A few tales to explore
A small selection of stories from our first five years.
If you enjoy them, we'd love to see you at one of our monthly events - or to read more stories, current and back issues of Decongested Tales are available in both print and download formats.
-
The first time I ever heard 'Blowin’ in the Wind’, I was sitting in assembly, four rows from the front of the dining hall, with the rest of Mr Stephens’ class. It was 1970 and I was 9 years old. A lady had come to sing to us. She had a guitar and she looked familiar. I thought maybe she was Mary...
-
Today, there are hot-air balloons in the distance. Dorothy sits in a tethered rowboat near the shore of a lake, cutting and folding paper sails for six paper boats. The sky splits to pink and blue with long twists of barely-there mist, grey clouds shift to the left; the lakewater washes back and...
-
Dad’s popped over the road to have a word with Auntie. He’s gone without a jacket, even though it’s freezing dark December outside; it’s to do with boys not feeling the cold as much as girls. They sweat more as well. I read it all in Karen Lawson’s Jackie magazine. My grey school coat is piled on...
-
It was the gifts that gave us away. I wonder now if gifts are always corrupt. If something is always required in return; gratitude, a favour, friendship, influence. Can a gift be given without asking for something for back? I like presents. Always have. What difference does it make if it is a...
-
The frequency of aperiodic events, such as radioactive decay, are expressed in bequerels, announces Claude Romarin. “Such firm and rounded pumpkins,” says the student, smiling. “So very,” - he searches for the right word, – “orange.” “You, sir,” says Claude Romarin, “have stolen my buttocks.” “And...
-
'Old Johnny Swanson stood on the corner in his semi-cowboy clothes, staring gloomily past the moon.' F. Scott Fitzgerald - The Last Tycoon. The glow on the horizon could have been sheet lightning, but as Blue focused on the skyline, as his eyes adjusted to the distance, there was no thundercrack,...
-
1. The short version He was a nice guy. He seemed like a nice guy. Or he was a nice guy. Certainly he seemed nice. To whom did he seem nice? To everyone he seemed nice seemed like a nice guy. He was a guy who seemed nice to everyone nice to this one and nice to that one. So he was a nice guy. 2....
-
shirageshi ni hane mogu cho no katami kana For the white poppy / the butterfly breaks off its wing / as a keepsake Basho (trans. Makoyo Ueda) Hirunobu still had the hair of a schoolboy. Soft, like the fluff of a baby chicken, his black hair stood several inches from his head in a ruffled halo....
-
“Too long. Not double-spaced. Typed on both sides of the paper. And therefore does not fit the criteria. Christ, the fact that this twit can’t even fucking read doesn’t exactly fill me with optimism about his ability to fucking write.” Bella looked up at him over her glasses, and smiled. “Have you...
-
Whenever I went around to Cooper's we downed a lot of cider and talked a lot of crap. I can still visualize him staring at his paint-flecked bedroom mirror and shouting into the reflection of his own mouth that he no longer wanted to be a spectator. Fuck god, he screamed. Fuck school. Fuck work....
-
It isn’t there. He had a right to some of it; of course he had, but the tin opener? Unbelievable. The cats are hungry. Cats don’t care. Cats are bastards, not loyal. You wanted a dog but Greg, sensibly, said no, cats are easier; they can be left. As can you as it turns out. You find it in the...
-
The thing that Louise wanted more than anything else was an occasional table made to look like a boy waiter balancing a tray in front of him on one arm. Certainly, she wanted it more than her own boy, with his big head and his fat knees. His constant talk of railway trains. His demands for...