Chris Sage

“Live to Regret it” by Chris Sage

Submitted to Contest #271

“Don't do it.” “What?” I bark at the old man, who stands between me and the exit of Beran’s bar. “Don't do it. You'll regret it.” He stares at me. I can see his hands tremble. Old age, or fear? I felt a shiver myself. Why this, why now? I push past him, head starting to spin. “I’ve no idea who you are, or what you're talking about. Out my way, please.” It's not true, there's something familiar about him, making this whole encounter more unnerving. “I know you. I know what this plan is. It's not a good idea. Don't do it.” I keep walking, conc...

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“Captured by the Past” by Chris Sage

Submitted to Contest #268

It was the priest, Padre García, who met the newcomer first. A thin man, wearing a heavy coat in the dry heat of midday that hung off him like he was a frame filled with air. “You look like a man who has made a long and desperate journey,” he pronounced solemnly. The Padre had a habit of making all his conversations sound like sermons, which tended to make many villagers avoid casual conversations with him. “May I offer you some help?” The man smiled, a weak smile, like sun on a frosty day. “You could say that, yes,” he said in faintly accen...

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“Written into a Corner” by Chris Sage

Submitted to Contest #266

Engines screaming, smoke pouring from the wing, Daxie fought the controls of his fighter. Red biplanes swarmed around him in the azure sky, the air thick with whistling death. One passed his cross hairs as his plane juddered, and with exquisite timing Daxie let out a burst of machine gun fire, watched with satisfaction as the flames spread. He was the last of his squadron, he had to make this count, for the chaps back home, for the fellas stuck in the trenches. He wrestled the nose up, scanned for more targets. Thump. Fire from behind hit hi...

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“To a City Fair Rode I” by Chris Sage

The grey light before sunrise barely stained the fields as Eoin slipped out of the house. Ma wouldn't know; it was safest for her this way, Finn had said. He could see no more than a few yards in the fog,feet already soaked by the dew, but he knew his way. True to his word, Finn had taken the constable's horse and left her tied outside. Of course, Eoin doubted Finn was the man's real name. All of them chose a new one for this work, Finn after the warrior of legend and his own choice of Pádraig, after the saint. It made them harder to trace. ...

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“A Ring at Rock Bottom ” by Chris Sage

Submitted to Contest #264

Content warning: domestic violence/abuse. I remember when I first met Callum, vivid and clear like it was yesterday. We were both at a semi-respectable bar with our respective friends, it was a sunny Saturday afternoon, the warmth had brought out the joyful summery mood that goes with drinking in the sun. I know what you're thinking, honestly I'm not like that. He just stood out; a head taller than most, a jaw you could set your watch to, a raucous, infectious laugh. He carried himself with an easy, unshakeable confidence that I just had to ...

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“Call It Her Final Payment” by Chris Sage

Submitted to Contest #263

Morganna never wanted to be evil. Not as such. Just to give a few pompous so-and-so’s a bit of a fright. Maybe have a little chuckle at their misfortune while she was at it. The problem with the sort of raw power she had, was that aiming was tricky. She might just want to make a rat appear in someone's hair, get a few screams, take them down a peg. Unfortunately, if she was feeling grumpy, it'd manifest in her spell, and a red-eyed hell-rat would bite off half an ear and there'd be all sorts of unnecessary fuss. Never mind that she could fix...

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“Leave No Trace” by Chris Sage

Submitted to Contest #262

“Where do you fancy going for our hols this year?” I ask Ellie, to the dreary percussion of rain. “I’m fed up with this time of year. Let's go to summer!” I've had enough of this winter too. It's November, the drops are heavy with sleet. I pick up the tablet and open up a brochure. “Where shall we go this time?” I ask, flicking through heavily touched-up images. “Paris, 2000?” “Nah,” Ellie dismisses. “Cultural stuff is too much like hard work in my time off. Somewhere with a beach?” Last year we went to see the summer of ‘69, mostly to ...

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