Short stories and flash fiction written by Sean
Dear Neighbour,
The excessive banging from your flat has not gone unnoticed. I am not one to complain, in fact the sounds have kept me company for many years. I only write because the boy at No 4 suggested you’d been building a boat. I’d very much like to join you before the flood reaches our floor.
Yours sincerely
Neighbour
Fred was delighted to have his first porn audition.
“You need a USP” his agent said, confusing simple Fred.
“A unique selling point,” she explained. “Think up a character, an angle, make it marketable!”
She laughed when Fred said he’d go to a fancy dress shop for inspiration. Clothes aren’t many people’s first thought when it came to naughty videos.
Fred searched the racks until he came across a blue sailor suit. Inspired, he rushed to the counter and bartered. He only wanted the sailor hat and shirt. No trousers.
The woman insisted the trousers were part of the outfit and items could not be sold separately. He was too excited to argue and paid the full price.
At the audition, Fred posed in his bottomless outfit. A blue sailor hat and shirt.
Donald F*** was born.
Fred, I mean Donald, was an instant success. The Disney Corporation almost immediately sent cease-and-desist orders.
He ignored Walt’s lawyers and they let it lie until Donald won ‘Best New Cummer’ at a prestigious award ceremony.
Disney then threatened to sue him but Donald’s lawyer explained a family company like that wouldn’t want to give him any more exposure.
Donald forgot his legal worries until the phone started making a clicking sound. Soon after men in suits started showing up and making notes, keeping an eye. A black car was parked outside his home but it was probably always there. Right?
Never good at taking a hint Donald still went to work the day after a suspicious gas leak took his new home.
Although speeding he didn’t intend to skip the traffic lights. Nor drive off the pier.
Donald F*** was DEAD.
Some say it was suicide, the pressures of fame. Others say the brakes were always dodgy. Some suggest the brakes were cut.
Judy was shocked by the news her new neighbour was a rapist. He wasn’t ashamed to say so. He even gave her a business card that read John Bolder The Rapist. She probably should have calmed down before burning down his house. Judy felt terribly guilty the next day when Fran asked: “Did you hear about poor John the Therapist?”
A police woman would be his perfect wife. She’d be athletic, she’d have a regular income, her night shifts would give him time to himself.
Timothy could see no reason to not quicken the proceedings and meet his soulmate as soon as possible.
He entered the park, disrobed and waited. He smiled as the faint blue lights drew closer.