a driveway where the once solid concrete was chipped and lying as dust on the ground waiting for a wind or a splash of rain to take away. The cottage was in a state of disrepair beyond anything imaginable by a person from outside of the rural way of thinking where a caravan with a rusted roof and no running water was a grand spot to live. However it lay in the league of a palace compared to the out buildings which had the appearance of a site which had been hit by a stray bomb from world war two, most likely from a German plane which had been flown across the whole of England by a pilot with bad eyesight and a dodgy aim, who upon seeing the state of the cottage decided he would do the world a favour by cleaning up a tiny bit of the world by way of dropping a bomb on it. Thick Ivy shimmered with the rhythmic motion of a huge wave of green leafs which had settled over the walls of the farm and had forgotten to ebb back out to sea. Nature came to teach me a lesson of what truly lay in the surrounding shadows when the brother shoved me into the embrace of a thicket of its stems. I came out covered in spiders, the whole wall was a breeding ground for a malignant looking population of eight legged hairy creatures of nightmarish countenance. My fear of tearing down the Ivy which in my mind appeared to act as the mortar  holding the walls up was lost in the realisation I wouldn’t in fact be killed by the falling rubble but instead there was a distinct possibility of me been eating alive. The family who were meant to love me laughed in a most unsympathetic way as I jumped around the yard beating of spiders who seemed determined to cling to their newly discovered residence.

Walk the path

It was already past midnight when the howling came over the radio . I looked at its pink plastic and shivered. A pain spread from my arm to to my chest and gripped me with all its ugly teeth. I could feel the sofa wet beneath as the salty smell of me connected me to its material. Then it was gone and so was I. Floating above my body thinking I like looked alright for an auld fella. The light in the tunnel would have blinded me a minute before but now it was just a feeling rather then a physical sight. Across this bridge I walked in a state of contentment. The three spirits whispered in my mind while below the fire burnt warning me of the impending torture

Small minds big ideas

What’s she doing in there
Why does she never smile
You know the lights are never on at night
She has a big box in her kitchen
What’s she making with those tools
Why doesn’t she like the men that pass her by
She never smiles at them
What’s wrong with her
Does she think she’s too good.
Why does she not understand
Is she from here
What will we do with her
Should we string her up
What’s she doing in there
They’re funny noises from the bedroom
Weird noises not natural
She isn’t ugly you know
She could be beautiful
Why doesn’t she conform to what we want
What’s she doing in there
In her head
What’s she thinking about
Why does she wear those dresses
She wears them short
Sometimes there long
She has compost bags in the back
What is she really doing in there

The Irish Flood

The lord looked on from the burning bush and he said “Paddy I will cast you from this land and drive a flood through the plains killing all the people and animals and birds”

“Ah you cant be doing that now, all water usage is metered around here if you leave your tap on it will cost you a fortune ” Replied paddy

“I am the lord I can do as I please. You shall build an arc and take 2 of all of my creatures aboard a male and a female”

“Ah you cant do that what about the gay lads they wont be happy with that carry on”

“I am your lord I can do as I please, I will cast down death and fire upon all the sinners”

“Sure the water from the flood will destroy the fires and you would want to mind yourself sure your own bush could be put out”

“”You will the foundation of the new world. you will plant your seed and populate the world”

“With the wife”

“Of Course”

“Ah here hold on now, have you seen her?”

“Of course I have she is one of my children”

“I was wondering who she took after? No I cant be having that. I will need a new model”

“you cant leave your wife that is fornication”

“now your talking”

“I think I may go to Israel and find Noah”

“Off you go your at nothing threatening us with floods”

“Why”

“Sure Ireland is fecking flooded half of the year”

Writing

You sit and listen and learn and the desire to write builds up inside of you. She has a look about her and a way of talking that makes you wonder. The words of another resonate in the air and you wonder could you ever, would you ever write as well.
Then you realise you wouldn’t want to because it’s not you. You write your way and yours alone which mightn’t be the best or even that good but by jaysus it’s your own. As wilde said be you own person because all the rest are taken or something along those lines.
You come home and what you write is different and perhaps mysoginistic and definitely violent and perhaps loving and yet you like that character and you want to hear his voice as he talks to you.