Category Archives: Short Stories

brief encounter

never do sober what you said you’d do when you were drunk


They met in a bar.  The kind of place where the amoral nature of women slowly becomes apparent.  She thought he was cute, he thought she was going to be easy.

They had incredible sex in the desert.  That was when he first realised she was an amazingly lascivious lay.


jack collier

it’s always the car

chicks dig a great car

don’t ask about love

casual sex is the consolation you get when you can’t have love


‘Darling, may I ask you a question?’

‘Of course, ask me anything…..’

‘Have you ever been really in love?’

‘Like, in love, who with?’

‘Me, for a start…..’

‘Not really, not ever…..’

He took away the keys to her German sports car right after that.

She poisoned his designer coffee.


jack collier


never trust a woman who smokes in the bedroom


The Games People Play

it’s not just casual sex, it’s fully exploring her sexuality


The bar wasn’t crowded.  Younger guys playing pool, watching sports, drinking beer, looking at the older woman sitting alone.  Sexy dress, no bra, black stockings, much makeup.  One young guy caught her eye; ‘Do you wanna fuck?’ he mouthed.  ‘Yes….’ she mouthed back.  It was their first and last time.


jack collier

she thought the twenty-years age difference was hot

he thought she looked like an easy fuck


a final tryst

the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
a dateless bargain to engrossing death


A winter midnight and the light was strange.  A glow that cascades, softly falling from darkness, carefully arranging long shadows cast in deep silver blackness.

A castle dark, a fortress strong, and set in the tallest lonely tower a locked room holds and coldly embraces the lovers’ fatal final tryst.


jack collier


we will never be set free from these chains upon our love until we embrace the moonlight

Life Is No Fairy Tale

The true beauty of a Princess is measured by her purity.

Snow White isn’t supposed to die in the opening scene.

The Handsome Prince is meant to be one of the good guys ~ he isn’t supposed to have an unseen silver dagger underneath his cloak.

Nowhere in the fairy tale does it say that the prince plunges the silver dagger into Snow White’s alabaster breast so that her crimson blood stains the purity of her dress and drips onto the green, green grass of the seven dwarfs’ garden.

The fairy tale does say that Snow White and the Handsome Prince will be linked together forever in broken dreams.  There is no way the Prince will ever be able to forget that he murdered the Fairy Princess he was supposed to love.

He did love her.

He will spend the rest of his life trying to forget her.

He will die trying.

At least the Wicked Witch Bitch will live happily ever after.

There never was a poisoned apple, that was just a story put about by the Seven Dwarfs.


jack collier

get your own silver dagger here

Daughters of the Night


Aurora Goddess of the Dawn

Hesperus the Evening Star

the radiance of Venus splendor

discovered in gentle beams

love’s cherished eventide falls

upon intimate twilight dreams





words and pictures by jack collier

Bitter Harvest Falls


You like autumn?  Don’t call it fall.  You like fog wet dog boggy footpaths mud?  Fur scarf hat gloves separating love’s touch.  Cider with cinnamon vomit stinks I think warm beer the only fit drink for an English man.  Cinnamon satisfies women but don’t call it fall.  It’s autumn mists mellow fruitfulness hopelessness dreariness missing your touch too much don’t call it fall.  California knows no bitter winter touch what is autumn to you?  Sadness last verbal touch telephone call isn’t much don’t call again.  Beginnings told me of multiple men my long drinking winter began don’t call it fall.


P1010479experimental prose poetry

words and pictures by jack collier

The God Obsession

A very short story.


the sort of sunrise God is supposed to organise


The God Obsession

GOD was a drunk.

The cardinals of the Obsessive Brotherhood of Quite Holy Places were fairly certain of that.  They had applied every secret ecclesiastical test and were convinced that God was an offensive, evil tempered, megalomaniacal, raging, thunderbolt slinging, quaffing rivers of booze, chronic alcoholic.

That made dealing with God more than ordinarily difficult.  One wrong move and the unfortunate supplicant could find themselves transmogrified, or worse.  Finding your higher power when He was suffering from a hangover or delirium tremens was bad, Very Bad Indeed.  Having a proper fire-breathing dragon shoved up one’s fundament brings tears to the eyes.

There was more, and much more unacceptable.  Sacrificing your first born daughter is just cruel.  Although and to be fair, God had forsworn the whole forty days and forty nights of seething rain thing, after being caught out without his Mackintosh and front door key.

God’s favourite saying was; ‘You’re born, you live, and then you die, and if you haven’t been good along the way you’ll find yourself on the runaway down-bound train to the Lair of Satan.’

The damned well know that Satan could take transmogrification to a whole other low, which was exactly how God wanted it.  God and Satan had discussed it over a river or three of mead.

As for God, in addition to being a dipsomaniac of biblical appetites, God was a womaniser.  When He was in his cups that is, which was most of the time.  God’s drinking binges could last for several hundred years.  Apart from unsuccessfully chatting up Goddesses in bars, God’s favourite seduction technique was to take the shape of some heraldic beast, say a griffon, or a gigantic bull, and then convince some sorely unfortunate female that it had all been a dream.  Of course, giving birth to a minotaur was apt to cause speculation among the poor woman’s neighbours and family.

Early on, the Sumarian Chapter of the Brotherhood of Quite Holy Places realised God had a nasty sense of humour.  Why else would He have gone on to create the giraffe, menopausal hot flashes, Las Vagas, algebra, and quantum physics?

Of course He went too far when the created the Higgs boson, the God Particle, even though he only did that to create insanity among said quantum physicists.

That was where it all went badly wrong for God.

Using the hugely expensive Large Hadron Collider, and applying the uncertainty princple, which was one of God’s more obtuse japes, the men in white coats with bulging foreheads and lots of pens in their outside top pockets only went and discovered that the speed of light was not absolute, and subsequently went on to understand fully the Higgs boson, your actual God Particle.

That about wrapped it up as far as being an all knowing and all-seeing God of Infinite Mystery went.

Once they had understood the God Particle it was but a short step to the Nobel Prize for using the Very Large Optical Telescope in Chile, and finding out where God actually lived, and His actual telephone number.  That really VLOTed God’s copybook.

From there is was only a couple of brief, but pointed, conversations with the Head Honcho of the Obsessive Brotherhood of Quite Holy Places before God had promised to mend His ways, to behave more like the sort of God the Head Honcho of the Obsessive Brotherhood of Quite Holy Places wrongly thought he wanted.

Making better sunrises and sunsets, not chasing females, attendance at twelve-step recovery programme meetings, and total abstinence from booze, hit God like the proverbial bolt from the blue.

The more die-hard among the brothers of the Obsessive Brotherhood of Quite Holy Places were a little sad to lose their old God.  For example, there were fewer clearly defined areas of ecclesiastical doubt and uncertainty to exploit.  It proved a bit difficult for the Obsessive Botherhood to garner huge amounts of cash, when anybody could simply phone God to ask Him what He thought on a particular question, without having to go through all that tedious religion stuff.

So here’s the thing, if you were to ask the brothers of the Obsessive Brotherhood of Quite Holy Places; ‘What is the Word of God?’  They could tell you.  If they are being honest they can now quote the Word of God, with total exactitude.

The Word of God is; ‘My name is God, and I am an alcoholic.’


words and pictures by jack collier

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