Liars' League

Last Rites by Jess Worsdale

Last Rites MP3

Read by David Mildon

We were bowling down a bóithrín with Springsteen on the radio when we hit the cow. It was me and Cian and Rob in the back, Aidan driving and no-one in the front because he’d said it would be a distraction and besides, he needed space for the suits. We’d always relied on Eoin to protest this kind of behaviour and when no one said anything I abruptly realised how coltish our friendship now was, and wondered whether we’d ever be able to rebalance it. Still, it was cosy, the three of us sharing warm elbows and nips of whisky like auld ones on a park bench. Aidan drank nothing except peppermint tea, which he’d brought in a monogrammed flask with a self-conscious and challenging air about him that none of us rose to. A pink winter afternoon and the smudged grass and hedgerows whipped by as we rolled west into the cowboy sunset.

It had been Aidan’s idea to drive. This time of year and the coaches were full of Midlands shoppers on pilgrimage to the sales both ways along the M6. At this short notice it’d be cheaper and anyway it wasn’t often that all of us were back together so we might as well make the best of it.

Namaste Bitches by Ana Soria

Read by Keleigh Wolf

Casper was always trying to fix me. He left flyers for divination therapy and female-only fasting retreats tucked inside my boxes of sugary cereal. My inbox was clogged with emails from him linking me to articles with titles like; “How I Overcame My Rage with The Help of Rose Quartz.” Casper had a well-paid job at an architecture firm, wore Japanese knitwear and owned a kitchen appliance for every eventuality. I was five stone overweight and had recently been fired.

For the past week I had been pretending to get ready for work, waiting for Casper to leave, then ordering takeaway falafel and masturbating on his Egyptian cotton bed sheets. I watched so much porn that the people on screen became irrelevant; reduced to a series of plucked and greasy orifices positioned in increasingly ridiculous poses. I spent my days with numb fingers, chasing those fleeting seconds that gave me an escape from the tightness in my chest.

The Poetry of Jenny by Gerard McKeown

The Poetry of Jenny MP3

Read by Zach Harrison

Jenny was still emoting about her poem. The poses of the others in the circle told me her poem was important, vital even. Jenny had brought up her poem when talking about how she’d recently gone off anything that tasted of oranges, because she was peeling one when she was alone in her house, and she’d a papercut she’d forgotten about on the tip of her index finger, and when she pierced through the peel into the soft squishy pulp, the sting of the juice entering her papercut reminded her of the pain she’d felt arguing with her mother. And how she wished their relationship wasn’t so dysfunctional, because she’d never have another mother-daughter relationship in this life, as she’d chosen not to have children this time around, and she started thinking about the pain of childbirth and her periods.

That’s the point I zoned out and started thinking how boring the night was, and how I probably wouldn’t keep in touch with these people after I went to university. My recounting of a funny sketch from television the night before had fallen out of my mouth like a yolkless egg. 

Olena's Scalpel by Alan Graham

Olena's Scalpel MP3

Read by Patsy Prince

The envelope arrived at Olena’s desk at 12.01 exactly. It had all the markings of important and urgent work. She opened it carefully, and inside found a single photograph.

It was an image taken just outside the Party Congress Building. There were two men in the centre, seemingly overflowing with happiness at some glorious news. A banner above them declared the cause of their jubilation; apparently the nation had constructed a record number of tractors that year. The two men themselves she recognised instantly. One was the Great Leader, the Dear Father of the nation. The other was Konstantin Gregorin, chief minister in a dozen departments.

A note was also inside the envelope. It read simply “No more Gregorin.”

No East or West by Mark Sadler

No East or West MP3

Read by Silas Hawkins

I strongly believe that it was not a unification.

A unification is born of diplomacy and compromise. What happened in East Germany was defeat, followed by surrender to a conquering imperialist power. The wall dividing the city of Berlin was pulled away in pieces. Hands, that were pre-conditioned to taking what they want, disregarding any greater good, reached through gaps in the barrier to plunder our resources. The night it happened, I witnessed a procession of tractors from our side disappearing forever through one of the checkpoints, into a cloud of deafening music and smoke.

In those times, when the east was still the east, I was happier, and thinner. Now I am miserable and I don't know the reason. The hairy slouch of my belly disgusts me.

Counterfiction by Tim Aldrich

Read by Tim Larkfield

Dear Mr Aldrich

Thank you for the submission of your short story ‘Led by Donkeys’ to Counterfiction magazine. I can speak not only as editor of our august periodical but for each of the judging panel in welcoming the appearance of your unique voice to the world of counter-factual speculative fiction. There was much debate and one might even say passion around the table as we discussed your work; so engaged, indeed, were the judges that they shared some detailed feedback which I copy below.

I would start however by thanking you for not setting your story within one of the now very tired scenarios such as John F. Kennedy surviving his trip to Dallas in 1963, the success of Hitler and Nazi Germany against the Allies after 1944, and - curiously - had the People’s Princess not taken that ill-fated journey to Paris. In contrast, your tale felt fresh, imaginative and very contemporary. The absence of airships alone made my day.