Liars' League

Wine Frame of Mind by Joseph Francis

Click for podcast (fourth story)

Read by James Price

"Right this way sir," says the impeccably dressed French sommelier leading Eric Benson, thirty-three, six months single and rapidly greying, down a dim corridor. They swiftly pass a series of red-curtained rooms that hide the inhabitants, but not their conversations.

“You c*nt.”

“I would die for you!”

“You’re a liar.”

“I adore you ...”

Decluttering by Susan Smith

Click for podcast (eighth story)

Read by Claire Lacey

CDs and DVDs go into the pink charity sack along with a single Blu-ray disc. Where Eagles Dare. Never watched it. Never plan to. The bag is put on the front doorstep and I slam the door.

I donate Terry’s clothes to PDSA and smile sweetly at the woman in the shop as I dump the bulging bin liners on the counter. It feels like the right thing to do. He hated animals.

I take all the plates from the kitchen dresser and place them with great care in a box. Authentic bone china. A gift from Terry’s dear old Auntie Mabel when he moved her into that care home near King’s Lynn. God rest her soul, she didn’t last long after that.

They’d belonged to her mother before her. Family heirlooms, you could say. Precious.

Action by Will Conway

Click for podcast (fifth story)

Read by Rich Keeble

His training had prepared him for this. Every muscle in his body was tensed as he crouched - except his legs - because of the crouch. He performed a quick weapon check. One, two guns … plus the Bowie knife strapped to his back. A blade between his shoulder blades. So, three blades. On top of that, his nerves were so sharp he wasn't sure if he should declare them as dangerous weapons too. But he didn't have time to start counting his nerves; there were probably bloody hundreds of them. No time to talk to himself either. Radio silence. Just like in Beirut. He knew he was in for a long wait. But he could wait. He was patient.

Six long minutes later he heard the guard's replacement arrive. He understood the short conversation about the previous guard's wife and her stew because he was fluent in Russian. Cooper enjoyed flexing the muscles in his mind as well as his body.

Lighter than Air by Anton Rose

Click for podcast (third story)

Read by Miranda Harrison

I meet him down by the river like I said he would. He’s watching a mallard go by on the water, three ducklings following in its wake. At first I think he’s waving, his hand held awkwardly in the air like a flag at half-mast. But he isn’t waving. His arm is held aloft by a small balloon, its ribbon attached to his wrist.

"What's that?" I say, startling him.

He looks confused for a moment, and then he sees what I'm referring to. "It's nothing," he says, pulling his arm down against his side. He leans forward and kisses me. "Thanks for coming."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course." He smiles, but it looks forced. "Everything's fine."

Chiaroscuro by Richard Shury

Click for podcast (seventh story)

Read by Rich Keeble

I want the job of naming paint colours. That’ll pass the time. How do you even apply for that? On my CV it says: "I’ve named a few goldfish in my time (MacGyver and Robin Hood). Will that do?" Perhaps I should give examples of the names I’ve come up with for colours:

• Badger cull – a kind of dark red
• Unwashed bedsheet – a blotchy off-white
• Summer’s sigh – deep yellow
• Expectation – blank page white
• Hope – blank page white
• Pressure – blank page white
• Promise – blank page white

Mugged by Stephen Baily

Click for podcast (first story)

Read by Miranda Harrison

—You’ve left your shoes in the car.

His surprise at the sight of her bare feet amused her.

—Surely you weren’t expecting me to walk in the woods in heels?

—But you could step on something—broken glass or God knows what.

She laughed at his absurd mistrust of the outdoors and slipped away onto the trail. In his three-piece suit and clumsy oxfords, he plodded along after her, on the watch for half-concealed roots that might send him sprawling.

Twenty-Four Tiny Tales by Andreas Paraskevaides

Click for podcast (last story but one)

Read by Claire Lacey & Will Goodhand

Before you next let road rage take over, consider: objects in the rear-view mirror may have more teeth than they seem.

She held on to the fragment of glass as he lay beside her, wordlessly willing him to keep from stirring this time.

The source of the nursing home's troubles had less to do with faulty wiring and more to do with mandibles.

Time to enlist the pelican king's help in recalibrating the colour of sadness.

Follow the sole surviving yellow flamingo as it’s ruthlessly pursued by mechanical assassins hell-bent on exploiting the fearsome magnificence of its beautiful beak.

Animated monuments drag a coastal city to the depths.

The Last Real Thing by MFC Feeley

Click for podcast (second story)

Read by James Price

The Last Real Thing or Why My Family Left for America

Aedan and Bartley ate their fill; I’d been shorted for laziness. As further punishment, Mother sent me to gather peat alone.

There I spied the soldiers. Preferring dreams to drudgery, I decided to join them.

I’d be a cook’s apprentice with the job of tasting and eating. They’d raise me to fight. I’d come back a leader. I’d conquer Ireland, but once my mother recognized me and apologized for withholding the fish, I’d have my army free everyone. Then we would conquer England!

In dreaming this, I’d come near their camp and, as the speech you’ve practiced flees once you catch the pretty girl’s eye, I lost my resolve. I couldn’t address the soldiers; I didn’t even know their language.

Losers by Nicolas Ridley

Click for podcast (last story)

Read by Will Goodhand

I open my eyes. Spears of afternoon sunlight stream through the window. Crumpled sheets. Puckered pillows. Yes, I think. I remember where I am.

—Seven letters, says Arianna. First letter ‘c’. Third letter ‘c’. Fourth letter ‘k’.

I prop myself up on one elbow. —‘Cock’ something, I say. ‘Cockeye’? ‘Cockpit’?

She shakes her head.

—‘Cocksure’?

—Seven letters.

—Oh, yes.

—Seventh letter ‘d’.

She’s sitting at her dressing-table, wrapped in a cream bath towel, the newspaper folded on her knee, chewing her pencil. This is Arianna. She is not a cosy lover. She has no patience with post-coital clinging.

Mandatory Meeting for Museum Guards ... by Rachel Karyo

Click for podcast (6th story)

Read by Keleigh Wolf

Mandatory Meeting for Museum Guards Before The VIP & Members' Exhibition Opening Reception

The gallery will be dark, and it may be difficult to see. It is imperative that you keep the floor dry. A few visitors will ask about these paintings hanging on the walls. Beautiful, aren’t they? Both visually and thematically complex. Gaze at them too long, you’ll lose your mind. For your own safety, don’t stare at the artworks, but let the visitors look wherever they please. We’re guards, not Surgeons General, and the last thing this institution needs is additional litigation.

Blowtorch, eyes on me.

Any questions?

Birthday Event: Tuesday 10th April - Small & Beautiful Flash Fiction

From action heroes to Irish farmers, murderers to museum guards, via cuckolds, crosswords, paint colours, relationship accelerants and a man who starts growing balloons all over his body, we read ten wild, weird and wonderful flash fiction stories at our birthday special* on Tuesday 10th April (click for Facebook event link). 

Here's the YouTube playlist of all the stories from the night - enjoy! 

Small & Beautiful Videos

Podcast & story texts will be coming soon - please keep checking back for updates!

 

WINNING STORIES for SMALL & BEAUTIFUL

 

Action by William Conway & Chiaroscuro by Richard A. Shury NEW AUTHORS, read by Rich Keeble
Lighter than Air by Anton Rose & Mugged by Stephen Baily NEW AUTHOR, read by Miranda Harrison
Losers by Nicolas Ridley NEW AUTHOR read by Will Goodhand
Wine Frame of Mind by Joseph Francis & The Last Real Thing by MFC Feeley NEW AUTHORS read by James Price
24 Tiny Tales by Andreas Paraskevaides, read by Claire Lacey & Will Goodhand
Decluttering by Sue Smith, read by Claire Lacey
Mandatory Meeting for Museum Guards Before The VIP + Members' Exhibition Opening Reception by Rachel Karyo NEW AUTHOR, read by Keleigh Wolf

 

As always, doors open at 7pm and the show begins at 7.30. Drinks and food will be available at the bar, and the infamous interval quiz features fabulous free books to be won! There's no pre-booking, but tables for four or more can be reserved by calling 07808 939535.

The venue is the downstairs bar at:

The Phoenix pub
37 Cavendish Square 
London 
W1G 0PP

(The Phoenix is 5 minutes' walk from Oxford Circus tube station, which is on the Victoria, Bakerloo and Central lines. Map here)

*we're 11 this year, since you ask ...

Slide Show by Alan Graham

Slide Show MP3

Read by Gloria Sanders

The main lights go down and the projector whirs into life. “Are you ready?” my partner asks.

“Oh yes,” I grin excitedly and a button clicks on the laptop. Suddenly the white bedsheet that my partner has hung up as an improvised screen is filled with the first slide of a Powerpoint presentation. In big, bold, red letters it reads “St Valentine’s. A Day for Love”

There’s another quiet mouse click and a large question mark suddenly appears at the very end of that sentence. I “ooh” sarcastically as the presentation swiftly moves on to the next slide.

“Little is known about the actual St Valentine.” My sweetheart reads the slide’s text as it appears in bulletpoints in front of me. She’s donned her glasses and is clearly using her office voice. “Indeed, it is thought by some scholars that the person himself is an invention. The most likely candidate for the real life Valentine was a rather unremarkable bishop in the city of Terni in Italy. It seems that the one interesting thing he ever did was to get tortured and martyred by the Roman state. On February the fourteenth.”

Father Figure by J. A. Hopper

Father Figure MP3

Read by Rich Keeble

Emily wasn’t sure what first attracted her to him: perhaps it was the secure, well-paid job as an architect: perhaps his gentle, slightly pompous sense of humour. It could’ve been the way he was always getting into funny scrapes: nothing major, just falling into a bush or something, putting up a shelf wrong; the sort of thing that could happen to anyone, but which only endeared him to her more.

Was it his obvious love of the children, how effortlessly good he was with them, even when they were clearly driving him mad? She’d found it wincingly poignant when the kids baked him a cake because he had to go to work on his birthday. She’d sat there with actual tears in her eyes, worrying a discarded Heinz baby-biscuit between trembling fingers like a rosary. Nobody’d ever made her a cake when she had to work on her birthday, which was pretty much every year, and now Mark had finally pissed off back to his ex-wife, probably nobody would. 

Three Months by Caroline Hardman

Three Months MP3

Read by Clareine Cronin

My arrival was carefully planned. I wanted to slip into the church quietly, after most people had already arrived, but didn’t want to get there too late. So just to be safe I caught an early train then hung around in the station cafe for a while. As I entered the churchyard one of the ushers – no-one I recognised – came towards me.

“Bride or groom?” he asked as he handed me an order of service. The ribbon binding it was exactly the same shade of blue as his tie.

I paused for a moment. “Bride,” I told him. If anyone asked, I could always say there had been a mistake.

We entered the church together and both scanned the wooden pews. It was hard to see much – my eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the dim light – but it was obvious that one side of the church was much fuller than the other. 

“Would you mind sitting on the groom’s side? Space is tight and since you’re on your own …”

Tasting the Rainbow by Alejandra Zannier

Tasting the Rainbow MP3

Read by Keleigh Wolf

PART 1. MOIRA

In the very last house on the very last street of a very small town lived a woman named Moira Sinclair. The house, once as nondescript as a house can be, had gained notoriety after Moira moved in. The locals (not so fondly) referred to it as the ‘house of black and black’. In a sea of candy-coloured picket fences, flowery bushes and even a red awning or two, Moira’s house stuck out like a sore thumb. A depressing, colourless sore thumb, that is. At the time of the sale, the house – neglected for years by the former owner – was in dire need of a new coat of paint; but to everyone’s chagrin, Moira decided to paint it in shades of black and blacker black.

Moira, as far as her appearance was concerned, was a person of monochromatic inclinations. She highlighted her paper-white skin with charcoal rouge and smoky eyes that went just right with her jet-black hair, and a wardrobe which could only be described as: ‘the coal collection’. But contrary to popular belief, Moira wasn’t a morose person obsessed with death. She was, simply, colourblind.

A Kiss A Day by Liam Hogan

A Kiss A Day MP3

Read by Sophie Morris-Sheppard

“Gis a kiss!” the third of the trio of dinner jackets hollers as I pass. I pause, my stiletto staccato silenced. Pause and turn.

I’d ignored the wolf whistle from the shortest of them, hair thinning, face gleaming with an alcoholic sweat despite the cold, dress shirt open at the neck to reveal, of all things, a vest. Gave a small smile at the caddish “Hello!” more for the nostalgic echo it inspired than because of the easy-on-the-eye black guy who probably doesn’t know who Terry Thomas is. Was.

They’re staring back at me, these three over-dressed goons, the Northerner to the fore, half surprised I’ve stopped, half expectant. Expecting what? A put down? A casually thrown expletive? It’s more than a month after Christmas, New Year is a distant memory. Why the monkey suits? Do they work for some company saving money by having their annual bash in the cold, grey beginnings of the year? Or perhaps they’ve been to some industry award ceremony, the free alcohol cutting through the tedium of the speeches, before continuing on at a pub that doesn’t allow vaping, forcing them outside to ogle girls walking by?

The Tell-Tale Art by Andreas Paraskevaides

The Tell-Tale Art MP3

Read by David Mildon

Gliding, paper-thin, through the spaces between raindrops. Sliding, whisper-slim, through the folds of mental landscapes. Sustained by stolen memories. Nourished by fragments of self.

Antiquity’s legendary lost libraries would only contain a sliver of the knowledge we possess. Our halls of records are made of living recollections and life-altering sensations. The constantly reworked landmarks in the road map of the soul. That first playful stare. His lips on your neck. The deathbed's trivialities. The moment of unexpected triumph. The comforting trauma. What gets you out of bed. What needed to be said.  All gone. All ours. You'll forget so we'll remember.

Let us show you some of our treasured possessions:

Our latest event: Tuesday 13th February, KISS & TELL for Valentine's Eve

From stolen kisses to cartoon crushes, telltale spirits to synaesthetic lovers, via vengeful exes and Powerpoint presentations we showcased tales of lust, romance & betrayal in our dirt-dishing Valentine's special - and our first event of 2018 - on Tuesday 13th February (click here for videos of all the stories.)  

Forget the pink roses as our actors bared their hearts (and more) for just £5 on the door, which includes a programme, entry to our saucy book quiz, and of course all the Lovehearts you can eat. (And if you’re single, just tell us your favourite literary character and we’ll find your perfect match - see below for more ...)

WINNING STORIES for KISS & TELL

 

Three Months by Caroline Hardman *NEW AUTHOR* - read by Clareine Cronin

Tasting the Rainbow by Alejandra Zannier *NEW AUTHOR* - read by Keleigh Wolf

Slide Show by Alan Graham - read by Gloria Sanders

A Kiss A Day by Liam Hogan - read by Sophie Morris-Sheppard

Father Figure by J. A. Hopper - read by Rich Keeble

The Tell-Tale Art by Andreas Paraskevaides - read by David Mildon

As always, doors open at 7pm and the show begins at 7.30. Seductive drinks and food will be available at the bar, and the infamous interval quiz will feature fabulous free books to be won! There's no pre-booking, but tables for fouror more can be reserved by calling 07808 939535.

NEW for 2018! #LoveLit Blind Date

Ever wondered if Lizzie Bennet would hook up with Christian Grey? Then we’ve got something for you this Valentine’s eve! Our #LoveLit Blind Date is simple: just email liars@liarsleague.com (or tweet us @liarsleague, hashtag #LoveLit) with your name, age, preferred gender of date & the name of your favourite fictional character, and we’ll match you up with someone else’s favourite. Not only might you find the love of your life, you'll also get free sweeties and a night of brilliant stories to enjoy with your new squeeze into the bargain. (NB: you don't have to join in the blind date to come, it's just a service we're offering singles this month. As ever, anyone who loves stories is welcome.)

The venue is the downstairs bar at:
The Phoenix
37 Cavendish Square 
London 
W1G 0PP

(The Phoenix is 5 minutes' walk from Oxford Circus tube station, which is on the Victoria, Bakerloo and Central lines)
Map here

St John's, 23rd December - Forgiveness by Anna Savory

St John's - Forgiveness MP3

Read by Paul Clarke

Welcome. Welcome, everyone, to St John's. And, goodness, look at you all! It’s heartening, really it is, to see so many faces here tonight. If there’s one thing I’ve realised in the past few weeks it’s that there’s nothing like Christmas to wake that latent religious urge, which in many of you has lain dormant at all other points in the year. Why, only in September I was stood in the Bishop’s living room expressing doubts about our dwindling congregation, and what did he tell me? He told me to have a little faith.

‘Don’t worry, David,’ he said, like the Lord addressing Thomas ‘Don’t fear. Just you wait until midnight fucking mass, it’s like the bloody Hammersmith Apollo.’ Famously obscene our Bishop, one of his many charming quirks. But indeed, how right he was! Attendance tonight is gratifying and I can only assume it signals a sea-change in the spiritual direction of this parish, which I trust will continue long, long into the new year.

It Never Snows at Christmas by Peter Higgins

It Never Snows at Christmas MP3

Read by Gloria Sanders

‘Every year, she comes, and every year it’s the same.  “Have you been on holiday, Laura?”  “Yes. Greece, actually.”  “Greece?  Really?”.’

‘Esme.’

‘“Oh, and I’ve brought you a bottle of Greek wine.”  “Oh, Laura, you shouldn’t have.”’

‘Phoebe!’

‘It tastes like wee.’

‘How would you know?’

‘Girls, please stop bickering, please.  Greek wine does not taste like wee.’