Articoli correlati a Braking Distance

Braking Distance - Brossura

Kerr, Calum

 
9781844719129: Braking Distance

Sinossi

Motorway Service Stations are places where people pass through on their way to somewhere else: somewhere better, somewhere brighter. But every traveller has a tale to tell, a story of their own, and sometimes they're not what you'd expect. Braking Distance is a glimpse beneath the surface. It brings you love, death, lust, loss, betrayal, belonging, murder, aliens and a time-travelling adventuress being chased by a dastardly foe!

This collection is made up of loosely connected stories, all occurring in the same place at the same time, sprawling out across different genres, styles, perspectives and emotions. The camera swings from place to place, and over the course of eighteen short stories, builds up a picture which is surprising, exciting and strange.

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Informazioni sull'autore

Calum Kerr is a short story and flash-fiction writer living in Southampton. He is an associate lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Winchester, the fiction editor of Gumbo Press who produce the bi-monthly literary e-magazine, Word Gumbo, and is the co-ordinator for National Flash-Fiction Day 2012. His stories have appeared in a number of journals and magazines and his current project, flash365, can be viewed online at flash365.blogspot.com. More information can be found at www.calumkerr.co.uk.

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Closing the Circle

It’s strange to see yourself from another angle. I suppose famous actors have this feeling all the time. No wonder they have a distorted sense of self.

It’s strange to be here. I remember this evening so well. It was the moment, the fulcrum, the single point in time which changed everything.

I didn’t know that at the time, of course. And I probably would never have identified it without help, but Professor Higgins tells me he has narrowed the causality down to this single event, so here I am.

I spent some time in the dining area, drinking coffee and watching people come and go, and then, when it seemed about the right time, I got up and walked out into the main concourse area. I watched myself arrive and walk into the Game Zone and start my daily ritual of feeding the machines.

I can remember doing that, but it feels like it was someone else. Well, in the strictest sense I suppose it was. After all, this isn’t my body, it’s just one we’ve borrowed for the occasion.

I stood out in the light and watched myself in the darkness, pressing the buttons and shuttling the coins from tray to slot. I remembered how lonely and desperate I had felt. I remembered how much I had wanted to step out into the light and talk to someone, but how I hadn’t. How I couldn’t.

I was waiting for the event which would set me in motion, the starting gun for everything that was to come.

And finally it arrived. Someone in the cafeteria dropped a tray. It hit the floor with a loud slap and repeated hard cracks as crockery broke. I started to move closer to the Zone. I saw my younger self press the button for the last time. I watched him check his wallet and find it empty, and as he made his way back out towards his car, I walked towards him.

“Alright, mate,” I said to him. “Think I’ve seen you here before. How are the machines? Paying out?”

He ignored me and walked out into the night, and I watched him go, but I remembered what happened next.

I remember stepping out into the night and stopping as the cold air hit me. I remembered thinking about the simple human gesture that I had just ignored. I remember deciding to finally do something different with my life, something to make it better.

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