Howard Halsall

“Paradise Lost” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #248

The familiar green outside the Pathfinder gives way and we’re in the fire zone, struggling to get our bearings in an alien landscape. I catch my breath and slow down to a crawl, staring wide-eyed at the devastation. Blackened tree trunks stand rigid, stripped of their outer appendages. They’re like limbless sentries in a macabre guard of honour along the side of the road. Landmarks and road signs have disappeared, and the ones that remain are off-kilter and charred; their paint has bubbled and flaked. A fine white ash has collected in drifts...

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“Mars: A Pioneer’s log” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #247

After surviving on Mars for five years, we were unrecognisable to the Agency’s search and rescue mission. It’s obvious from reading my diary, we were too busy to notice the incremental changes as they occurred. We’d cultivated the land, adapted to the harsh environment, but then to our cost discovered, ‘You are what you eat’.* * *   The day we arrived on Mars, the Space Agency’s cumbersome vessel landed with remarkable precision, despite the fierce wind that greeted us. We herded our livestock and stowed our possessions on the...

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“The Stickler” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #246

“Damn it! That’s all we need.” I braced my arms and swerved over to the side of the road, pulling up with a sharp tyre squeal.   “Ooh, oooh.” Sam groaned, cradling her distended belly. “Jesus! Roddy.”   “Sorry, love.” I said, turning to face her. “Are you all right?”   “Uh huh,” Sam said, closing her eyelids.Sam’s face was clammy with perspiration as she clenched her jaw and inhaled through gritted teeth. I reached out to stroke her pale cheek, steadying my trembling hand as I did so. She winced i...

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“Creatures of Habit” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #244

For over ten years, we hosted the Sorell, Hogg and Hartley Christmas Eve party at our house in Arkley Village. Tom organised the guest list, and I received and entertained his work colleagues and their spouses. It was a wonderful opportunity to socialise, put faces to names and impress the firm’s influential partners.    “Susan makes it all look so effortless, Tom.”    “She always insists on doing the catering.”   “Really? Then you’re a lucky fellow.”   “There’s nothing le...

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“The Joyriders Club” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #243

Chewing Juicy Fruit during a Border Enforcement interrogation isn’t a great idea.   “Lose the gum, kiddo!” Officer McNally said, reaching for his waste basket.    “Who says so?”   “You’re on the Moon now,” he said, proffering the bin. “That’s our rule here.”    I had one last chomp on the gum, plucked it from my mouth in a pincer movement and flicked it into the hovering receptacle.   “Thank you, Erika,” McNally said, passing the bin to his fellow officer, w...

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“Back to the Garden” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #242

The Earth Museum had been devoid of visitors for weeks before its overhead tubes crackled and illuminated the cavernous atrium beyond my enclosure. I heard the familiar grind and clank of the distant security door and peered through the reinforced glass to see our android curator enter with a scaly reptilian, lurching forward on its hind legs. The immediate greeting from my fellow inmates was the usual deafening, mealtime cacophony of howls, shrieks and yelps. The curator waited for the racket to diminish before starting the tour, introducin...

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“The King of Little Russia ” by Howard Halsall

An onshore Caribbean breeze caressed Skatta’s tattooed shoulders and chunky arms as he snoozed under his ackee tree in a low-slung hammock. The wind had changed direction during the morning and now swept through Little Russia, disturbing the roadside debris. Crumpled manifestos and discarded pamphlets swirled into the air, and the detritus from a fortnight of frenzied political hustings tumbled across the potholed asphalt like hordes of itinerant vermin.   Most voters reckoned the outcome would be inconclusive and questioned w...

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“The Price of Silence” by Howard Halsall

Summer in Brighton ended abruptly and August brought opaque sheets of freezing drizzle that whipped against Harley’s third-floor office window. Shivering at his desk in a fleece-lined hoodie, he glowered beyond his bleeping laptop at the wretched gulls screeching with impunity as they drifted past. It was the sort of weather calculated to try anyone's patience and Harley’s was in short supply after working nonstop since last September.   He’d snapped at Laurel about her dreary article for the Argus before lunch and become even...

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“Smoky Rose” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #237

I miss that little nudge in my ribs at seven A.M. and waking up to her vivacious smile. But now I recall her freckled face and tousled copper locks, I wonder, was it a pout rather than a lively grin? Her lips had a life of their own and quivered like the smouldering rim of an active volcano. She was just as likely to pounce on me as erupt into laughter. I’d blink in bewilderment as she drew near, uncertain of her mood and prepare for a possible onslaught. However, most mornings it was her dark hazel eyes that held me captive, glistening like...

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“Voyager 1 Down” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #236

Your Voyager mission to explore other worlds had to end at some point. But you knew that before your intrepid vessel accelerated out of the solar system and hurtled through interstellar space. No doubt Mission Command monitored Voyager 1’s interminable progress and you all cheered as it approached the Oort Cloud. Perhaps you prayed for a glimpse of intelligent life as it sped towards our asteroid and groaned when its signal died, and said, ‘Voyager 1 down.’*  *  *If your spacecraft had survived the crash with our dirty sn...

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“Run, Fatso, Run.” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #235

Harris and I have been trampling the tarmac for decades now.We know we’re a couple of fatties at heart, there’s no denying it. But if I cease my regular run, I’ll lose the bet and return to Fatsville.I have a recurring nightmare about my wager with Harris. There’s tsunami of wobbling belly flab, thighs and bingo wings. It chases me across fields, down a high street and all the way back home.Breathless, I slam the door behind me and it charges down my road.I’m sure if I stop running, it’ll catch me.God forbid that happens.*&nbs...

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“The Timekeeper” by Howard Halsall

  “Is this your husband, Sylvia?” asked Doc Morrissey, adjusting his spectacles.   “Yes, that’s Austin,” she said, turning her head into Doc’s shoulder and away from the harsh smell of bleach. Doc put his arm around her shoulder, unperturbed, as she clung onto his jacket. Not given to easy sentiment, his gesture was precautionary as much as consoling. Sylvia’s white knuckles matched her pallor in the radiant glow of the morgue’s fluorescent lighting.   “It’s time to go,” he whispered.   ...

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“Auld Hornie’s Wirk” by Howard Halsall

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #233

Glasgae’s dry January always ends on th’ twenty-fifth night o’ th’ month. That’s fair enough, fur na parched Glaswegian kin sustain such perverse cruelty beyond that hallowed date. Th’ end o’ that thirsty month can’t come quick enough, fur then we raise a cup o’ cheer tae Rabbie Burns. Th’ Bard’s rousing words on that night ne’er fail to restore oor tortured souls anew, banishing th’ self-inflicted drought fur annur year.* * *However, Burns Night is an age from Hogmanay’s tolling midnight bells and the thunderous arrival o’ th’ New Year. The...

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“The Northern Lights” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #232

Cecilia sits at a desk most days, surrounded by a forest of reference books. We ran out of shelf space for her library some time ago, but instead of extending her domain, allowed the books to become the room. Low piles of them function as tables, vertiginous stacks decorate the walls and a couple of her horticultural catalogues double-up as door stops and window props, but only in the summer. During the endless winter months, when it’s minus twenty outside, we lock all our windows, turn up the heating and convert our home into an arboreal re...

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“Mad Caps, Nuts & Crackers” by Howard Halsall

Waiting outside a psychiatric unit at half seven in the evening isn’t an ideal way to end Christmas day, but it’s worse for my three teenagers. They’ve waded through floodplains of grief since our family fell apart ten months ago and their washed-out faces are beyond more tears. It’s stressful living with a mother who’s either roaring toward the stratosphere or drowning in oceans of despair. *  *  *Our marital relationship was like living in New York City; it was full-on twenty-four hours a day. That sounds like fun ...

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