Martin Marriott

“A Partial Translation of the Itheecian Mythological Story ‘The Heraldic Poem’ by Master Timmly Borrans” by Martin Marriott

...Mesiod was bored. He needed excitement in his life. He’d tinkered with this idea. He fiddled around with that idea. Sometimes they worked (for a short while, anyway), but most times they ended in complete disaster. Yet, Mesiod wasn’t going to give up hope. Not just yet. And then, an idea of utter brilliance popped into his head. He rubbed his celestial hands together and then crafted the Élderversium (the Universe). Still, there was something still missing. Actually, a few things were missing.“I know exactly what I need to do!” Mesiod pro...

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“Jawbone Ridge” by Martin Marriott

Jawbone Ridge is not just a geological curiosity; it’s a sanctum for the modern pilgrim - the Instagram enthusiast, the amateur photographer in search of the perfect picture. This platform, nature’s glorious plinth, juts out of the Clynock Fells like the jaw of some ancient beast frozen mid-roar. It offers more than just a panoramic vista of the Palmaray River as it journeys through the Clynocks. Jawbone offers a brush with the sublime, a moment where one teeters on the edge of infinity, 1000 feet above the Palmaray’s embrace.Yet, Jawbone’s ...

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“Captain Mack’s Space Odyssey ” by Martin Marriott

Fuzzy. Headache. Dry mouth. Eyes blurry. The taste of cheap beer lingers. Memories of a cheap bar on a back street surface— A woman was flirting, her hair a vague shade between blonde and brown. Her accent? It morphed in my memory from French to South African, then settled on Scottish—distinctly Scottish and brimming with confidence. Was she a doctor, a physicist, or both?The fog in my mind begins to lift. My eyes focus. The room I find myself in is not the cheap bar but a bedroom. It bears no sign of the confident Scottish doctor or physici...

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“Night Bird” by Martin Marriott

Submitted to Contest #242

Paris, 1954 There are things in the world that can’t be explained with rational thinking or scientific logic. Sometimes, there are phenomena that baffle the mind, and no matter how hard we try to rationalise the irrational, we will never arrive at a rational conclusion. That is precisely what happened to Étienne Dubois in the spring of 1954 when he secured a part-time job as a security guard at the Louvre.Étienne Dubois was a man of scientific reasoning. He took the part-time job as a security guard to help fund his final year at the Univers...

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“The Betrayal of King Ealdræd” by Martin Marriott

“I’m sorry to have woken you, sire,” Dunstan Fairchilde panted with anxiety as he led a sleep-deprived Sir Hale of Ackerlane towards the Great Hall. “I told you to come to me instantly if his state worsened,” Sir Hale croaked, blinking wearily. “And by the sound of your words, his state has indeed worsened. Will the king’s chamber steward live?”“Ealhstan Kimball will live, sire,” Dunstan explained. “I fear, however, he may walk with a limp for the rest of his life.” “I suppose young Kimball should be thankful the king is old and fr...

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“The Aeacidae” by Martin Marriott

In the shadow of Mount Olympus, on a rugged coast untouched by time, stands a lighthouse unlike any known to mortal men. Its stones are carved with symbols older than the myths whispered in the halls of Athens. The lighthouse was the domain of Lysander Aeacidae, whose solemn duty was not to guide ships through treacherous waters, but to shepherd souls to Hades where they would either reside in Elysium—a paradisiacal place for the righteous and heroic souls—or Tartarus, a deep abyss used as a dungeon of torment and suffering for the wicked.As...

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“All That Glitters” by Martin Marriott

Jonas Jensen’s head fell against the steering wheel. He let out the deepest sigh imaginable, soon followed by a guttural scream of frustration. He hoisted his head backward and drummed his hands against the steering wheel, hurling abuse in a sheer expression of desperation at the standstill before him. The traffic was getting worse. Normally, the drive home took Jonas thirty minutes, but in the last month, it had doubled to exactly an hour, though it felt like two. Why the traffic had suddenly worsened, no one knew. There were no roadworks, ...

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“Before the Empire” by Martin Marriott

The Temple of Vesta, Rome, 44BC Ten days after the assassination of his great uncle by the Liberatores in the Theatre of Pompey, Gaius Octavius Thurinus had been coming at the dead of night to the Temple of Vesta and stared aimlessly at the sacred flame. The very same flame that Licinia and her Vestal sisters were charged with keeping lit. The look upon Octavius’ face as he entered the temple gave the other Vestal Virgins a clear indication to leave the grieving young man alone. He was clearly troubled, and his entire demeanour gave the impr...

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“One Last Kiss For Dorothy Sayers” by Martin Marriott

“I’m going to marry you one day,” were the first words I ever said to Dorothy. We were standing in a crowded and raucous kitchen at a student house party, the name of which I can’t quite remember. However, I distinctly remember it was Christmas time, as Dorothy was wearing a Santa’s Little Helper outfit.“Is that so?” Dorothy mused, sipping her margarita through a red and white striped straw. “I’m currently not in the market for a husband.”“It’s okay,” I teased. “I’ll wait.”Dorothy looked at me intently as she sipped her cocktail. “What’s you...

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“Scar House” by Martin Marriott

Submitted to Contest #236

When I was a kid, I thought Scar House was a colossal place for two people to live. In my young mind, it was not only the grandest house in Cape Argo but also in Cedar Ridge County. Scar House was a testament to old American luxury. The hallway was spacious and welcomed visitors with warm, ambient lighting and sleek, polished floors. Each of the four bedrooms was a sanctuary of comfort, featuring large windows that bathed the room in natural light and bespoke wardrobes that added to the bygone opulent American luxury. The heart of Scar House...

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“When Pixels Collide” by Martin Marriott

“There’s no violence, Dad?” “Of course, there’s no violence.” “No Joe Public to beat up either.” “Things were a bit different in the ’90s, Sid. You didn’t go around beating up innocent people just for kicks.” “I can’t see any prostitutes to pimp out or cars to steal. How did you not claw your eyes out with boredom?” “Boredom? You can’t get bored playing this computer game. This, my boy, was the pinnacle of child entertainment.” “Pinnacle? More like a piss-take, Dad. Where are the guns? I want to shoot something.” “There are no guns.” “Ugh! T...

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“Between a Witch and a Hard Pace” by Martin Marriott

With a pace of 7’ 51” and a heart rate of 152 BPM, Evan Pryor’s first mile was going well. There was no heavy breathing, no aching calf muscles, and most importantly, no exercise-related transient abdominal problems, otherwise known as ‘getting a stitch.’ Evan embarked on his soul-cleansing 2.5-mile run at 5:30 pm, just after finishing work. He found it an effective way to destress from another day spent dealing with dickheads. Evan had long ago concluded that God must have gathered all the dipshits, morons, and fucktards in the world a...

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“Thieves’ Gambit” by Martin Marriott

Submitted to Contest #235

There were still some secret bars and unsavoury hideouts in Echo City that Yen Ortrix hadn’t visited, which, given her current predicament, was fortunate. She needed a place to lie low for a while until the shit storm she had stirred up died down. How long would that be? She figured it would be quite some time. Over the years, she had angered Zorix Kyril and stolen from his criminal organisation too many times. Whenever Kyril caught up with her, she always managed to talk her way out of being killed, ending up working off her debts. After al...

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“Tick, Tock, and Goat Yoga” by Martin Marriott

Submitted to Contest #234

“We have all the time in the world.” “If by ‘all the time in the world’ you mean three minutes and forty-two seconds.” “Time is a human construct.” “And this construct will blow us to smithereens if you don’t defuse that bomb in the next three minutes and thirty-nine seconds.” “You stress too much. Have you considered goat yoga?” “No, Frank. I haven’t tried goat yoga.” “You should. It’s good for those wrinkle lines.” “I don’t have wrinkle lines, Frank. I have stress lines. Stress lines caused by a certain bomb disposal expert.” “I’m your fav...

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“Jacob’s Choice” by Martin Marriott

Submitted to Contest #234

May 14, 1974, was just another Tuesday. Tuesdays for me, a twenty-two-year-old, meant having a burger, fries, a few cokes, and a night of smashing the pins with my best buddy since kindergarten, Jacob Oliver, at Papa Luke’s Lanes. “Can you swing by the 7-Eleven on Whitmore?” Jacob asked me, his window wound down, arm resting on the door as he smoked a cigarette. “What for?” I asked. “Papa Luke’s is only two blocks away from Whitmore.” “I’m thirsty. Like really thirsty,” Jacob grinned back at me. The charming look in his eye gleamed as ...

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