Peter Culbert
Bio
I am a fifty three year old father of three. Diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder late in life I have struggled at times with the road on which I tread. I have a real passion for writing, I may not be very good at it but this will never stop me.
Stories (25/0)
I do not gush.
I do not gush, what I mean to say is, I am not one for voicing my issues. I see it daily, whether on social media or the street. People are confident enough to express the way their emotions, be it anger, love, or sadness. Not me, I am a private person. I believe nobody would want to hear my nonsense, or my thoughts should remain shrouded behind a plethora of prescribed drugs. Who knows.
By Peter Culbert3 years ago in Psyche
Elsa May Green. Chapters thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen.
Chapter Thirteen. Trouble at mill. Market square bustled with eager consumers hoping to get their hands on a bargain as I pushed my way through the hoards of vultures turned the corner onto Tavern street. Finally, I reached my chosen destination and entered the King’s head. The bar had already filled, and seating was scarce. I noticed that our usual table now played host to a bunch of college students and their technological regalia.
By Peter Culbert3 years ago in Fiction
Elsa May Green, Chapters seven, eight and nine.
Chapter Seven. Friends no more. The walk to the King’s head hailed a welcome relief as we left the battlegrounds of the park. Gabriel and Ruben trailed behind us with Michael and Camilla taking up the front of the group, leaving me and my once princess stuck in the middle. It was as awkward an occasion as I had ever experienced with anybody, worse than the time Elsa found one of my adults-only magazines under my bed when we were fifteen, nothing compared to this. It was as if I forgot who she was, and a mere stranger walked by my side. The silence became deafening.
By Peter Culbert3 years ago in Fiction
Elsa May Green. Chapters one, two, and three.
Chapter One. September 20th, 2007 The hand on the dust mottled clock watching over the King’s Head Hostelry struck seven. This evening brought together me, and the usual suspects placed in our seats to begin on our seven-day reunion, as we had for many years. My colleagues in crime and wine, Elsa, Michael, Ruben, and Gabriel, allies since I could recall. Cutting our first tooth, scraping our knees, we matured into the strongest of comrades on Joshua street in the town of Longworth.
By Peter Culbert3 years ago in Fiction