Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

Ricardo doused his sacrifice in petrol and the night erupted with the black rooster’s screams. It was almost like the animal knew what was coming. Wings beat against the bars of its crate, the rooster shrieking its protest for all the world to hear. Ricardo winced, his heart quickening as he glanced nervously at the surrounding shadows. The old church was as empty as ever, its congregation long dead and its location all but forgotten. No one would be running to the rooster’s rescue. No one would be interrupting this sacred rite. Taking a deep breath, Ricardo struck a match and held it over the crate. He fought to steady the shake in his hand, part of him convinced he would be caught at any moment. What was the punishment for animal cruelty? A fine? A few years in jail? Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should try summoning one of the other, less malevolent loa first. The match’s flame curled around his fingers and the decision was taken from him. With a string of curses, Ricardo drop...

London to Sydney used to be a full day's travel. Even though the flight was down to twenty hours, all the time spent getting to the airport and through customs at each end was still significant. So when Portal arrived on the scene it echoed the death knell for the major airways. Even with the suborbital providers still threatening a two-hour transit time to the other side of the globe, even they couldn't compete with instantaneous matter transferral. Step into a PORTAL TM Arch and step out of the corresponding one at the other side of the world. No waiting for luggage collection at the far end, it was the utopia for long-distance travel. Just like stepping through a doorway. The final frontier of Star Trek was finally in our hands, and the airlines were crapping themselves. I am paid more than most of the top international consultants around the world put together. And that includes the big hitters that work for Disney, Google, Amazon and the financial wizards working for th...

And so here I stand on a bridge between worlds. I’d have been grounded if my parents had known I was even considering coming out here, but that’s not what causes me to hesitate. The passion and defiance of my teenage years has brought me this far, hormones drowning out any thoughts of the consequences of my disobedience. What do they know anyway? I’m almost a man, almost an adult in the eyes of the law. I am my own person and no one can take that away, family or otherwise. My life is mine to lead, my choices mine to make, and they will just have to learn to accept that. Strange sounds carry on the breeze, creatures of the night screaming both threats and warnings. If I had any sense I’d turn back. Everything about the woods seems uninviting, yet they also carry a forbidden allure tempting me onwards. One more step and I will cross from civilisation to wilderness. Why is that so hard? I remind myself of the prize within and my uncertainty is swept aside by fresh determination. ...

Harz stared up at the building on the edge of the ring-road, oblivious to the roar of passing traffic behind him. The street ahead looked like a normal, attractive, old-town avenue, the lime trees in full leaf, people sitting at tables drinking from coffee cups and beer glasses. Harz felt anything but normal.  He was trying to screw up the courage to go through the large wooden doors. The only other time he’d entered the building had been twenty five years ago, under armed escort. They’d been gathering at the church – the Nickolaikirche – for weeks, to speak out freely, a small sanctuary in a city of surveillance. He remembered clearly what they’d been told that evening. If you’re arrested, don’t struggle, don’t be violent, just shout out your name so we know who you are and hold your candle tightly in your two outstretched hands. They’re less likely to attack you if you’re holding a candle. And it had worked. He hadn’t been assaulted. He’d been arrested and taken to th...