David Newcombe

“Winged Destiny” by David Newcombe

Submitted to Contest #291

She was right of course, he was not making sense, but. That was it; the ‘but’. No matter how he analysed it rationally, the fear remained. As if reading his mind Miranda broke into his thoughts. “Gordon, what would you tell one of your patients with this problem? You’ve explained to me so many times how powerful the mind is, and how we can all confuse reality with illusion so easily. It was a dream, or more like a nightmare; a vivid one yes, but let it go now.” She paused, then, seeing his remaining uncertainty, continued “Gordon, for heave...

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“Food for Thought” by David Newcombe

Submitted to Contest #270

The journey was taking hours longer than it should; a massive storm was imminent, and the first raindrops were already smearing themselves across the windscreen. The seemingly endless twists and turns of the unlit road were taking a toll on his concentration. Luckily there were few other vehicles which meant he had escaped what would have been certain head on collisions when he took the last two bends too quickly. A large whiskey and warm bed beckoned, but a rest break was needed if he were to reach home safely.Norman Lassiter was not a happ...

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“The Author's Tale” by David Newcombe

Submitted to Contest #266

There had been yet another long period of worry, stress, confinement and social withdrawal but all that had now changed, for now. Today was the first face-to-face meeting of the Billabriggy Writer’s Club since the third pandemic. Everyone looked forward to catching up. They were lucky to reserve a table at their usual café as the world emerged from its enforced confinement to re-establish a more normal existence. The neighbouring kerbside cafes were crowded and the roads busy with traffic. Instead of their former spot, the group found themse...

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“The Reckoning” by David Newcombe

Submitted to Contest #260

Patrick picked up his tool case before walking out to his work van, leaving behind a silent, brooding house that seemed to emanate the dour mood of its occupants.There was no farewell, probably because of the early morning start. At least, that’s what he told himself. If he were honest, he would prefer not to work today, but, being self-employed his boss knew he couldn’t afford to turn down this job. It would probably pay well, the old lady who had hired him seemed to have more money than sense so he knew there was a good profit to be made; ...

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“The Last Race” by David Newcombe

Submitted to Contest #256

Most people awaken from a dream into reality, but to Jack the opposite appeared to have occurred. As though from nowhere he found himself surrounded by a cacophony of chaos and confusion. At first it made no sense, but the reader will have certainly been in a stressful or confusing situation where nothing makes sense and yet, at some deeper level, our minds battle to eventually create reason from surreal madness.For madness could be the only description for what Jack was experiencing. Sports events were always noisy, frenetic mayhem and, lit...

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“A Novel Encounter” by David Newcombe

Submitted to Contest #251

Strangely, when Andy saw the house, he felt a little easier. He’d expected something more grandiose and manorial, but this was something that could belong to a nouveau riche music idol; imposing flashy and tasteless. The edifice clung in gaudy splendour to the verdant sides of the Malvern Hills, beset by neighbours of a more conservative appearance. It seemed that, whether a nouveau riche author or pop star, there were no differences, having simply become wealthy through a different medium. In his considerable research, Andy  disco...

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“The Third Bench from the Left.” by David Newcombe

Submitted to Contest #249

It was the third bench from the left of the footbridge, opposite the yellow stone walls of the mediaeval church. Andy knew it because of the more than century old dedication to John Somers, a councillor who had brought the park and its walking tracks to life almost two hundred years before. The bench. with its dedication, was paid for by local citizens in honour of the man who had created so much of the beautiful walkways that continued to attract thousands of visitors each summer. Andy, or rather his dog, had literally bumped into Vane...

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“The Third Bench from the Left.” by David Newcombe

It was the third bench from the left of the footbridge, opposite the yellow stone walls of the mediaeval church. Andy knew it because of the more than century old dedication to John Somers, a councillor who had brought the park and its walking tracks to life almost two hundred years before. The bench. with its dedication, was paid for by local citizens in honour of the man who had created so much of the beautiful walkways that continued to attract thousands of visitors each summer. Andy, or rather his dog, had literally bumped into Vane...

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“Nauseous Niceties” by David Newcombe

Submitted to Contest #241

Life now had a direction, a purpose. The plan was foolproof. There would be no consequences. In fact, he could see nothing ahead but a life of opulence, once he’d taken the necessary steps. He was going to kill his wife.           Malcolm Roberts had been born in a squalid area of New York some thirty years earlier. The fates had given him a quick mind and an athletic body, and he soon realized these were his ticket to a better life. Adopting a new name and a fabricated past, Malcolm Rob...

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“A Funny Romance” by David Newcombe

Submitted to Contest #238

A Funny Romance The coffee was by now too cold to drink. The scone seemed to be shrinking before his eyes, as it too, cooled rapidly whilst the jam and cream had developed a discernible patina after being exposed to the air for so long. How long had he sat here feeling so lost? He knew exactly where he was of course, it was the same café he visited at the same time every Saturday afternoon. Yet he felt as though his life had somehow reached an impasse, an insurmountable barrier. He was lost within himself. This was not his real self that sat...

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“Glad Tidings” by David Newcombe

Submitted to Contest #229

Iverton is one of those small, quaint villages that are the subject of countless holiday postcards. At least when postcards were popular. Apart from the very occasional visitor who has somehow drifted completely from their route, an increasingly rare event as GPS systems become more reliable, the town is left to its own devices. However, I found myself to be one such unintentional visitor well over thirty years ago, when mobile phones were yet to be reliably developed. It was Christmas Eve, and I was to meet my large, extended family to ce...

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“Upon Reflection” by David Newcombe

Submitted to Contest #215

Liz squinted through the bright sunshine that belied her mood. Last night they had argued, again. Today she was going shopping and tonight she would prepare Saul’s favourite meal. Liz’s mother was coming to visit in only a few weeks and she would need every reserve of her husband’s understanding to cope. Saul, selflessly gave her his love, time, sympathy, and, most of all, patience, but for how long? A bright shaft of glaring light suddenly shattered these sombre thoughts. It came from an antique shop across the road. In the front window ...

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