Raymond G. Taylor
Bio
Author living in Kent, England. Writer of short stories and poems in a wide range of genres, forms and styles. A non-fiction writer for 40+ years. Subjects include art, history, science, business, law, and the human condition.
Stories (156/625)
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Christ has set us free
"You put that whip down, or y'all be sorry." "I'll be sorry? Not as sorry as you will, boy!" With that, young Freeland raised the horsewhip and threw a mighty wave of the whip's end at me. Flinching, I felt the sting of a cut across my shoulder. Before the man could raise his arm again for a second blow, I was upon him and knocked him clean off his feet, as my fist drove into his jaw.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
A quiet night in the George Inn
Sitting in my usual place in my favourite armchair by the fireside in the George, I was feeling a little unsettled. It wasn’t the beer, I knew, as I stared at the crystal-clear brew in the glass on the table before me. I glanced up at Ray and Trevor, standing at the other end of the fireplace, each with a pint in their hands. They were gassing away as usual, but tonight with someone else I didn’t know. The three of them were discussing the match and taking no notice of me. Seemed like these days, I hardly had a friend to talk to and often ended up sitting alone in the corner.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
The very very best writing . Top Story - November 2023.
With many thanks to fellow Vocal creators and Vocal + Assist. I asked on the facebook group what was everyone's favorite story or character and these are the ones they came up with. I did promise a little something for the very best of the very very best, so please take a look at the stories suggested and let us all know what you think, by commenting on this post. Also on the stories, of course. I don't mind if you copy and paste from one to the other. If you want to join in, just go to Vocal + Assist. Ask to join the group if you are not already a member and look for the thread. Post your story there and I will add it below when I get a chance. For now, enjoy all this great writing in the stories linked here.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
The wayward witch
Breezes calm and waters placid . Render this man's member flaccid! With these words Morwenna cast the corn dolly into the duck pond. She had made the crude image from a few strands of straw picked that morning from the wheat field nearby. She attached a tiny twist of wool she picked up from the hedge where some sheep had been herded earlier. The twist of wool was what made it a boy dolly rather than a girl. Not just any boy, the effigy was intended to represent the young man who had, the night before, refused Morwenna's clumsy advances.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
Witches of the waterfront
"Bless this day and make it fruitful. Bring me a man with gold coin, a hatful." Jacinda's sing-song voice was a delight to hear on a bright spring morning, as the four women strutted through the streets on their way to the harbor market. Baskets on their heads, laden with their simple wares, the women teased and taunted the good people they passed. Many shook their heads at so brazen a procession, some mouthing "harlots" or even "witches" under their breath. Witches they may have been, harlots they were not.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
Run with the Pack: Chapter 11
When Bahr returned from his night’s hunt for food, unlike Elha, he did not bring a freshly killed carcass with him. His muzzle was hardly bloodied from the scraps and carrion that he had unearthed on his circuitous route through the labyrinth of the forest. There would be no family feasting that morning. A wolf could not expect to feast every day and would soon grow to a lardy, disfigured lump, if it did, and would likely fall prey to the forest. Feast followed by famine was what kept the wolf sleek and fast at the chase and allowed it to fight off any kill thief, whether wolf, bear or just a mangy, scavenging no-wolf.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
Ecstasy await
A look, a pearl of saline moisture barely visible. His lips move, not quite a whisper. Her hand lifts, the forefinger extending, rising as if by charm or sorcery, levitation, toward her own lips. The tip barely touching the slight, unseen, down, whispering above the pinkish-red cupid's bow covering a hidden ivory parade within.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
