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By request, the first of my short stories.

short story 1

Hello lovely wonderful humans! Here is the first of my short stories that I have been working on. This one has been nominated by ye over on my Instagram page. I’ll be sharing the others in due course.  There’s an audio version as well as a written version below for those of ye who might be having trouble understanding my accent. Enjoy!

Sunday Morning on Cork Street

A Tale About Awkwardness, and Sex

“Beeeeeeeeeeeeep”. The futile call of a frustrated driver is an ugly smudge on the morning air. The aul biddies bustling in their anoraks look on bemused at the traffic jam so utterly unusual of a Sunday. I scan the procession through my rear-view in search of our noisy offender; the edge of every car is softened golden by the morning light and the queue stretches down the hill to distances unimaginable. Ahead, there’s a stocky hi-vis clad man wielding his stop sign and he’s showing no signs of switching it anytime soon.

I apologize to him* for the billionth time. He bristles with anxiety beside me, silent between my bouts of apology and shit attempts at small talk. I muster the audacity to place my hand on his knee. His gaze shifts from the mid distance to meet mine, with an intensity that I cannot read. I recoil. He pokes his tongue at me and I giggle like an eejit. Then, more silence.

My eyes are as heavy as my heart. Last night’s two hour drive and 2am arrival was too much. My dress ripped off in seconds, no time to be offered a cup of tea, I was too thirsty. Our love making so intense, only interrupted by a ping in the dark. Relief that it wasn’t his housemates upstairs telling us to give it a rest, we resumed. Daylight was creeping by the time we finished piping down and knocking it off. “I really need to sleep”, he said. His kisses belied him. I eventually relented and fell away into dreamlessness.

The morning comes much sooner than we did and it’s a struggle to get moving. Sure it will be grand I say; it’s a Sunday and town is sure to be quiet at this hour of the morning…

Our high-vis hero finally switches his sign to “GO”. As we turn the corner we see that Thomas Street is being torn apart by overly pompous roadworks. My nervous banter is now as unstoppable as the flow of traffic. He perks up, soon he will be relieved of me and still oblivious. I ache to tell him just how I feel but that strange fear grips me and I just can’t.

I perform what has to be the worst parallel parking of my life, he doesn’t give a shite and it doesn’t make him any less late. “Awkward car hug!” I declare as our limbs entangle between the handbrake and seat belts. A customary exchange of catch-you-later’s follows and it’s hollow. He disembarks and rushes off, a dark mass of curls flowing away from me and quickly disappearing from my vision. I move off, aware of the emptiness that has replaced his presence and regretting everything. I am never going to see him again.

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