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

If a photo was taken from above overlooking the city zoo tiger enclosure, the dividing wall between the car park and the said enclosure may not have been visible to the naked eye as it was very very thin. The new one currently being built will be much much thicker.

The forgotten look, the parents absent, without their knowledge this time and then it was decisions were made and longer regretted. That without those to look after or with or for were set sail, are set adrift, set free abandoned. No time to look back, to change, to send for help, for their parents.

"Frankly even if the door was unlocked I don't know why in the name of Pepper Joe you'd take your brother in there, what in toots did you think would happen ? " This wasn't the first time Dad had been disappointed in me but it was the first he'd spoke of Pepper Joe since the accident.

Ruk the disco detective, recently recalled from tropical Malibu hated the late english nights, especially those when he was investigating dead people. " Batteries ! " the torch had gone again, Stano, his partner swapped torches silently, reassuringly. Sweeping side to side from where the body lay they'd failed to find any clues so far, hopefully the other teams had had more luck, the air, silent and oppressive felt like it was attempting to strangle them. Moving aside a broken ash tree branch Stano spotted something glinting in the torchlight, an Ipod. Inching closer, careful not to miss anything else in their eagerness they creeped. Ruk picked it up and pressed play : a dirge poured out the tiny speakers that hung from his hand, he closed his eyes to listen. " Norwegian Black Metal, " turning his head slightly to one side, " Fimbulwinter, good, we have a start ". And with that the ipod was pocketed and the two detectives walked back to the centre. ...

Approaching a scary Altostratus Ahmed reached into his bag to consult Orville Wrights head but just a handful of thick unkempt hair was enough for the amateur pilot to realise he'd packed Stephen Kings head once again. Don't let me down this time Master of Horror, he thought, nervously.

When Columbia returned from his tour of duty aboard the International Space Center his first thought was of home. But as his hometown had never existed, a fact explained to him on numerous occasions during the subsequent six months of hospital treatment he has learned to stop talking of it. Although silent Columbia has been refining his theory, one based upon the principle that the physical world is created by our minds and that something must have caused everyone to forget his town at the same moment. Now, he waits for an email from a cosmonaut with whom he'd shared 14 months in orbit.  Columbia is ready to shake the world, to change the history of mankind forever.

Today I read a man was shot in the leg during a burglary in my home town Inverness, where my mother and sister still live. It made me feel guilty as I don't call often enough. Later, the radio reported another incident, a man shot in the stomach described as being in a stable but critical situation; this man lived near Great Yarmouth, the seaside town my father had scuttled off to when he met the woman with the hips. This time it brought back memories of saurday afternoons watching wrestling together; Giant Haystacks and Rollerball Rocco. She looked like Big Daddy, the woman he'd ran off with.