A World Apart and Other Stories

      Tommy Dakar / History & Fiction
A World Apart and Other Stories

A collection of short stories by the author of Balls and The Trap-Door, most have which have been selected for publication in literary magazines. Quality literature ranging from humour to the unsettling.Detective Sergeant Harriet is working the night shift in a backwater town in Ireland. In the interview room, she is surprised to see a fully blown cowboy, bruised and belligerent.“It was three hours past sundown,” he says. He describes, “some no good wastrel whooping it up with a lady.” Then he clams up like a clenched fist. He will say no more in front of “a lady.” I almost look around for one but he means me. She digs the truth out of him, and in getting him to acknowledge his influences, finds some truths out about her own.Please note: This is a COMPLETE short story, 1,989 words. I think one of the reviewers has the wrong end of the stick. At the end of the short story is the first chapter of my full length novel. You can skip it if you like!
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    Balls

      Tommy Dakar / Humor
Balls

When Paul Kavanagh decided to castrate himself with a pair of sheepshears, he had no idea that he was unwittingly setting the balls in motion, and that the consequences would be devastating.When Paul Kavanagh decided to castrate himself with a pair of sheepshears, he had no idea that he was unwittingly setting the balls in motion, and that the consequences would be devastating. Through humour, irony and merciless observation, Balls follows the knock on effects of Paul Kavanagh's drastic decision on family, friends, colleagues, and the nation as a whole.Is there such a thing as an isolated act? Are we responsible for the sins of our fathers? Or are we just victims of the unpredictable consequences of cause and effect?
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    Falls the Shadow

      Tommy Dakar / History & Fiction
Falls the Shadow

Falls the Shadow consists of twin short stories, Falls the Shadow and La Feria, which, although they have defined identities, share a common heritage and are in many ways inseparable.Falls the Shadow consists of twin short stories, Falls the Shadow and La Feria, which, although they have defined identities, share a common heritage and are in many ways inseparable.Falls the Shadow, the first of the two, is set on the North Atlantic coast, whereas La Feria is set in Southern Spain, in Andalusia. It is a journey which takes us from the harsh, pessimistic climes of the north to the gentler, more optimistic region of the south. Though more than a geographical journey it is a philosophical one. We counterbalance the northern work ethic, the severity of the notion that life is a ruler by which we will be finally measured, with that of life as a gift, a celebration, a brief but intense gypsy dance. In La Feria we are shown the almost Oriental element present in Andalusian Flamenco philosophy, where grief demands a counterpart of happiness, where joy exists because of and despite sorrow.
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    Unzip and Other Compact Stories

      Tommy Dakar / History & Fiction
Unzip and Other Compact Stories

A new collection of short stories by Tommy Dakar. From humour to intrigue, from irony to philosophy, each piece has been carefully constructed to perform its task.An observant boy goes to the park, returns home, and has a conversation with his mother in a fabricated, unlikely, never-happened, plausible, impossible, invented, realistic coming-of-age story. What Never Happened: An Observation, a short story, was first published in Waccamaw, Issue 7.From What Never Happened, An Observation:I was a boy. (Dear reader, for the last time I say to you, please remember that this is only a story, meant to comfort friends, relations, and acquaintances, and as such it only exists in your head and those heads who have heard it.) As a boy, I was not especially different than other boys, though I was somewhat indifferent towards them. Of girls, I remember the existence of none save my mother and other assorted relatives: a passel of cousins, an aunt, and a grandmother. I was predominantly interested in myself, though not in a selfish way. I was simply not aroused by games of sport or make-believe or conversation. Allow me to make myself clear: sport, make-believe, and conversation were three of my most cherished pastimes, but they were activities I preferred to conduct with myself. With others these pastimes were diluted, somehow losing their piquancy.What I was most passionate about, though, was observing. I would sit for hours in the same spot, quietly taking mental note of my surroundings. I would not speak my observations, nor would I write them down. I would simply take mental note of the position of a fork on a table, of the number of tines it had, of the sharpness of those tines, of the curvature of the head, of how gracefully the head met the handle at the neck, of any ornamentation on the handle, of any fingerprints. I would note the construction of the table, how its disparate parts were joined, the lay of the grain of the wood, the pattern of the sunlight splashed on the tabletop, the angle of sunlight entering through the window, the shape of a leaf outside the window. When I could fit words to my observations, I did (silently), but I never forced the issue. I did not wish to force my surrounding reality to conform to words if no words were adequate. For example, if the pattern of light on the table was rhombic, I would say so silently to myself, and so too if I could say with reasonable probability that the light passing through the window (forgiving refraction) entered the kitchen at an angle of 30, 45, or 60 degrees while my mother spread peanut butter and jelly on bread for me, I would use just those words. But more often than not, the pattern of light was decidedly unrhombic and indeed indescribable, just as the angle of the sunlight’s penetration was generally immeasurable and inestimable. In such instances, I would wordlessly observe and make wordless mental note. The words, after all, were not what I was after. Words were merely tools. I was after the thing itself.
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    Thick and Fast

      Tommy Dakar / Humor
Thick and Fast

Ambrose Ork was born thick. By contrast Harvey Paulson, the new owner of the mansion, was ambitious, and as fast as they come.So when the body was found it was clear who would take the blame.Because there was nothing Ambrose could do to change things.Or was there?Thick and Fast deals with one of the last and least attended inequalities that still plague mankind - intellectual discrimination.What is addressed here is the inherent snobbery of intelligence in society as a whole. How the menial, underpaid tasks fall on those with a low I.Q. How they are duped and used, humiliated and abused, simply because they are unable to understand the mechanisms necessary for their emancipation. Here is Ambrose Ork, the live-in handyman at Haute House, who was born thick. By contrast Harvey Paulson, the new owner of the mansion, was ambitious, unscrupulous and as fast as they come.So when a tragic accident took place it was clear from the outset who would take the blame, and who would come out unscathed. Because there was nothing someone as slow as Ambrose could do to change things.Or was there?
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