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

So when the beach stopped spinning and I didn't I then fell into the sea smelling the salt water and feeling sea weed caress my face as a collective groan of disappointment lulled me to sleep. I hadn't been the most attentive uncle but at least I'd been there for them. Until I'd fallen asleep that is. But afterwards, when I woke up, if I hadn't been there that night they may have perished, they may have been buried under the rocks. Admittedly very small rocks, more like pebbles but a cat could have jumped up onto the shelf and knocked them into their sleeping mouths. Plugged and suffocating they could have been, lying there green or purple if I hadn't have acted so quick. I should be thanked for saving your children not shouted at for carrying them into the night.

Since Otto returned from the dead he had found as many faults with his life as he had treasures. His wife was disappointing, fatter than he'd have liked; his daughter was passable but his sons were both clumsy and scatterbrained. The friends that came to call seemed boorish and the job he travelled to appeared immoral and unnecessary. Understandably upset at his new found candour Otto's wife, Maria arranged counselling, to help him remember the man he was before the crash. Initially sceptical of the process Otto soon found himself looking forward to his sessions and little by little as he learnt how the trauma of death and resurrection had likely led to his new found view of the world he began to value and fall in love with his life all over again. Maria was so happy and things were going along just fine until the day Otto received the news that the accident hadn't resulted in his death at all but merely in a brief period of unconscious...

The citizens of Kronk held their breath as King Harold stood before the cameras, ready to deliver the most important speech of his life. Two hundred miles away in the area know as the darkened a beast was stirring. Anthony, the giant, who'd laid waste to whole swathes of the south and had finally been trapped, drugged and encased within a stone prison was about to make the front pages once more. " Citizens, as you are aware last month we caught and contained the beast known as Anthony the Giant, imprisoning him within a stone box without window nor door but as many of you know, he was too strong " Flashbulbs flashed and journalists jostled with each other for position. " Each time we have built a larger enclosure he has ripped it down, he has been like the maggot in a corpse eating his way through to the sunlight, we may have slowed him down but we cannot build any more prisons " Phones were going off, the throng of journalists was getting thinner, some aba...

Autumn crept up on us as we were sleeping the leaves brittle red warnings we work in pairs, fingertips to the grass no one knows who we are looking for but we look anyway inch by inch for months now the bodies have been appearing, all unidentified one every two or three days we come together and search to make the waiting easier Its late and we're struggling to see, time to leave, start again tomorrow Will you stay with me tonight?

The gin took the edge of the day, a couple more and he'd be ok to go home. That's what he was tellling himself anyway. Another over here when you've a moment. The man waved a fiver in the air and destested what he'd become. When I was young I wanted to be Peter Withe, powering a header into the back of a net. When I was older it was Paul Jackson who'd turned his house into a music venue, got a stage out the back and a pool room at the front. I practically lived there for three years, played darts with charlie harper, discussing politics with Atilla the Stockbroker; happy, carefree days. He's got to write a report later, set out the firms response to the latest incident but for now he's drinking gin and waving bank notes to get noticed.

We drift in and out of sleep as the coach winds its way through the mountains, bags under our feet, rolled up clothes behind our head. I spot the dog star, shining through the murky windows and decide the distance there and back is how much I love you.

The Scottish separatist stood before Jim Kerr, head bowed. The bloated simple minds front man floated forwards, his head at an ungodly and particularly Scottish angle, Celtic fury in his eyes. Behind him Charlie the other one lit the remaining matches one by one and threw them at his neck. one - the prime minister wasn't there As each match hit Charlie the other one counted out the ways the terrorist plan was doomed to fail. two - the voting hasn't started three - the firewood was damp four - you're no Guy Fawkes five - we said no six - we said no way, no way, no way It lasted only for twenty minutes or so and then they were gone and the deflated freedom fighter was left to lick his wounds.