Martin Buckell

“Brothers” by Martin Buckell

Big Judd lay on a sun lounger slathered in coconut oil, his pale skin pinking in the midday sun. Burning was like a deep tan to Judd, perfected over the years on building sites where he would parade topless on the roofs of new build houses as soon as the sun poked out from the clouds.  A drained pint glass stood on the low plastic table beside his lounger. Judd signalled to the poolside waiter for anoth...

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“Home Alone” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #104

Living at home with your parents when you are a grown man is fucked up in itself. But what can one do with property prices the way they are? The bank of mum and dad had already dried up thanks to my university costs and a part time job in a pet store wasn’t going to get me very far. At least at twenty-five I was still young. Many of my friends had their own pads, or digs in student accommodation, so they were used to having their own space. I had to contend with queuing for the toilet while my dad sat on the bog hoping his con...

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“Cape Fear” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #102

Every day at noon he drifted through the village avoiding eye contact, mumbling, sometimes singing, with a perpetual grin on his face. He was large framed and tall with big hands and a long stride. His face looked red as a cherry, and his hair was greying and rested on his shoulders and looked unkempt, like a mullet. He usually wore a cape. A black cape. Not like Batman’s, much shorter. Why did he wear such a thing? Nobody knew. Nobody could answer that question. Sometimes he carried a cane and would beat the rhythm of each step on the ro...

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“She Ordered Lobster” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #100

She’s ordered lobster. Fucking lobster. It’s only our second date for Christ sake and she’s going all out on the menu. Taking the piss. Taking advantage of my good nature. Thinking she can go for the pricier dishes. Expecting me to pay the bill. Yeah, you go girl. Fill your boots. Order the entire fucking menu. Don’t you worry, numb nuts here is paying. Look’s like I’ll have to order a salad. Keep the cost down. But then I’ll look like a dweeb and a tight arse and I can’t have that. Impressions are everything. I know, I’ll order the crab,...

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“McGarr’s Last Heist” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #95

I stood panting before two closed doors in a dead-end hallway. With every passing second, my pursuers’ distant footsteps grew louder. Heart thumping and runnels of sweat racing down my cheeks, I turned the handle of the right-hand door and it opened outward disclosing a cleaner’s cupboard brimming with mops and buckets. I grabbed a wooden handled mop, thinking it could be useful.I tried the other door. It moved but wouldn’t open. I shouldered it and flew into a bright room. I slammed the door and wedged it shut with the ...

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“Commuter Girl” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #94

Jack saw her one morning on the way to work, lit like a beacon amid the monochrome throng of daily commuters. He noticed her again the following morning, and was compelled to make eye contact. She glanced back at him, and he thought he saw the beginnings of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Their glances and smiles continued throughout that week, and at the weekend all he could think about was the next smile from her, his Monday morning smile. Jack was fortyish, balding, with a slight paunch, and had been happily...

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“Party at Mimi's” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #93

The party was at Mimi Hilton’s place, downtown Manhattan. It was my first assignment as a rookie hack for a gossip magazine. Mimi, a New York socialite had friends in high places and loved the exposure.The party was full of people I recognised: actors, politicians, sportsmen and billionaires. Then I spotted Lola Sinclair, a model, who spent most of her career on the front pages of fashion magazines. She was standing over by the buffet table, chinwagging with Dirk Wendell, a slimeball property magnate twice he...

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“Lie with Me” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #88

Kern’s shoes were caked in mud. He removed them and dropped them by the door and fumbled his key into the lock. He stepped inside. The house was silent. All the lights were out. He tiptoed to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. The kitchen clock said two am. Swaying, he stripped down to his underwear and crept upstairs. The door to the bedroom was left ajar. Something his wife did when she knew he’d...

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“What Day Is It?” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #84

“What day is it?” said Jim. “Why it’s Tuesday of course!” said Dee, busying herself in the kitchen. “Is it? I’ve lost all track of time being stuck here. Every day seems the same.” Jim stooped and picked up the daily newspaper that had just landed on the doormat. He held out the front page. “Today is Wednesday.” “Can’t be. Yesterda...

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“The Last Nazi” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #80

It was about three o’clock in the afternoon, mid May, with a cool breeze dampening down the warmth of the spring sunshine. I was wearing the same blue suit I’d had on for the past week, crinkled from the hours sat in the car, driving the length and breadth of the country. I was unshaven, tired and had drunk far too much caffeine and way past caring. I pulled up outside number 13 Cedar Lane, got out the ca...

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“Norman” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #78

            Celia Buckwheat spent the evenings stroking her pet snail Norman. Norman was no ordinary snail, not like your average garden snail, he was a giant snail, the size of a large dinner plate. His natural habitat was in the tropics but now Norman found himself in a suburban two-bed semi just south of Derby.                                      Celia had become infatuated with the ove...

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“Miami Ice” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #77

                          MIAMI ICE by Martin Buckell I stand there on the beach in smiting snow and biting wind. There’s already a white dusting on the ground. I clutch my Ambre Solaire, wrap a beach towel tight round my shivering torso and schlep back to the hotel.“What the fuck?” I say to the concierge.“Fucking climate change,” he says.I hear the distant whine of sirens...

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“COUPLES NEXT DOOR” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #67

                  I was leafing through a magazine down at the vets, while waiting for my sausage dog to emerge from having his balls cut off, when I came across an advert that caught my eye:‘COUPLES WANTED FOR REALITY TV SHOW. £100,000 PRIZE MONEY’A light bulb came on in my head. Bingo. ‘Maybe, I should enter this.’ I thought. ‘I could be on TV.’ There was one glaring drawback, I was single and hadn’t ...

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“Make My Day” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #66

On a crowded platform, Lester Philips stuffed the last bites of breakfast into his mouth and watched the late running train pull in.He squeezed into a tightly packed carriage and held onto a hanging strap. Most of the passengers were looking down at their hand held screens and wouldn’t notice the crumbs of toast stuck to the corners of his mouth.The train lurched forward causing his face to disappear into the armpit of a large passenger. He recoiled and winced as his nostrils filled with the odour of someone in desperate nee...

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“Cut Grass” by Martin Buckell

Submitted to Contest #61

Evans sat there on the park bench in his trench coat, with the morning paper in one hand and a smart phone in the other. He bore the signs of impending middle age, wrinkles around the eyes, receding grizzled hair. Those early signs of aging may have been prevented had it not been for a run of bad luck: a recent job loss and the death of his father.  Under a warm cloudless sky Evans watched as a groundsman...

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