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The Scum Gentry Alternative Arts and Media.
Scum Gentry literary magazines and writing websites hub: literary fiction, horror stories, weird fiction and more...

A Day in Daniel's Life - Flash Fiction by Aurora Coppola

It was one of those days, I think everyone has one of those at one stage, don’t they?

I just don’t want to go to school today—we have P.E. anyway—he thought in his brain.

Andrew, seventeen just going eighteen had his hormones playing tricks on him.

His mother went to too many teacher’s meetings to keep her hopes up so she just told him that he would have gone straight to work if he didn’t pass. Typical!

Andrew has dark blond curly hair just like his dad, but he prefers to have it cut nice and tight (like his dad used to have it, every now and again). He loves going with his canoe, he’d always wear a t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. He was only short of going to bed like that, he felt that comfortable with it. He didn’t care about anything else at the moment.

<<I will never go back to that school, ever! >> He thought. The thing is that he already made a show of himself in numerous occasions while in class with his mates, telling the teacher to fuck off after she made smart remarks on the state of his shirt, the dirt on it!—that’s when she got a nice big fat green golly on her face—and off I go to the principal’s office, God’s speed of course!

He loved to make a bollocks of himself because he was bored to death. He was against...


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Benny Profane - Serial fiction - Notes of a Professional Voyeur IV at the Scum Gentry...

Read Part One Here


It might surprise you to find out that the parameters of my terrestrial existence stretch further than the dimensions of my projectionist’s booth.

Although I consider my cinephilic den as my true spiritual home, it is incumbent upon me to every now and then venture out into that grand and grumbling hubbub of activity, the playground and battlefield of all our basic human compulsions known commonly as “The World”.

I precipitate these excursions with a stiffening intake of breath, combined with the adoption of a firm, resolute posture, as I endeavour to overcome my agoraphobic inclinations and feed this atavistic and counter-intuitive hunger for human interaction.

My inevitable destination on these sporadic excursions is my local working-man’s watering hole. It is a prestigious enough sort of an establishment, where the peanut bowls are usually full and the disposable bathroom towels plentiful.

It mainly attracts a sombre and surly type of clientele; replete as it is with loners, outcasts and depressives who contribute to the homely atmosphere of stasis and monotony that I find so comforting...


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Barry the (Problem-Solving) Cocker Spaniel - Short Story by Kenneth Nolan

My Uncle Tim was a quiet, polite man. He was unassuming, very gentle in his nature and much liked in his community. I never heard a bad word said about him. He died a while back and we all miss him greatly. He lived on Le Fanu Road in Ballyfermot with his roguishly loveable, big eared, elegant little furry brown (problem-solving) cocker spaniel dog Barry. As you may know Ballyer can be a mad auld kip so it wouldn’t be such a stretch to find a problem-solving cocker spaniel living there. Barry was Tim’s humble servant for years and they were great friends until they had a falling out, but we’ll get on to that a little later.

Anyway, people came from all over Ireland to Ballyfermot to see Barry the problem-solving cocker spaniel in the hope that he could solve a problem they may be having. They arrived with all sorts of ailments, worries and predicaments; cancer, ugliness, bankruptcy, impotence, gout, acne, court dates for unpaid TV licenses, marital breakdowns, nervous breakdowns, roadside breakdowns, gonorrhoea, leprosy, diabetes, problems with decision making, baby making, money making, you name it!

Any problem you can think of, Barry has dealt with it at some stage or other. People would make appointments weeks and months in advance but always arrived at the house in Ballyer at their allotted appointment time, not a minute before or after. If you were late your chance was gone. Tim would meet the client at the hall door, take the 50 quid fee, and then bring them in to the parlour with offers of refreshments and maybe a word or two of a reassuring nature...


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