Tom enters a magazine competition

Tom decided to have a go at a caption competition in the music magazine, Q. The picture showed David Bowie leaning out of an old British Rail train window, dressed in a black and white striped suit, talking to the train conductor. Unfortunately, Tom did not win as he decided the scene deserved more than a one-liner, so he submitted a short conversation instead! See how many Bowie album titles you can spot in the following dialogue:

“‘Scuse me, mate.”
“‘Low.”
“When does this Tin Machine leave?”
“Oh, Hours yet. Tonight, I think. The Next Day, maybe. Never Let Me Down, though. Station to Station, that is.”
“But, Reality…?”
“Scary…”
“Listen. I’m The Man Who Sold the World, Earthling.”
“Young Americans, eh,” said the conductor, shaking his head.
“Hey. Let’s Dance. Outside.”
“Hunky Dory.”

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Excerpt from ‘Copy, right…?’

Madness is insidious. I used to think that it was the preserve of the elderly or the homeless, but I was sorely mistaken. It’s not that an orderly procession towards neurosis is ever apparent; otherwise you could do something to stop it. It’s much more subtle than that, beginning deep inside your head; a tiny little bird that incessantly warbles to your inner ear, confined and contained within the thin veneer of your skull, until, at some awful appointed hour, it escapes. At this point, you get one of those instinctive urges to vocalise everything. You feel a sudden desire to say it, as if that gives the discussion more credence and the answers, to whatever questions you’d posed, a higher authority. Things do tend to go downhill from there. By and by, you’ll develop an inclination to  echo everything over and over, a truly nightmarish reflex. Easing into one of those supposedly quiet, thoughtful dialogues, safely girdled by bone and grey matter, you’ll run through the argument a second or a third time, just to be sure. Then, just to be really sure, you’ll articulate the whole thing, a spontaneous soliloquy, in front of the bathroom mirror (although, I’m certainly not so vain as to take things that far).

A rational but secret conversation within yourself about the most mundane thing develops into a full-blown habit, creeping up on and possessing you until it is no longer latent. You’ll catch yourself mid-sentence, in a supermarket aisle or in the surgery, when you’ll suddenly understand why people have been looking at you with such peculiar expressions. Sometimes, it’s pity they exude but, mostly, they’re either disgusted or faintly amused by your unnerving recital. Duly embarrassed, you’ll slink away; until the day comes when you no longer care, happy to hold court with inanimate objects or your pet Labrador.

That’s the time to worry; but by then, you may be too far gone to pay any heed. And so it goes on, one echo after another, a ricochet that builds to a crescendo until it shatters your mind, eventually.

By the beginning of the nineties, at the tender age of twenty-seven, this was my sorry mental state. Even when I moved out of the lab and into rented accommodation, the situation didn’t improve, though I can’t say it got any worse, either.

Is it any wonder, isolated as I had been for so long? How much frustration can one man endure, before he goes quietly off the rails?

Copyright © David Thomas Cochrane 2011

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Outline of Sean & Irina

In the early 1990s, well into the third decade of its armed struggle against the occupation of Northern Ireland, the Provisional IRA breathed fresh life into its bitter campaign, by launching a series of deadly attacks on the British mainland. In sharp contrast, an octogenarian Soviet Union coughed apologetically and collapsed in on itself, decimating the lives of its people, and spawning a litter of monster states each with an insatiable appetite for corruption, greed and violence.

Sean is the youngest of a brood of seven brothers, by some margin. Ignored at home and unable to gain the attention he craves, he turns to violence, gaining a reputation for getting his own way by any means possible. Soon after his seventeenth birthday, he is persuaded to bend his violent nature to a more worthy cause: the Irish Republican Army. He joins an Active Service Unit in Belfast. Now married, with a young son, all seems well for Sean until one of his brothers crosses swords with his Commanding Officer, and is duly punished. Sean loses his cool at the sight of his knee-capped brother, but the blame is laid squarely at the door of a nearby Loyalist paramilitary unit. To prove his continued fealty, Sean is given a particularly tricky assignment. Growing doubts assail him, however, and he pulls out of the intended shoot at the last minute. In response, the Commanding Officer betrays his identity to the Loyalists. When Sean’s family are murdered, and he then learns the terrible truth about who is behind it all, he reciprocates, knee-capping the Commanding Officer, but pulling back from a desperate urge to slaughter the man’s family as well. Undone and alone, he runs for his life, escaping to London, where he meets Irina.

Out of the Slavic upheaval steps Irina: beautiful, confident, and determined, not only to embrace the fundamental changes which are taking place around her, but also to rise majestically with the new democratic tide.  She falls for Sergey, a rising star in the Odessa Mafia, and is blissfully happy until one day when he demands she repay his boundless generosity. Stunned by his sudden chilling change in attitude, she walks out, but his men track her down and disfigure her, slashing a knife across her face and partially blinding her. She is put to work in one of his many bars, serving tables by day and at the mercy of his business associates by night. One summer’s day, when he appears at the bar with yet another young girl on his arm, Irina acts decisively. She slips the girl a note, but is caught red-handed. Just then, someone in a dilapidated Lada reverses into Sergey’s Mercedes, and Irina uses the distraction to escape. She jumps into the stranger’s car, and advises the startled man that Sergey will kill him on the spot if he gets  given the chance. The man puts his foot to the floor, and the two of them speed out of the city to a village in the countryside, where they are forced to abandon the car. Mostly on foot, they agree to make for the border. There, they separate, and Irina is hunted all the way to London, where she meets Sean.

They cannot escape their separate histories, however, and they barely have time to get acquainted when two vengeful worlds explode around them. Somewhat fortuitously, Irina eludes capture, but she faces some daunting challenges if she is to save the man she loves.

Copyright © David Thomas Cochrane 2010

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Synopsis of Copy, right…?

Tuesday, July the sixth, two thousand and four is a date Jack Pascoe will never forget. Almost two full decades after he completed his degree course in Experimental Physics and Molecular Science and embarked on a single-minded quest to turn brash theory into the must-have appliance, he ended a well-earned holiday prematurely to pay an unscheduled visit to his laboratory. There he discovered that two of his partners, Sally and Liam Jennings, had taken advantage of his absence to steal the lynchpin of his cloning system, just when he’d been finally ready to share it with the world.

In the days that followed, Jack would be assailed on all sides, as so-called friends and lovers joined forces with a disgruntled police officer and a shadowy character known only as The Dutchman, all determined to destroy him.

Treachery, as Jack was about to discover, is a slippery slope. Until he found someone he could trust, something to stop an inevitable slide into the abyss, it seemed he would lose not only his laboratory and his freedom, but maybe his life too.

Copyright © David Thomas Cochrane 2010

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Magazine Competition Winner

Iconeye.com set a challenge: write a story for the end of the decade in 100 words or less. Tom Henry was one of the winning entries (one of 14 who received honourable mentions) which were printed in the February 2010 edition of the magazine. Here is his entry, which is a take on an old story (can you guess which one?):

No one would have believed, in the first decade of the twenty-first century, that human affairs were being recorded from within the virtual worlds of cyberspace. The risks should have been obvious, but scepticism held sway until globalisation began to seep under the door. Slowly and surely, obscure micro-financials, written in fine print, trapped in layer upon layer of brillant white carbon, and buried deep in long-forgotten contracts, exploded to devastating effect. At midnight on the twenty-second of February two thousand and eight came the first of the bank failures that were to bring so much calamity to Earth.

Copyright © David Thomas Cochrane 2010

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Copy, right…?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cover concept and design, copyright © David Thomas Cochrane 2010

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