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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The witches’ granddaughters
Shepherd's crook and monkish cassock, Crucifix and jewelled haddock. The words were chanted over a pitch pot aflame in wreathes of slick and slimy smoke, on a solid island within the rank marshlands beyond the western wall of the city.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
Cottage in the forest
For many days I trekked through the King's forest known as Sherwood, in Nottinghamshire, fearing I was walking in circles. I was also nervous, for the paths I trod were reputed to be patrolled by vagabonds and cut-throats, not least the notorious outlaw know locally as Robin in the Hood. I was heading for the city of Nottingham, wherein my betrothed awaited me.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
How the Earth came to be blue
At the beginning, in the time before men, the world was a vast wilderness of rock and sand: dull, flat, monotonous and uncaring. There were no trees, no flowers, no meadows, no rivers or valleys, no wind and no rain, no day, no night. Just vast empty plains and rocks sweltering under an endless Sun. The only creatures to walk the Earth were fauns. Playful, horned, hoofed, happy fauns. Watched over from the heavens above by Mother Sky and her two daughters Soul and Song.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
Lord help poor fishermen
“Lord ’elp poor fisherm’n on a night like this!” said Jim to himself as he stood at the rear of the Crow’s Nest Inn, watching the French fishing smack fight heavy seas as it crossed the bay, lashed by wind and rain. He pulled his collar tight around his neck. As a lad, working the nets with his father and brothers, Jim always knew he would find something better.
By Raymond G. Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
Reach for the sky
Swooping low over the runway, the Spitfire throttled back to a roar of highly-tuned Merlin engine, making a perfect landing on the grass strip at Kenley. Flight Sergeant McKinley nodded his approval as the pilot taxied neatly into position by the fuel bowser.
By Raymond G. Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
The inside job
I was nervous as hell that day. It had all been arranged. As one of only three senior executives with access to the strong room combination, I was alone out back with Christmas takings of over $2.5m in used notes awaiting cash-in-transit collection. The heist mob agreed a cut of $250,000 to me as the inside man. The plan was for the heavies to arrive at exactly the moment I opened the walk-in safe. Two men inside the safe and one outside, holding me up with a gun to the head. Just for appearances of course.
By Raymond G. Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
The Night Watch
I had plenty of time to think about it during those long night shifts. In the end, I couldn’t believe how easy it was. As a security guard at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, I had access to all areas. It took less than twenty minutes during the evening lockup. I slipped into the gallery, carefully razoring the painting out of its frame, before replacing it with a beautifully crafted fake. It would not fool anyone taking a closer look, but it gave me time to get away.
By Raymond G. Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
