Sunday, 20 November 2016

Casualties



I ate my sandwiches alone. It was my second week at the factory, but I was still unloved by my fellow colleagues. I looked around the restaurant, as I ate my mid-afternoon snack, and thought to myself that my colleagues were all cunts. Scum. Bastards. Slags. Whores. Dogs. I despised them all. Not because they didn't accept me, but because it was me against them. It was a war. There had already been one casualty, and there were going to be others. That's what wars are all about. Casualties. And if I didn't want to become a casualty, I would have to take out my opponents – one by one. Only the fittest would survive. It was me or them.  


There's going to be a war...
Extract taken from "The Londoners" - an ebook for kindle by Luke Ryman.

Wednesday, 2 November 2016

Thin lips






 A man could easily become depressed in such circumstances. A sea of bodies – yet none of them virgins, and all of them familiar with rough sex. Samantha spoke to me again. She asked me where my friend had got to. What friend? The one who I said I was waiting for. Well, there was no friend. It had been an excuse to make her shut her vulgar mouth, and deflect her away from me. Except that it hadn't worked. She said that her friends called her Sammie. That seemed logical. I had to move closer to her, because a man had pushed me in the back, to get to the bar. Sammie smelt of cheap perfume. I looked at her face. It wasn't as bad as some of the faces in the pub. She had turned her back on her girlfriends, and wanted to speak to me. I offered Sammie a drink. She asked the barman for a vodka and coke. Much better than a pint of lager, I thought. Sammie had unblemished skin, and thin lips. A small nose. Blue eyes. Dark hair. But that fucking tattoo. She said that she regretted having the tattoo, because she thought that later on – when she was older – it would look stupid. I laughed and agreed with her. I said that I didn't have any tattoos. Everything about Sammie was slim. Her entire body. Her thin neck. Her fingers. Thin and so feminine. When she took her glass of vodka and coke I looked at the way she gripped the glass. It was a delicate grip. I had been wrong to write her off as chaff.  

Love is in the air in southeast London. But how will the evening end?
"The Londoners: Part 1" out now for kindle via amazon.