Niall James Bradley
Bio
I am a teacher who lives in the north west of England. I write about many subjects, but mainly I write non-fiction about things that interest me, fiction about what comes into my head and poetry about how I feel.
Stories (56)
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The Dragon Master's Son 2
Chapter 2 'They are either very confident or very stupid,' John thought to himself, as he bumped along the rutted road in the back of the wagon, on top of all his father's work tools. If he had been a half decent apprentice, then by his age, with these tools, he would have been able to stun a fully grown adult. Maybe even a small group of men. But John wasn't an average apprentice. When it came to magic, he had the potential to be exceptional. He had been told, by his mother, that he was the sort of talent that came along once a century. Already, the dragon master, John’s father, was in awe of his powers: powers he had gained from his mother. Hadn't he just, with the flick of his wrists, frozen a dragon in flight? But for now, he needed to play his part. Be the dragon master's innocent son. He needed information. Where was his father? Who had taken him? What did they want? Was it the same people who had sent the dragon to pluck him from the stream? Yes, for now, John needed to wait, watch and learn all he could.
By Niall James Bradley5 years ago in Futurism
The Dragon Master's Son
Chapter 1 He was up to his knees in cold water, his eyes scanning the stream and his feet, ice cold, no longer had any feeling. But still, John didn't move. He waited, with the stealth of an eagle, for the small fish to make its move. It lay, silent and virtually motionless, beneath a rock in the stream. Only the occasional flick of a fin gave its position away.
By Niall James Bradley5 years ago in Futurism
Mother Of The Trees
Have you ever wandered through the underpass, from Washington Hospital Center, and entered Wangari Gardens? Have you ever looked at the community garden, the youth garden and the outdoor classroom and wondered: who is the woman who inspired all of this? Who was the woman who inspired these bee hives, this public fruit tree orchard and these vegetable gardens?
By Niall James Bradley5 years ago in FYI
The Night Bus
I can feel it. Excitement, once more, bubbling up inside me. I take my seat, the last bus of the night to Piccadilly. An empty bottle rolls towards me as we pull away from the bus stop. Street lights and illuminated signs cut through my ghostly reflection in the window. At the front of the bus, I can see the driver looking at me in his mirror. He's suspicious. I could tell when he took my money. The question, “Shouldn't you be at home in bed?”, was just there, waiting to be said.
By Niall James Bradley5 years ago in Families
Den Velt
Mark’s fingers rifled expertly through the shelf of vintage LPs. Thursday: the blessed day. The day when the new ‘finds’ would miraculously appear on the shelves of Mark’s local store. Thursday: the only day of the week where he managed to rise, Lazarus-esque, from his bed before noon. He had crafted arriving at the shop down to a fine art: one minute past nine, week in, week out.
By Niall James Bradley5 years ago in Humans
Moving On
David peered up at the final box, resting on the top shelf of the near empty cupboard. The box filled with his past. He closed his eyes. The rest of the flat now stood in neatly packed boxes in the living room, waiting for the early call of the removal van. Only this one, final box remained to be sorted. Keeping his eyes closed, David reached up and placed a hand on each side of the container. As he brought it above his head, David felt something slide off the lid. There was a slap of leather, as a book landed on the floor behind him.
By Niall James Bradley5 years ago in Humans
