Postcards from Kronk - the second collection of daily stories. (2025)

During the back end of 2012 two anti-establishment sleeper Councillors will vote through a series of bills designed to bring down the Man, to show the system for the creaking corrupt corpse it has become and to herald in a new world of anarchy and peace. That they fail will be common knowledge, most of the bills will make little or no impact when leaked to the press but one, the infamous drink crime bill will change the world. That is why they will knock on your doors, that is why we will meet in private and that is why we must never vote for any of them ever again.

William G Peterson and Ronald F Waterstone faced each other over their over-sized leather desk and through matching horn rimmed glasses. Their deputies, armed with laptops, notes, kindles and folders, waited to be called up one by one to attack or defend a particular point of contention like besuited pokemon. It was only a matter of time before their internal power struggles became public and each realised whilst some compromise would be necessary, he who blinked first would be like prime fillet laid out before the master butcher. ' I am happy to concede your men acted with no malice ' Peterson began. ' And I am willing to accept the accident was not intentional ' Waterstone returned with the precision of a two handed backhand. George H Robinson meanwhile, ex of Peterson, Waterstone and Robinson was busy emailing another limerick to every name in the company address book.

Harold paced out the distance between his front door and the wall once more. Twenty two paces, seventy odd feet thereabout. Not too far enough away for him to have failed to hear it's erection during the previous evening, yet he had slept like a baby, ein kinder even. The wall was made of large bricks, each double the size of a regular brick and it encircled the whole of his property like a miniature cooling tower or a garden wall on steroids with no doorway yet as the wall was no more than seven foot he'd been able to clamber over and back again a number of times during the day. The first time he got over the wall he read ' welcome to berlin' daubed on the outside. The word Berlin didn't have a capital B and this too irritated him but not as much as being incarcerated whilst he was sleeping. Forty four paces there and back, Harold pulled a chair from the kitchen out and set it facing his new wall wondering what to do next (as the sun would set a little earlier...

From a distance it looked like two Godzilla sized drunken storks butting each other like deer, surely this couldn't be true? When we got closer we decided it was two helicopters playing a dangerous game of giant conkers with boulders but why would they do that? As we took out binoculars we could see in the whites of their eyes, the pilots unease, as if they too doubted the sense of their actions.

The baby thought his mother emanated strange high pitched drones whenever she wasn't speaking due to her addiction to playing music at the highest possible level through tiny headphones that managed to broadcast her tastes so loudly every person who came within ten feet of her was drunk on passive melodies. I thought she was rotten but I shouldn't have rescued her child and understand now that was a bad thing to do, I'll return the headphones as soon as I get out of here.

The train stopped without warning jolting Wilf forwards into the lap of a flustered thirty something photographer who wondered for a second if she was being assaulted. As he began to apologise the train lurched to the right as passengers pressed their faces to the windows to get a better view. Wilf and the woman, Audrey, she introduced herself as they joined the audience, couldn't believe their eyes. A shudder past through the carriage, a bolt of recognition and unease, suddenly all the passengers were as one, all united in their normality whilst outside, possibly miles away was something else, something that wasn't them. There seemingly perfect in every detail was the head of young boy, about 8 years old, brown hair, blue eyes, podgy cheeks and about 800 feet in diameter. He only lasted a few seconds, long enough to promise some vague actions if we didn't change our ways and then he was gone, disappearing into the mountains like a heat haze. What do you think we sh...

Robert Oppenheimer didn't invent the nuclear bomb, in fact it was a Hungarian Jew named Leo Szilard and his guilt over it's possible implications led him to a life of work dedicated to preventing a nuclear war. That history has damned Oppenheimer and saved Szilard is largely a matter of chance and the speed of communication. Marek Ortiz wishes he lives in less instant times, in the days of Slizard and Oppenheimer where he too could dodge the bullet and his invention of projecting onto clouds would not be called now, only two months down the line, the end of night. Already the islanders for the trial project are campaigning for not only the project to be stopped but also for him to be arrested for crimes against humanity.