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    Stories From The World Of Ethereal: Long Way Home
    Stories From The World Of Ethereal: Long Way Home
    Stories From The World Of Ethereal: Long Way Home
    Ebook97 pages1 hour

    Stories From The World Of Ethereal: Long Way Home

    By Raymond S Flex

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    About this ebook

    Ethereal: a land far, far away . . . as luck would have it.

    Short stories from the world of Ethereal.

    A collection of light-hearted stories from a place that, most likely, doesn't exist.

    And that's probably for the best.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDIB Books
    Release dateMay 10, 2016
    ISBN9781533758613
    Stories From The World Of Ethereal: Long Way Home
    Author

    Raymond S Flex

    From fleeting frontiers to your kitchen sink, with Raymond S Flex you never know quite what to expect. His most popular series include: the Crystal Kingdom, Guynur Schwyn and Arkle Wright. On the lighter side of things he also writes Gnome Quest: a high fantasy with . . . yup, you guessed it, gnomes! And not to forget his standalone titles: Necropolis, Ethereal and more short stories than you can shake a space blaster at. Get in touch, keep up, at www.raymondsflex.com

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      Book preview

      Stories From The World Of Ethereal - Raymond S Flex

      Stories From The World Of Ethereal

      Stories From The World Of Ethereal

      A Short Story Collection

      Raymond S Flex

      DIB Books

      Contents

      DISHWASTER

      BALD POET

      THE GROTESQUE

      PRINCE COURTNEY

      DIVUS & DORIS

      Author’s Note

      DISHWASTER

      1

      BRIGHT YELLOW LIGHT bled into the side alley to Hempy’s Happy Times, a fast-food restaurant with a long and distinguished history in the town of North Bruxley. A man-boy: the frame and muscular build of a man in his early-twenties, but the cherubic face of a youthful adolescent, stumbled out into the alley, turning his ankle in a pothole as he fell, catching his head on a brick sticking out at a malicious angle from the wall.

      A stern and heavy voice, surely belonging to a stocky man in his forties or fifties, followed the boy out. That’s the last dish you smash in my kitchen, you bleeding dishwaster.

      The door slammed shut, extinguishing any light in the side alley.

      The boy sat on the ground, rubbing his head where it had come into contact with the wall.

      There was a girlish titter in the darkness.

      The boy flinched then glanced round. Who’s there?

      Another titter.

      What’s so funny?

      A match scraped against an unseen matchbox and flared up, sending a flaming glow round the alley—showing up the various wheelie bins, the broken glass sparkling in little circles of chaos and the bones chewed up by stray dogs. All the smells seemed to join soon after. The sweet smell of rubbish juice and rotting meat.

      The flame steadied and girl brought the match up to her face, illuminating her features. She had dark brown—no, black—eyes and china doll features, as if were someone to tweak her nose it might break, if they were to touch her rouge lips they might crumble into dust. Her black hair was in a pixie-like cut and it shimmered with every one of her movements.

      The boy straightened and then rose. He looked back to the door which he had been recently hurled out of. He swore under his breath.

      What’s the matter? the girl said.

      He looked back at her. What’re you doing here, lurking about?

      The girl shrugged. Just bored, I reckon.

      Yeah? So thought you’d pop down here, look out for any pot washers getting sacked? Thought it might be worth a chuckle?

      Your boss said it was a dish.

      The boy wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. I do dishes, too.

      She arched an eyebrow. You really are a jack-of-all-trades.

      Why don’t you go pick on someone else, eh?

      Her grin widened and she stepped closer. The match burnt down to her fingers and then snuffed out, leaving them in fresh darkness.

      The moon draped its half-light down on the side alley. After a matter of moments the boy’s eyes grew accustomed to the change and he could make out the form of the girl.

      Have you got a girlfriend? the girl said.

      The boy scowled. What kind of a question is that?

      The girl shrugged. Dunno, just curious.

      The boy sighed. Look, you turn up here just after I’ve lost my third job in as many months, first you laugh at me getting thrown out on my arse then you start probing into my private life. Are you some kind of self-esteem murderer?

      The girl tittered again. All right, dishwaster, don’t get your knickers in a twist.

      Don’t call me that.

      Why not? she said. It’s funny.

      That’s my career you’re making fun of.

      She flicked her fringe out of her eyes. Then maybe you should consider another one.

      Dishwaster shook his head and snorted. Yeah? Great advice, I should really take that on board. Only problem is there’s something standing in my way, namely qualifications.

      What’s that?

      Dishwaster screwed up his eyes. He made his way along the alley, wanting to pass the girl. Get out of my, way, please. I want to go home. There’s some lichen cultivating on the seal of my fridge that might be missing me.

      The girl shoved her hand against Dishwaster’s solar plexus. Come on, you haven’t listened to what I’ve got to say yet. Stay and natter, just a little while.

      He waited a moment and then knocked her hand away, making for the main road, heading back to the bus stop to catch the Ebberly Express back home. As he trudged his way along the pavement, he noticed the pitter-patter of footsteps behind him. When he turned his head, sure enough, there was the girl, following.

      He came to a halt, leaning up against a convenient lamppost, plastered with dishevelled posters advertising gigs, flats for rent and lost dogs. Since his t-shirt was caked in baking fat and grease he really didn’t care about the extra layer of dirt he was adding to the fabric. All right, Dishwaster said. That’s enough of this. Stop following me, all right?

      The girl trod up to him. She smiled. No.

      Dishwaster looked round, as if he might be able to spot a passing policeman, bring the law to bear on this. You know, what you’re doing is tantamount to stalking.

      ‘Tantamount?’ she said. That’s an awfully big word for a dishwaster.

      I told you not to call me that.

      Ignoring him, she closed one eye and looked him up and down. I think there’s more to you than meets the eye, you know. I reckon you’re doing yourself down.

      He patted the pocket of his jeans and withdrew a battered packet of cigarettes. Inside one cigarette remained. It was bent in the middle so he straightened it out before slipping it between his lips. Great, so now you’re feeling bad about making me feel bad.

      Smoking will kill you.

      Yeah? Thanks for the lecture, Grandma, now give me a light, won’t you?

      The girl’s inane smile dialled up a couple of notches. I don’t have a light.

      Look, don’t get all high and mighty with me, okay? I saw that match you struck back there in the alley, now hand one over.

      That was the last one, she said.

      You really want to enrage a nicotine addict?

      I’m telling the truth.

      Dishwaster gazed into her eyes, those dual pits of oil and murk, and he decided that she was telling the truth, or at least she was a passable liar. Apart from that, though, he had to admit she was attractive, that he

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