Liars' League

The Baron and the Porcelain Throne by Peter Browning

Read by Paul Clarke

“Right,” says The Baron in encouragement, and he tries to get up – but maybe too quickly, as his brain slops against his skull and nearly falls out his ear, and with his legs tied together by his dropped trousers, he almost trips over. “Woooah,” he moans. “Go easy.” A minute to regain  balance, then he bends down to pull his trousers and boxers up – but his mind somersaults forward, and he has to reach a hand out to the cold tile wall to steady himself. He waits, gets his breath back, then stumbles over to the sink, gripping its edge for support. He looks at himself in the mirror. Then his forehead lands hard and heavy against it.

“Yes,” The Baron groans. “Am in a bad way.”

The King's Computer by Liam Hogan

Read by Ben Crystal

If you tip water into my mouth, I will drink. If you place a morsel of food in my mouth, I will chew, and swallow. These are involuntary actions.  Necessary, but of no importance.  They do not distract me from my purpose, which is to think.

I was trained from an early age to perform this function.  Trained to memorise, to calculate, and to compute. My brain has been honed into a perfect machine, dedicated to solving the King’s problems, however banal.

Truthteller by Jeffrey Green

Read by Patsy Prince

I live on the famous island where there are two villages, one inhabited by people who tell only the truth, and the other inhabited by people who are not like me, who only tell lies.  Perhaps I am the only truth-teller living in the village of liars, or perhaps I am lying.

The Madness in Me by Robert Marriott

Read by Will Goodhand

Some decisions are easy to make.

Staying in, or going out?  Excitement, or boredom? Working, or being on holiday? Bognor, or Benidorm? Lying-in, or going for a jog? Gti, or four-wheeled runabout? Spending, or saving? Sunshine, or rain?

They’re easy, they are. Easy-peasy. I mean, they’re not exactly mind-boggling decisions, are they? Not exactly what you might call decisions of any great magnitude or consequence. Perhaps that’s why they’re so easy to make. I suppose, if you think about it, we make hundreds of decisions everyday. Thousands, perhaps. Some of them - I don’t know how many, or what sort of a percentage, and frankly, I wouldn’t like to have turned out to be the sort of person that would – but some of them are so insignificant, or so conditioned, that we don’t even realise we’re making them.

Chevy by Peter Francis-Mullins

Read by Ben Farrow

‘Shev!’ Annie drew back the curtains. Chevy rolled away from his mother, pulling his quilt around him. ‘I’ll fetch you some water,’ said Annie.

‘Milk,’ said Chevy.

‘That’s not how you ask,’ said Annie.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘Warmed up.’

‘You can have it cold,’ said Annie, heading for the door. ‘It’ll help wake you.’ Chevy heard her go down the stairs. Rain blew at the window. He put his head under the quilt, breathing the heat of his pubescent body.

The Love Below by David Malone

Read by Lynsey Pow

My brother suffers from Kunderan vertigo; a heady, insuperable desire to fall upward. There is very little we can do other than try to weigh him down. On the day of his baptism, the priest informed my parents that David had a ‘heavenly calling’. He meant it literally.

His condition dictates that he varies in lightness. Upon leaving the house my mother, who is more of a worrier than my father, stuffs books into his coat pockets. She does this to quell her fear that one day his feet will simply up and abandon the pavement.