David Lund

“The Mystery of Turd in the Punchbowl” by David Lund

Henry hated these gatherings and hated giving bad news. Mr Portland had parties every other week, and he always invited his American friends. It was as though London had become some private American village. Henry had never known that so many foreigners lived in this part of the city before he worked for Mr. Portland, and he felt strangely lonely being the only British person in the room.         All the regulars were there. He could see Lady Jessica, a young women from a noble background, barely ...

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“Dry January” by David Lund

Submitted to Contest #233

        Doug walked into the office on the first Monday of January, feeling rough and regretting the fact that he had to be back at work so soon after New Year’s. To be truthful, he still felt the effects from the party. They hadn’t actually gone to bed until the Saturday morning, and yesterday had been spent in a drunken haze: strained sleep, feeling queasy, regretting the lunchtime tacos. Doug could still feel his stomach lurching, and every now and then, a wave of nausea overcame him. Why did he alw...

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“Worst Christmas Ever” by David Lund

Submitted to Contest #229

CHRISTMAS DAY, 1866.         I woke up, my head pounding. I didn’t open my eyes, sure someone had glued them shut, it seemed like too much effort. So I lay there, listening to my heartbeat pound through my temples. Quick, irregular, sending waves of nausea through my nerves, making my stomach lurch. I took a deep breath, trying to slow the rhythm, trying to calm my churning guts. The intake of breath brought up the smell of half-digested wine, the alcohol burning my throat and nose.    &...

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“Bananas for Carly” by David Lund

Submitted to Contest #228

THIS STORY CONTAINS SOME SWEARING. To get up, or not to get up? That is the fucking question. What’s today? Another stupid Wednesday, another boring day with the same boring people. I glanced over at my buzzing phone. I couldn’t even be arsed to reach over and turn it off. The effing thing was useless anyway. I had been up since 5, staring at the cracks in my ceiling. Specks of paints probably fell on me as I struggled to sleep. I was always finding that shit all over my bed.         Finally, wit...

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“The Storm” by David Lund

Submitted to Contest #227

Winter was here. The first snow of the season was accompanied by a horrible storm. It had been a miserable day, with fierce winds slamming against the shutters like the beating rhythm of an out of synch drum. The thin window panes whistled in the small gaps around every opening in the old house with an irritating sound. A fire was burning in the hearth, but blowing strongly as the air came rolling down the chimney. Heavy snow fell from the sky, already covering the ground in a thick white blanket, several feet deep. Although it was only five...

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“The Other Tim” by David Lund

Submitted to Contest #225

        Tim Badson walked through the park on a nice Sunday evening. He was whistling to himself. It had been a good day. He remembered fondly the time he had spent with Lucy by the lake. They had talked and laughed for hours. He’d even fed the ducks that had been circling around them, looking for scraps of unfinished bread. It had been an idyllic setting. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but he still had his English paper to write. Why was he even studying English? Stupid subject, he muttered under his brea...

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