Contest #174 shortlist ⭐️

43 comments

Funny Contemporary Fiction

“The hour of the proletariat is upon us brothers and sisters,” announced the silver-haired speaker standing on his box platform. “Never before has the working man had so much weight behind his advance toward equality…”

“Wot’d he say?”

“He’s explaining Marxist philosophy, Grandad. Saying how the bourgeoisie class has had their day in the sun.”

“This is fucking England, Tommo. Nothin but bloody rain all the time. If his bourgeoisie have had their day in the sun, it was probably on a business trip to fuckin’ Corfu.”

Contradictory to Reggie Harris’ comment; accompanied by his grandson, Tom, the two men were enjoying a warm, mild Spring afternoon hanging out together at the north-east corner of Hyde Park in London – in an area more commonly known as Speaker’s Corner. In a time-honoured tradition dating back to the 1860s, each passing Sunday; people have stood in front of inquisitive crowds, asserting their opinions, or just openly talking about all things topical or religious – without fear of retribution but with the big expectation of receiving highly vocalised mass rebuttals. Eliminating profanity, hate speech, and avoiding any incites of violence in your orations, your corner was yours to talk endlessly – whether anyone was listening or not. No bookings needed. Just turn up and rant.

“You know ‘ow all this started, don’t you, Tommo?”

Reggie’s working-class, Cockney rhetorical way of asking a question was commonplace among certain educational levels. Londoners have the wonderful gift of asking you something they already know the answer to. It’s akin to involving someone in a conversation you’re having with yourself, like the question is asked mainly to make a statement.

“They used to hang people near ‘ere. It was called the Tyburn gallows.”

“Wot…? in Hyde Park?”

“You just might be standing right over the spot where three ‘undred years of neck snapping took place.”

Uncomfortable with that thought, Tom took a cautious step backwards.

“Yeah, I reckon if we came back with a couple of shovels and dug down about twenty feet, we’d probably discover the old gallows still standin’ with nooses looped, the ghosts of swinging London’s past still choking away.”

“Are you ‘avin me on, Grandad?”

“…Of course I am, you plonker…!”

“…Very funny, Grandad… I suppose you were born…”

Tom’s interrupted retort comparing his grandfather’s age to the time of the Tyburn gallows was unexpectedly drowned out by the nearby crowd disagreeing with the soapbox speaker.

“Wots he sayin?”

Tom strained to listen to the speaker’s stretched vocal cords, trying to outshout the loud protestation.

“…He’s on about how the working man… is being exploited for his skills… and forced to accept meager wages…”

“Wot?”

“I said, he’s… Hey, where’s your hearing aids?”

“At home.”

“Wot are they doin' there?”

“They keep fallin owt… Anyway, my hearing is better without them…”

Tom waited for the expected punchline that didn’t come. Being used to his grandfather’s teasing wit, Tom had learned from experience that if Reggie considered something not interesting, he would adopt a flippant levity in his style of speaking - that if unaccustomed to, would catch people completely off-guard, pondering the validity of every subsequent statement that escaped from Reggie’s mouth.

“He does realise that this is two thousand and fucking twenty-two, right?”

In a swift put down of the speaker, another rhetorical question answered itself in the same sentence.

“…If he wants to take power from the capitalist class and create a socialist society - free from class structure, he’ll first need to…” Using his hands to resemble a megaphone around his mouth, Reggie loudly offered up his own personal opinion, “GET A FUCKIN’ JOB, YOU MARXIST!”

“Grandad! Keep it down, please. You’ll get a breach of the peace order.”

“I’m using fucking adjectives. Don’t you teach proper English in schools anymore?”

“I don’t teach English. I teach history.”

“Well, you didn’t know about the gallows, did-ja…”

“…It somehow skipped the part of the curriculum set out for year two students - describing the gory history of capital punishment. They see enough violence playing their video games.”

“Dunno why you want to teach snotty-faced kids, anyways.”

“I enjoy it…”

“Do you know that he’s buried in London?”

“Who?”

“Karl Marx… Highgate Cemetery. Anyone can go see him. Can’t miss that big-bearded head sitting on top of a big block of granite. Workers of all lands unite; it says on the headstone. It’s one thing theorising about equality, but I mean, someone’s got to lead, don’t they? Otherwise, you’d just end up wif a bunch of headless chickens runnin’ round the streets waving red flags.”

“Socialists do have leaders, Grandad. Without structure, there’s no organisation.”

“Listen to you, Mr. Confucius. You pick that up at your dancing karate classes?”

“It’s called Tai Chi…”

“More like Tai Chi, Cha-Cha-Cha.”

“You done?”

“…Innit funny how a German who was kicked out of France and Belgium, spent the rest of his life living ‘ere in abject poverty. The thing is, he grew up in a rich family. Must ave been a long fall from grace. Did you know he was so poor, that his missus had to pawn off his trousers to buy food for them. He couldn’t leave the house until she got them back. I reckon he must have hated seeing people with money, reminding him of how much he used to have and how little he really had.”

“Wot, you think his philosophy was fuelled by resentment?”

“Bloody right, it was… He was a racist, too. Hated Jews, dark skin, and when his housekeeper gave birth to his illegitimate son, he kicked them both out into the streets. Fuckin’ wanker.”

“How are you so knowledgeable about Karl Marx?”

“YouTube, Tommo. Plus, I read a lot.”

Reggie found himself being drowned out by several angry opinions aimed at the orator. His curiosity peaked, Reggie grabbed Tom’s sleeve and pushed their way to the front of the crowd, just in time to hear a heated argument between a religious zealot and the socialist.

“This should be interesting, Tommo. A bible thumper arguing philosophy with a Marxist. Someone tell ‘em that two wrongs do not make a right.”

“Jesus, Grandad…”

“Wot!? You aven’t gone all religion on me, ave ya?”

“No, but if I had, that would be my choice, wouldn’t it.”

“Wouldn’t be a worse choice than teaching… What’s that he’s sayin?”

“He’s calling religion the opium of the people.”

“That’s just paraphrasing Marx. Ain’t he got nothin’ original?”

“Says, he follows a material philosophy, and that materialism means that thought does not occur without a brain.”

“Bet it took him a while to think that up…”

“…Without a body, there is no brain and without food you get no body.”

“He’s talkin’ in circles, innee…?”

“…And food would not exist without a material environment…”

“Bollocks! Food would not exist without the fucking supermarkets… Wot’s the Jesus freak sayin’ back to him?”

“He’s just waving his bible in the air, praying while being told that… religious idealism is a dualist ideology that thinks it exists above nature, and its biggest idea is God.”

“He’s got a point.”

Nothing is supernatural, he says. Otherwise, it’s beyond nature and nothing is beyond nature.”

As the defeated revivalist scurried away clasping his bible closely to his chest, Reggie decided to engage the victor with an opinion.

“You’d better watch out for lightning bolts, mate. Judging by the look on his mush, he’ll soon be on his ‘ands and knees, prayin’ to his almighty to turn you into stone.”

The speaker surprisingly said nothing, but just stared blankly at Reggie, slightly unnerving him.

“Just a joke, mate. He’s a dying breed, anyway…”

The speaker continued to study Reggie’s face meticulously, then after a few moments, his eyebrows raised, followed quickly by an expression of recognition on his face, echoing his vocal exclamation…

“REGGIE!”

Perplexed as to how this man knew his name, Reggie squinted his eyes, in an attempt of recognition.

“…Hold tight, please! Ding Ding!” The man imitated the pull of a bell cord.

Memory jogged; Reggie laboured to respond through a breathless voice.

“Arthur? Arthur Higgins?”

“Reggie Harris, as I live and breathe.”

Tom interestingly watched in silence at what appeared to him a long-lost reunion of two old friends.

“Well, fuck me,” Reggie blurted out. “The last time I saw you, you were at the front of a strike action in Peckham, shouting less hours more pay.”

Arthur chuckled at the memory now unveiling forgotten images in his brain.

“I remember… We marched on to Trafalgar Square singing, you can’t touch me, I’m part of the union, till the day I die.”

“If my memory serves me right, we ended up with the total opposite.”

“The power of the oppressors, Rej.”

Pulling on Tom’s arm, Reggie introduced the two.

“This is me youngest grandson, Tom.”

“How do…” Arthur cordially responded.

“One of seven, he is… His mum and dad ‘ave always been at it like rabbits.”

“Grandad!”

“My youngest daughter, Shirley, married a Mick, an Irish Catholic. Tommo’s the runt of the litter. How he ended up a teacher, I don’t know.”

“What do you teach, young man?”

“History.”

“Which side?”

“Don’t mind him, Tommo,” Grandad interrupted. Arthur’s always been on the side of the trodden on.“

“The Proletariat, Rej. The people. Me and your grandad, Tom, have a bit of history, don’t we…”

Again, Tom waited for a follow through, but realised prompting was required.

“Where’d you both meet?”

Reggie offered up his answer first… “On the buses.”

“Wot!? On a bus?”

“Nah, you plonker,” teased Reggie.

“Your grandad and me worked on the buses,” Arthur cut in. “We was a team. I was the conductor collecting fares and he drove the bus.”

By now, the crowd, unfulfilled with the break in the action, began to disperse, some heading towards the recent religious interloper, who had positioned himself on a wooden crate and was dramatically preaching his gospel interpretation of the seventh day. As one listener shifted camp, he innocently enquired as to why Arthur had stopped speaking, to which the curt reply was, “I’m exercising my worker’s right to a break, brother…”

“Still fighting the system, I see,” noted Reggie.

“Once an agitator, always an agitator,” was Arthur’s quick reply. “I wasn’t always, Tom… In those days, we didn’t have Oyster cards or travel cards, or even credit cards. Unless you ‘ad a bus pass, you paid cash for your ticket to ride. The problem with that was we were always running out of coins to change notes or split larger coins. Bus fares then were fairly cheap, and most people carried the right amount of fare on ‘em. It was a ritual with some. Others, it was the only bit of cash they had readily available. I mean, back then, wages were atrocious. Unless you were in management or ran a business, you were paid horribly.”

“So,” enquired Tom. “What was a normal wage as a bus driver back then, Grandad?”

  Scratching his head, trying to recall what he earned, Reggie took a brief pause, before his memory returned.

“…On a good week – and I mean a week where we were paid a passenger bonus… After tax, I was lucky if I took home… thirty quid a week.”

“More than me, you rich bugger,” protested Arthur.

“Yeah, but I was the driver and more skilled than you.”

“And you think it was easy havin’ to deal with the public every day – mostly on my feet. Anyway, let me finish my story, cause it’s why my eyes became finally opened to the oppression of the lower classes.”

“Sorry,” said Tom. 

“…Well, on this one day, this bowler-hatted toff gets on, sits on the back bench seat by the entrance, and hands me a one-pound note for a 20p fare. It was near the end of our shift and on a Friday – you know, pay day for most. I’d taken a lot of paper money on our route and had run out of small coins, so I politely asked this geezer if he had the exact change an’ he come back all sneering with, Exact change? What an oxymoron… Well, not knowing then what that meant, I took it as an insult and threw his rude arse off the bus. By the time we arrived back at the depot, he had been on the blower to our inspector and complained of my treatment of him, saying he had never been more humiliated in his life.”

“So, what happened?”

“He was put on report,” Reggie explained.

“Yeah, but you see, I was the local union rep, so I called for a walk-out until management promised to protect the rights of its employees to unfair disciplinary actions and to also allow appeals. Management not wanting more lost revenue to an already existing bus strike, capitulated and expunged my record, giving us all autonomous roles to manage ourselves as we saw fit…. And that, young Tom, was my first taste of rage against the machine, cementing my place in the pursuit of socialism.”

During his story, a few curious onlookers crowded around the three men in the hope of hearing something sensational. But after a quick, “Bugger off you nosey bastards” from Reggie, they quickly dispersed.

“You see, Tommo,” explained Arthur. “At the time, there was a social struggle goin’ on. As always, the rich were getting richer, while us peons regressed into abject poverty, counting every penny we earned… I mean, today, it seems everything is changing constantly. Petrol prices, house prices, the cost of food, the cost of living… but in a way, young people like you are better off, because technology has created many high paying jobs. Yes, there are still a lot of undesired jobs out there that no-one wants, but there’s a better chance of getting a higher education than when me and Reggie was your age.”

“Have you seen teacher’s wages?” Tom complained. “It’s not easy street.”

“Well, you did have to pick a fuckin’ useless career path, didn’t you,” Reggie criticised.

“You got a teachers union at your school, Tom?” Arthur probingly asked.

“No… there’s been talk of forming one, but the principal and the board have threatened dismissal, if we go in that direction.”

“That’s oppression of the Proletariat,” Arthur exclaimed loudly, causing some of his earlier crowd to return and listen in. “Here, take my business card. When you’re ready to talk union, call me. You do know it’s illegal to dismiss you for joining a union.”

Without losing stride, Arthur turned to address the growing crowd.

“…It’s 2022 comrades, and the machine continues to run over the wants and needs of the pedestrians.”

“Wot’s he sayin?” Reggie asked Tom.

“He said, the machine continues…”

“I heard that, you parrot. What fucking machines? This is a car-free zone park…”

“It’s a metaphor, Grandad. He’s using an example to describe the situation.”

Reggie’s face scrunched in a frustrated expression of exasperation at Tom’s failure to understand that his grandfather was not stupid.

“I’ve got an enlightening metaphor for you Tommo… Act like a sheepdog and get the flock out of here…”

“Wot!?”

Gradually surrounded by an audience of approximately fifty-plus listeners, Arthur took up position on his makeshift podium to preach a doctrine combining socialism with reinterpreted Marxism.

“We may think everything is changing,” Arthur began. “The times, our attitude, our sensitivity to all things not woke. But in reality, nothing has changed in our society since we shipped government undesirables off to Van Daemon’s land…”

“Van Who?”

“Australia, you history failure.”

“..I’m amazed he knows what woke is.”

“Yeah, it’s wot you should do every morning before breakfast…”

Pausing to allow Reggie and Tom their moment of indifference, had the desired effect of quietness, allowing Arthur to continue.

“…Our struggle for a classless society continues brothers and sisters. We may live in a modern world, but as long as minimum wage is less than government benefits, the only ones that prosper are the boots in your faces, pushing your oppressed minds into the dirt.”

As Arthur built up a head of full steam Marxism, Reggie was curious as to what information was on the business card.

“Give us that… Arthur Higgins,” he read. “Bermondsey Textiles… Where’d I hear that name before…?”

“Isn’t that the sweatshop that was in the news recently, Grandad? Where immigration raided and found thirty-five illegal workers living in squalid conditions in the factory.”

Reggie’s expression morphed into a look of disgust.

“That dirty little… You’re right, Tommo… Oi, Arthur…! You fucking hypocrite! You know the problem with Marxism?”

“What’s that, Reggie?”

“The problem with Marxism, Arthur… Is that like religion, it can be interpreted in many ways…. and like religion, it can be used as a weapon of fear.”

“That’s your opinion, Rej.”

“It’s also my opinion that you’re just here to make yourself feel better. You talk about low wages and poor working conditions for workers, yet you run a sweatshop full of migrants too scared to complain about their own plight, for fear of deportation. I know all about your little operation at Bermondsey Textiles. In fact, the whole fucking country does, coz you’ve been all over the news.”

The sudden disclosure caused an uproar with the crowd, who began hurling abuse at Arthur, followed first by eggs being hurled at him, then jostling him like a bunch of schoolground bullies. Calling for Reggie to step in and help him went on genuine deaf ears, as Reggie and Tom backed away from the melee, watching the police arrive.

“See you later, Arthur,” shouted Reggie. “Hold on tight… Ding Ding!”

Noticing the look of distaste on Tom’s face, Reggie felt it necessary to defend his actions.

“Wot? He’s a fake, Tommo.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to set the crowd on him.”

“Maybe, but he always was a mouthy bugger. Cost us all a pay rise back when he was marching on Downing Street. Worse union rep we ever had… Exact change, pfft… Fucking Oxymoron…!”


November 30, 2022 07:32

You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.

43 comments

Mary Lehnert
23:49 Dec 03, 2022

Another perfect example of wit, regional accents and lively exchanges between the Brits of different social persuasions. Not a wrong note anywhere Chris. Great job

Reply

Chris Campbell
03:22 Dec 04, 2022

Thanks Mary. Although, I live in the land of Oz. I grew up in London and on several occasions, I accompanied an uncle to Speakers Corner, who liked an argument - whether good or bad.

Reply

Mary Lehnert
07:50 Dec 04, 2022

A citizen of the world, Chris, like me. It’s one thing to live in a country, quite another to pick up on the culture. You wear it well. I loved Speakers corner! The good, bad and bawdy. Cheers.

Reply

Chris Campbell
10:07 Dec 04, 2022

Thank you.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Jack Bell
10:48 Dec 01, 2022

From Reggie's first comment on the bourgeoisie having to go to Corfu for their day in the sun, he delivers some very good gags. And did the ghost of the sitcom On The Buses make a fringe appearance or two?

Reply

Chris Campbell
13:51 Dec 01, 2022

Jack, Thanks for your great feedback. I am a child of the 70s, so On The Buses was indeed at the back of my mind when writing this piece. It's interesting how that show was so funny back then, but seeing it now, just makes me cringe at the sexism and leeriness of it.

Reply

Jack Bell
23:34 Dec 01, 2022

Some of the classics travel okay -- Fawlty Towers, of course -- but, yeah, On The Buses passed it use-by date around 1980, I think.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Tommy Goround
21:21 Dec 04, 2022

Clapping

Reply

Chris Campbell
22:40 Dec 04, 2022

Thanks Tommy.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
10:52 Dec 04, 2022

Authentically voiced, intelligently written, witty, nuanced, entertaining. A masterclass in characterization! Clear the bookshelf for an incoming🏆

Reply

Chris Campbell
13:26 Dec 04, 2022

Oh wow, thank you Deidra. Wonderful feedback. Let's hope the story does well.

Reply

18:18 Dec 09, 2022

Congrats on the shortlist, Chris -- this is absolutely a masterpiece. I really had this pegged for the win. I hope you find other places to submit -- this needs a wide readership. Stellar.

Reply

Chris Campbell
06:31 Dec 10, 2022

Thanks Deidre. I'd almost spent the prize money after your previous comment. That bottle of Don Julio will just have to wait. Disappointed for not winning but thrilled to be shortlisted. I know of other writing competitions. Are there any in particular that you can recommend for this story?

Reply

21:11 Dec 10, 2022

Lots of your fav Reedsy writers are on this Discord channel: https://discord.gg/bxTWQw3HJR (Check out the "Other Contests" tab. People post good stuff all the time! ) Submittable is also fun. https://manager.submittable.com/login

Reply

21:37 Dec 10, 2022

https://funicularmagazine.submittable.com/submit/111622/submit-short-story-flash-or-poetry-free This is a great competition. And free to enter! Tonight is the cut off.

Reply

Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Delbert Griffith
14:52 Dec 02, 2022

This was a remarkable display of how us regular people view the disparity between the rich and the rest of us. I loved Reggie's trenchant and colorful insights, as well as his quips. You somehow manage to weave in history with great modern characters and make it all engaging. Nicely done, Chris. Also: I may be American but I'll always love 'Fawlty Towers.'

Reply

Chris Campbell
02:58 Dec 03, 2022

Delbert, thank you for your wonderful feedback. I do like weaving history into my stories. Still looking for the basis of my novel, perhaps it should fall under the historical fiction category. Yes, Fawlty Towers is timeless humour. One of my favourites too.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Wendy Kaminski
20:28 Nov 30, 2022

Here, here!

Reply

Chris Campbell
23:15 Nov 30, 2022

Thank you, Wendy.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Valerie Shand
22:56 Feb 26, 2023

I remember reading about how people would express themselves at Speakers' Corner in Hyde Park in London. These two men, grandfather and grandson, definitely are expressing themselves freely and fully. I wish I could hear the accent better, because being an American who's never been able to visit Europe, I really couldn't. However, I can appreciate your tremendous characters and how they interact. Thank you! Great read. As one of your other readers mentioned, even being an American, I also loved "Fawlty Towers" and its timeless humor.

Reply

Chris Campbell
00:55 Feb 27, 2023

Valerie, Thank you for your great comments. Did you know that John Cleese is working on a new Fawlty Towers series? I just hope the comedy is true to the original.

Reply

Valerie Shand
16:47 Feb 28, 2023

I did not and John Cleese is such a talent. Now I'll have to poke around and see what I can find out. Actually, a little Googling says that remaking this show is a minefield. “I don’t know how they’re going to tackle wokery." . . . “I don’t envy the position,” says his granddaughter. Also, turns out only 12 original episodes were made. I always thought there were more, which only speaks to its effect and influence on its viewers. Happy writing!

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
08:55 Jan 11, 2023

A great story, The dialogue reminds me of "Del Boy" and "Rodney" from the BBC series "Only Fools and Horses" - I can imagine David Jason saying "You Plonker!

Reply

Chris Campbell
09:33 Jan 11, 2023

Thank you! Being an ex-Londoner, that is a great compliment.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Amanda Lieser
03:39 Dec 22, 2022

Hi Chris! First off, congratulations! Oh I loved this one; I’ll start with the personal reasons and then add in the writing reasons. I am a firm believer we do not, ad a general society, value the stories our grandparents can teach us as much as we should so I ate up that part of the story. As for the writing bit, Chris, you always transport me. I am an American who has never had the pleasure of visiting the UK, but each time I read one of your stories I feel ad though I’m enjoying a period piece on Netflix. I always take the time to read ...

Reply

Chris Campbell
04:33 Dec 22, 2022

Amanda, Thank for your great comments and the wonderful compliments. Like you, I read my stories out loud to myself and to my partner, to see if the dialogue works. I'm so glad that my writing is convincing enough to transport the reader to my settings. I always like to do a little research ahead of time to make sure I can transport myself there as well. London is easy. I grew up there (now in Oz). In case you haven't discovered it yet, in the Microsoft Edge browser, there is a feature for the browser to read your words back to you in so...

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Delbert Griffith
01:19 Dec 18, 2022

Congrats on being shortlisted, Chris. Well deserved, my man.

Reply

Chris Campbell
02:37 Dec 18, 2022

Thanks Delbert. Reedsy had hinted at a win, so I'll just have to try harder. 😉

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Tom Ortega
09:53 Dec 14, 2022

Wait…how didn’t your story win. Not sure what’s going on lately with the last two or three winners. Bunch of amateur gobbledygook in comparison to quality stories like yours. Amateur writers: “The scientist discovered god wasn’t real!!! It sent shiver down spine. It changed the world!! The end!!!” Reedsy: 🏆

Reply

Chris Campbell
14:09 Dec 14, 2022

Tom, Thank you for your kind words. I'll admit I was disappointed as it was hinted that I had a chance of winning; however, the feedback on this story has been wonderful, so I hope to maintain that level of writing going forward and hopefully win one along the way. The most important thing for me is to keep improving. The weekly prompts have presented great challenges to do just that. It's a great community and I'm very impressed that members take time out from their daily lives to read and comment on stories. I shall carry on because each s...

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Story Time
18:01 Dec 13, 2022

I agree that this needs to be widely read. It's so fantastic. Submit it wherever you can. I especially appreciate the way you integrate wit into the story without it becoming too clever. Just fantastic.

Reply

Chris Campbell
22:16 Dec 13, 2022

Kevin, thank you so much for your great feedback. I am looking into other places to submit it to. It was a lot of fun to write and I'm glad that it has gotten a great response so far. Thank you for reading it.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Philip Ebuluofor
18:45 Dec 10, 2022

I like the tone it is written in. Congrats.

Reply

Chris Campbell
02:17 Dec 11, 2022

Thank you, Philip.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Marty B
21:36 Dec 09, 2022

Great story with so many historical tidbits. I love the Grandpa- Congrats!

Reply

Chris Campbell
06:35 Dec 10, 2022

Thanks Marty. A little bit of research can go a long way. I styled Grandpa on a tame Alf Garnett and Catherine Tate's, Gran. Might just hold onto him for another time.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Mary Lehnert
18:09 Dec 09, 2022

Your humor lifts everything you write Chris. Well deserved short listing. Mary

Reply

Chris Campbell
06:07 Dec 10, 2022

Thank you, Mary. After completing a more serious piece this week, I may just stick to comedy, as it leaves me in a better mood. 😁

Reply

Mary Lehnert
16:49 Dec 10, 2022

Chris? comedy is the hardest thing Few get it and you are always funny. In my humble opinion keep us laughing

Reply

Chris Campbell
02:18 Dec 11, 2022

Thank you. I will try my utmost.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Mike Panasitti
23:58 Dec 04, 2022

I enjoyed Reggie's irreverence and how the hypocrite Marxist got his just desserts. Even though I think Reedsy usually lavishes more attention on lighter literary fare than this, I agree with Deidra's assessment: it should be given serious consideration for the week's prize.

Reply

Chris Campbell
00:08 Dec 05, 2022

Thank you, Mike. You're very kind. This was a fun one to write.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

Bring your short stories to life

Fuse character, story, and conflict with tools in the Reedsy Book Editor. 100% free.