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	<title>The Repository of Excellence &#187; Short Stories</title>
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	<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com</link>
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		<title>The End of Billy O&#8217;Daly</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2012/01/30/the-end-of-billy-odaly/</link>
		<comments>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2012/01/30/the-end-of-billy-odaly/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 30 Jan 2012 22:35:40 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[flash fiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/?p=385</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Though he doesn’t know it, this is the last night of Billy O’Daly’s life. He sits alone at the bar, as always, nursing a warm whiskey and frowning at his creased newspaper. “Four letter word,” he says to nobody in particular. “Crossed by Charon.” Time passes. Soon, losing focus, he looks up and sees a reflection in the mirror opposite. He blinks. Something is wrong, but it takes time to realise what. As a test, he moves one hand to his stubble worn face but his reflection doesn’t move. Billy stares at his recalcitrant double. “Michael,” he calls to the barman. “What’s wrong with your mirror?” The elderly Galway man turns, washcloth in hand, and examines the reflective glass. “Nothing I can see, Billy.” Billy waves a hand in the air, like a sailor bidding a lover farewell. His mirror image lifts his glass and drinks, oblivious. “In the mirror&#8211;,” Billy says. His heart is thumping now. “&#8211;that’s not me.” Michael eyes him, then squeezes the washcloth. “No more for you tonight, so.” He reaches across and replaces the whiskey with a glass of Coca Cola. Another time, it might have enraged Billy, but this is the last night of [...]]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>After the Rising</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2012/01/29/after-the-rising/</link>
		<comments>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2012/01/29/after-the-rising/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 29 Jan 2012 17:46:56 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[ferry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[rising]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[zombocalypse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/?p=368</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[“I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” the Navy Lieutenant said as we sat on the ferry’s open deck. “I need to check everybody. You know that as well as I do.” He wrapped his fingers tight around the safety rail as the ferry rocked beneath him and looked at our pathetic group of survivors. “No contagion allowed. So who wants to go first?” He waited a moment as the freezing, night time wind whipped across the groaning deck. Nobody stepped forward. He didn’t seem surprised. “All right,” he said at last, nodding to the nearest passenger. “You just volunteered.” Mr. Norris, whom I had known only half an hour, shook his head. “I did no such thing,” he said, pushing his shoulders back as far as they would go. He was a stocky man and wore a stained business suit with bloodied grey slacks. “I’ll no more let you strip search me than I’d—“ “This is for your own safety,” the Lieutenant interrupted. “If we let those—“ “My safety is not the issue,” Norris replied. “It’s the principle of the thing. It’s a violation of my civil—“ “Sir—“ “—my civil rights, and I’ll—“ “Sir, if you don’t submit, I will shoot [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Diplomat&#8217;s Affair</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/11/09/the-diplomats-affair/</link>
		<comments>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/11/09/the-diplomats-affair/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 09 Nov 2011 22:41:20 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[diplomat]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[venus]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/?p=359</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Ambassador stared out his cabin’s portal window as the yellow planet he had come to love receded from view. After fifteen years, he hadn’t expected it to end like this. Was it still exile if the destination was home? Right now, it certainly felt like it. He leaned forward, resting his head against the cold plate glass and massaging the back of his neck. Salama had been much better at that, but now… Adrift in thought, he almost missed the desk intercom calling for his attention. He let it trill for a moment, then pushed against the bulkhead wall and floated to the centre of the room. He flicked the activation switch. “McNeill here,” he said, his mind somehow entertaining the thought that he had been recalled to the planet. “I’m in my cabin, is there a problem?” After so many years, his own language felt foreign on his lips; at once familiar and strange like an ex-lover’s kiss. “No problem, sir,” the commander’s voice replied after a moment’s delay. “Venus Control have cleared us for hyperspace. Estimated time of arrival on Earth is 23:00 UT.” Only six hours. It had always seemed so much further away. He nodded, [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Regrets</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/06/26/regrets/</link>
		<comments>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/06/26/regrets/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 26 Jun 2011 13:12:56 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[aberforth rake]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[death]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[detective]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[regrets]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/?p=342</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[“Regrets, Stamford?” the detective replied as he lay on his death bed. “Only one.” I let the silence sit between us for a moment before responding. “That’s not bad, Rake. One regret in sixty-five years is bloody impressive.” He stared into space then, contemplative as always. “What was it?” I asked. He sighed and turned away, glancing at the morphine drip beside his bed. “The death of your wife, the beautiful Mrs. Stamford, remains&#8230; unsolved.” My heart thundered against my chest as he turned back to face me. “That was thirty years ago, old boy. We’ve been through so much since.” He smiled, and for a moment I saw the old Aberforth Rake shining through. “Rake and Stamford,” he said, fighting a coughing fit. “Embarrassing the constabulary wherever we went. How many did we solve?” I leaned forward and took his hand. “Dozens, hundreds. You were the world’s greatest detective.” He looked into my eyes then, as lucid as he’d ever been. “I was. And despite my regret, Stamford&#8230; I’ve always known who killed your wife.” An icy chill spread through my body. I didn’t reply, praying he would be wrong but knowing how unlikely that was. “The carefully cleaned [...]]]></description>
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		<title>The Arena</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/06/26/the-arena/</link>
		<comments>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/06/26/the-arena/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 26 Jun 2011 13:09:36 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/?p=339</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[When the dazzling light faded, he opened his eyes and realised he was no longer on the space station. Instead, he found himself in an enormous coliseum, filled with an audience of thousands of hideous green- scaled creatures. The aliens roared a sudden cheer and a chill ran down his spine. He turned and saw an enormous monster with dark red skin and three cranial horns, running on all sixes towards him. He scanned the area for weapons. Feet away, he saw them: spears, knives, firearms, scattered across the arena floor. He scrambled forward and too late, the creature turned to follow. He lifted a rifle, turned and fired. An energy beam exploded from the muzzle, knocking the beast to the ground. He ran back towards it. &#8220;Please,&#8221; it groaned. &#8220;I&#8217;m the&#8230;&#8221; Taking no risks, he fired again. The audience cheered and a blinding light flashed behind him. He turned and saw a purple creature, smaller than the first but with five legs, standing in the middle of the arena. &#8220;Is this the afterlife?&#8221; it shouted. &#8220;I&#8217;m the last of my kind!&#8221; The spectators guffawed, and suddenly he realised why. The nuclear war at home had finally killed everybody else. [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Genesis</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/06/26/genesis/</link>
		<comments>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/06/26/genesis/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 26 Jun 2011 13:00:54 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/?p=334</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[“Are you sure it’s okay for us to be here?” Julia asked her uncle, Dr. Isaac Rossum as he swiped his ID card against the security lock. “Of course, child,” he replied. The doors to the factory floor swung open behind him. “I invented the software the robots use. I’m their creator.” She tugged at the zipper of her parka jacket and shivered. The factory wasn’t just dark, it was freezing cold too. To keep the robots sterile, her uncle had told her. “No, I mean with all those people outside,” she said. “The protestors.” “Don’t mind them,” her uncle replied. “They don’t understand the work we’re doing, that’s all.” He slipped his ID card into his coat pocket and leaned back onto his walking stick. “Come on then.” She followed him through the doorway and onto the factory floor. “I can’t see anything,” she said, her voice echoing in the darkness. “One moment, child.” Her uncle turned back and flicked a series of switches on the wall. Slowly, dozens of lights above them flickered to life and Julia gasped. He chuckled. “I know. They’re impressive, aren’t they?” Julia stepped forward, her mouth agape. Before her stood dozens, maybe hundreds [...]]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Phoenix Convention VIII Drabbles</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/03/05/phoenix-convention-viii-drabbles/</link>
		<comments>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/03/05/phoenix-convention-viii-drabbles/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 05 Mar 2011 22:24:33 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[drabble]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[pcon]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/?p=313</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I wrote these two drabbles as my entry for the Frank Darcy Award at <a href="http://www.pcon.ie">Phoenix Convention VIII</a>.]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Box</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/03/05/the-box/</link>
		<comments>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/03/05/the-box/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 05 Mar 2011 21:18:32 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[box]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/?p=292</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Ann shivered as she walked back to her desk from lunch. Even for winter, the office felt unnaturally cold, and the chicken soup she’d had for lunch had done little to warm her. She pushed through the fire doors separating the office from the canteen and looked across the room. Not surprisingly, she was alone.]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Statement of John Forthright</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2010/08/18/the-statement-of-john-forthright-2/</link>
		<comments>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2010/08/18/the-statement-of-john-forthright-2/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 18 Aug 2010 00:08:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lovecraft]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[pastiche]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[shorty story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/?p=285</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[January 5th, 1823 It was the depths of nighttime when Martha and I arrived in the tiny seaside village of Innsmouth, madly in love, and despite her father’s strongest condemnation, intent on finding passage to a new life in Australia. As we reached the main street, a flicker of lightning tore across the heavens, illuminating an sky and casting for a brief moment an eerie white glow across the run-down store fronts. I can still remember the uncertainty and the dread I felt as the inky blackness returned, hiding the decrepit buildings and shrouding us once again like a blanket on a cold winter’s night. Despite the late hour and fierce weather, we made our way to the docks, hoping to find a ship which might grant us at least part-passage. As we walked, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stiffen and a curious uncomfortableness with my own skin. I turned my head to every shadow, my ear to every unexpected noise, but found nothing out of place in the darkness. I wrapped a cloak around my beloved Martha, intent on shielding her not only from the weather but also the leering eyes of [...]]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>No Escape</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2010/06/05/no-escape/</link>
		<comments>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2010/06/05/no-escape/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 05 Jun 2010 23:26:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[escape]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[hunted]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[man]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/?p=228</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The baker’s eyes narrowed as he examined the stranger in the flickering candle-light. It was almost five o’clock, closing time, and this man would be the last customer of the day. He had an average build and height, but wore a hooded cloak which cast a shadow across his face. He also wore an eye-patch over his left eye, which made the baker nervous. “Your change, sir.” The baker slid three coins across the counter, his eyes still locked on the stranger. The other man nodded, and took the loaf in one hand. With the other, he slid the coins into his pouch. “Thank you,&#8221; he muttered, and left the counter without another word. The baker pursed his lips, and watched as the stranger walked back out, into the cold evening air. Outside, the man buttoned his coat, and tucked the bread beneath his cloak. He walked in the shadows, avoiding the gaslights where possible, and increasing his stride where not. As he walked, he held his belt, and felt the weight of his money pouch. It had lost half its burden since he had set out three weeks ago. Since he had escaped. Soon, the man left the glow [...]]]></description>
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