Very short stories #21

I’ve spent far too much time over the last week playing around with Daz Studio. It’s an application for modelling and rendering characters and scenes. My graphics skills are non-existent. In fact, Art was the one class I failed at school every year! So I was pretty excited to find software that could produce a… not necessarily good image, but a not horrible image without months of effort.

Here’s Rich, the main character from The Diamond Device, the novel I’m currently working on. If you want to guess what he’s like, just from the image, I’d love to see your thoughts in the comments below.

What do you think of him?

On the semi-plus side, after bemoaning the lack of reading time with my reduced commute, this month I’ve increased the number of journeys into work. Here are my latest reviews:

Centaur of the Crime by Michael Angel

Cici and the Curator by S. J. Wynde

Wonder City Stories by Jude McLaughlin

Shadow Magic by Patricia C. Wrede

And now for some very short stories that I first posted on Twitter in March.


“Don’t say a word!” Liberally mud-spattered from his fall, the detective wiped his face and stalked off.
The rookie winced at the splash and muttered, “I was only going to warn him the river’s that way.”


“This way, this way!” Rubbing her hands, the crone headed into her kitchen.
The melange of odours made me sneeze. Tinctures, distillates and other unfathomable compounds lay scattered on the worktop.
She waved at a bubbling retort. “Tea?”
“Uh, I’m good. Thanks.”


The courier staggered into the warehouse, arms filled with packages.
“Wotcha got?” asked the clerk.
“6 small, 2 medium and 1 large—”
“Sorry, you’re in the wrong place.”
“How come?”
“This is the normal distribution centre. You need the right-skewed one next door.”


Papers in one hand, suitcase in another, I stepped up to the booth.
The security officer blinked. “Uh, any history of travel to foreign countries, especially mutation hotspots?”
I waved my third hand at him. “What do you think?”


“Aha!” The rookie pointed. “The stroopwafel killer’s struck again.”
“Why the name?” The detective surveyed the scene.
“The calling card left by the body, with a small bite missing—Sir!”
Wiping his mouth, the detective mumbled, “Oh, was that evidence?”


With so much else in short supply, I’ve decided to stockpile friends…

Preferably muscular ones who won’t be missed.


The kindergarten was eerily silent, lights smashed, toys in disarray.
“This is appalling,” whispered the constable, eyeing the teacher’s remains. “Did they kidnap all the children?”
Two dozen pairs of eyes glinted in the shadows.

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