David Murphy

“A Christmas Surprise” by David Murphy

 France, Wednesday, March 10, 1915 Dearest Mother and Father, I hope that you are both keeping well. I don't know what you are reading in the papers about this war, but it's not that bad. We arrived here on Sunday (I'm not allowed to say where exactly - it's all hush-hush). We are some of the lucky ones, or so the Sergeant keeps telling us, as our billet is a big stone barn just outside a small village. There's plenty of straw to soften the canvas beds and it's fairly wind and water tight. I'd rather be here than in som...

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“Afterthought” by David Murphy

TV Announcer: ‘So, as we come to the end of 2021, we look for some words of comfort and hope from our resident chaplain with his final chat for the year in our late evening epiphany: AfterThought.’ The television picture switches to a dark room, the outline of a high-backed comfortable leather chair visible thanks to a single flickering candle sitting on a small wooden table. The studio lights slowly rise to reveal a clergyman, his face that of a dour Scot, lived-in lines ploughed into his forehead, grey eyes projecting misery, a verita...

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“The Scarecrow” by David Murphy

Submitted to Contest #92

I watched as the orange crescent moon bade its farewell to the day, its outline the only light in the sky, a reflection of the set sun from beyond the horizon. Another day had passed, and I gave a sigh, a long profound outpouring of despondency. I had long lost count of the days I had been alone, forgotten amongst the rest of the detritus of the run-down farm. If I could dream, it would be of much happier times, times when I had a purpose, a meaning in this world. But dreams never come to me. Like sleep, they are not meant for...

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“Betrayal” by David Murphy

Submitted to Contest #76

Morning, Sir Charles. Ah, good morning James. A bit out of the way for our chats, isn't it? But so much more pleasurable than our usual meeting place on the Embankment, don't you think? Different, I'll give you that. But why here? Why the RA? James, have some respect. The Royal Academy of Art, please. Whatever. I will never understand why you Brits place such deference to things. History, James, history. Something of which you Americans have limited background or understanding. Well, we are certainly surro...

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“Frank Kellands - Man or Mouse” by David Murphy

Submitted to Contest #66

“Man or Mouse, Frank?” The words struck like a dagger in his back. His accuser, standing a few feet away, had deliberately stressed the Teutonic harshness of the allegation. Gunther Kleine, with over-sized Oakleys masking his piercing blue eyes, stared at Frank Kellands, demanding an answer. Frank did a quick mental count to ten before unclenching his fists and turning to face Kleine. “Well?”, the impatience mounting. “The cross-wind doesn’t help, Gunther, you know that. The front end just refuses to sit down.” “Bullshit, Fran...

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“'Tis The Season to be Jolly” by David Murphy

Submitted to Contest #59

Bloody buses! Why can they never be on time when you need them? Damn, and here comes the rain again. I’m going to catch my death here. Oh, at last, here’s one now. “And just why are you so late, young man? I’ve been standing here for over twenty minutes waiting for you.” “Oh, the traffic was bad, was it? Well, let me tell you, the waiting was even worse!” Service! What bloody service? They turn up when they want – if they can be bothered, that is – and as often as not there’s not a seat to be had....

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“Second Chances” by David Murphy

Submitted to Contest #54

I woke with a start, for a moment or two disoriented, my surroundings unfamiliar.  The brakes of the diesel-electric squealed as the train drew into the station, bringing the latest crowd of commuters home from whatever their toils were in Aberdeen. I let most of them go in front of me – I was in no great hurry to leave the warmth of the carriage. As I descended on to the platform, a flash from over fifty years ago made me stop. The old pedestrian footbridge was still there, but now really showing its age and lack of maintenance, g...

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“Cripps to the Rescue” by David Murphy

Submitted to Contest #10

Cripps to the Rescue Alexander Rupert Sebastian Enshaw, 7th Earl of Buckfast (or “Zander” to his friends), was seated at the breakfast table, half-eaten scrambled eggs, now cold on his plate, being pushed from side to side. "I'm bored, Cripps." "Really, Sir? That is most unlike you." "It's been nearly three weeks since Bunty's disaster of an engagement party and no-one has been in touch." "And have you called anyone, Sir?" "Me? Why, no. Do you think I should?" "You are aware, Sir, of the proverbial phrase: ...

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