Jim Firth

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2022

Stories (35)

35 Stories

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“The Follicle Chronicles - Pt.10: Bohemian Shindig” by Jim Firth

‘Speak now,’ Tove says. ‘Are you coming to the gala, or not?’She wants to blow off some steam at the bohemian shindig in the park, but I am hesitant because the invitation reads like a set of oppressive instructions: ‘Wear your hair with pride. Play your instrument with joy. Dress in colourful clothing. Be sincere, sensual, and serene.’She deploys her puppy-dog eyes and I crumble. ‘Ok… But I’m not going to comply with these ridiculous requirements.’I don’t need to be told to wear my ha...

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“The Follicle Chronicles - Pt.9: Hairnaissance ” by Jim Firth

‘It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark,’ the nasally news reporter says. ‘Last night, a group of demonstrators stormed into Madam Scanlon's hair silo and set fire to thousands of unborn wigs.’ The reporter wears a scarf over her nose, and smog billows across the plaza behind her. ‘Today, the blaze rages on, engulfing the city with a sulphurous stench caused by the high keratin content of the smouldering hair.’She's not wrong. It’s a strong odour, and I have to breathe through...

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“The Follicle Chronicles - Pt.8: Connoisseur of Coiffure” by Jim Firth

‘So, what’s the catch?’ Tove asks.She is right to be suspicious; there is definitely a snag when it comes to Scanlon’s guarantee of protection. ‘The catch is, she’s sucking our profits through a giant silly straw,’ I say.Follicle Farm has returned to normalcy owing to the absence of pluck squad raids. But something else bothers me. The big cheese pays us a pittance, so tightening rations to feed the throngs of new recruits arriving every week has become mandatory. Tove is the head...

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“The Follicle Chronicles - Pt.7: Wignosis ” by Jim Firth

This cat ought to be bald just like the others. Because of the pet food additives, all felines resemble Sphinx cats these days. It’s a shame that their ancestral furriness can now only be admired in centuries-old textbooks preserved by law-breaking historians and cat fetishists.I confer with the stray cat and stroke the mystery downy patch on its back. ‘Tell me, puss. Is hijacking the water supply the right way to go?’ The scrawny mouser bolts off towards the pumping facility, as if to say, ‘Yes, come on! And while y...

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“The Follice Chronicles - Pt.6: The Rations of Toast That Haunt My Dreams” by Jim Firth

In addressing every man, woman, and child at Follicle Farm, I assuage their concerns about our safety following a recent raid by the pluck squad. ‘Fleeing Follicle Farm is the coward’s way out! We will stand our ground and use the additional manpower we’ve accrued to fortify our defences. We will dig pits! We will lay traps!’The campfire collective concurs with whoops and hollers. We celebrate our resolution to remain by dancing rings around the fire. I have a feeling that later, more carnal forms ...

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“The Follicle Chronicles - Pt.5: Wig Wars” by Jim Firth

The refugees huddle around my fire pit, sheltering from the drizzle underneath a tarpaulin. They may be free from the daily shearings of the pluck squad, but now they face a milder annoyance; Mace peddling uncontaminated tap juice at an extortionate rate. The man won’t fill anyone’s cup before cramming his pockets with their tattered bills. ‘It’s mine, and you can’t have it! Unless you cough up,’ he shouts at a woman with bushy brows. Bushy Brows waves her metal cup around belligerently. ‘Just...

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“The Follicle Chronicles - Pt.4: Fortune Favours the Shaved” by Jim Firth

The footage on the laptop shows Audrey, the doppelgänger whose hair I stole, cradling herself in the corner of a cell. Houston, we have a problem. Her brow hair is extremely long. Like eye curtains.  ‘So the keratin supplement is working a bit too well?’ I ask Harlan.‘Her body is undergoing excessive keratinisation,’ he says. ‘I’d wager that her nails are near indestructible.’‘Couldn’t she be of some use to her madam with nails like that? I mean, she could shell all of he...

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“The Follicle Chronicles - Pt.3: Hirsute Pursuit” by Jim Firth

Nothing is complicated with Mace. According to him, infiltrating Madam Scanlon’s private grounds will be as straightforward as ‘taking a dump’. Sometimes, I think we’re just too different to work together, but he has this undeniable knack for getting things done.He parks his pickup truck next to the compound boundary so we can scale the wall. ‘Mind the drop on the other side,’ he warns me. ‘And watch out for the moss.’ But I slip on the green slime, and tumb...

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“The Follicle Chronicles - Pt 2: A Fistful of Follicles” by Jim Firth

Apparently, the best spot for a clandestine wig-slinging operation is the basement of a laundromat whose opening hours are zero. Well, zero for everyone except those clutching a fistful of follicles, like myself. I’m fresh off of my first job with Mace, laden with more hair than I dare carry in the streets, and I’m wondering how much the wigmaker pays for a spectacular haul like ours. There’s 15 grams of my own hair, 42 grams of my wife’s, and a sheaf of blonde lifted from the elite madam whom Mace and I robbed like the highwaymen of old....

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“The Follicle Chronicles - Pt 1: Lifter of Wigs” by Jim Firth

CW: Swearing. Mild Peril.I didn’t realise how pale people from the city looked until I moved away. Tove thinks the urban water supply is laced with hair growth inhibitors, and I believe her—that would explain why everyone is hairless and smooth all over. Now that we’re convalescing at the cabin, our detox pathways have had a chance to eliminate the chemicals completely, and our follicles are sprouting for the first time. I don’t know what the history books will say, and I don’t want to speak too soon or sound arrogant, b...

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“The Spit Compass” by Jim Firth

Flip a coin, reader. If it lands on heads, read on. If it lands on tails, STOP. You are not ready for the stellar knowledge contained within. Trust the coin’s judgement—it knows more about you than you might think. It’s not just a flat piece of metal that we ascribe monetary value to, but a discerning disc more incisive than the dowser of any mystic, more intuitive than we’ve been led to believe by conventional ‘science’. When you flick the coin into the air with your thumb, its gyrations are not random; they are af...

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“Gift God” by Jim Firth

‘Thank you! It’s just what I wanted’ is a commonly heard phrase at Christmas time. Families the world over use it to veil their disappointment. This creates all sorts of problems: it enshrines the gift giver in a bubble of Christmas hubris, adds to their obliviousness, and perpetuates the cycle of bad gifts. But do not fear: the cycle can be broken. You, my friend, can become a Gift God.If you’re not sure that you’re an inferior gift-giver, you most likely are one. Folk have been too p...

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“Dr Doidge's Address” by Jim Firth

Are you tired of people telling you the way they actually feel about you? Are you sick of their inconsiderate behaviour? Their lack of politeness? Then you’re one of the 28% percent of the population with their social filter still intact. You’ve chosen not to tamper with your brain. Congratulations, smartypants. It wasn’t that hard, was it? So why can’t the other 72% get it right? These filterless fools are doing more than just romping around rubbing everyone up the wrong way. They’re Careless. Callous. Cold-hearted. Their selfish behavio...

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“Not Spy Material” by Jim Firth

CW: Mild swearing and mild sexual referencesI want you to think of an object and write it down.A guitar?Okay.Now think of a different object.A melon?Fine.Please—put that cigarette out! You cannot smoke here. I don’t care if it relaxes you and helps you think.Now—imagine all the possible ways that a melon and a guitar are alike. I’ll give you a few minutes to jot your answers down. Remem...

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“Bureau-cats” by Jim Firth

CW: Brief, non-graphic violence.The meow of the klaxon called me to my third appointment. Finally, it was time for me to be seen. I weaved my way across the waiting room between bowls of cream, balls of yarn, and litter trays. Trust me, I wasn’t about to spring onto all fours and play with a ball of yarn whilst awaiting the outcome of my death. Why those bureau-cats left their rubbish lying around in a waiting room for humans was beyond me.I hopped onto the escalator. A vast network ...

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Author bio

Humourist from the North of England searching for the infinite goof and maybe some syrup of wahoo. Words. Words. Words. Lovely, salty words.