Rickie O’Neill is a 35 year old writer, actor, director and musician originally from Claremorris, Mayo, currently residing in Galway. For the past 13 years, Rickie has been a session musician and full-time drummer for the Irish band The Saw Doctors. In 2015 he changed his course slightly and began writing, starting off with short film scripts and poetry (which he still enjoys writing very much to this day). In 2017 he took a keen interest in the short story form and was particularly impacted by how powerful a short story can be as opposed to a long-drawn-out novel. Plus, you finish them quicker. Rickie’s writing influences include Anton Checkov, Roald Dahl, George Saunders, Lafcadio Hearn, Chuck Palahniuk, Anthony Bourdain, Mike McCormack & Donal Ryan. Last December, Rickie released his first self published novella called Little Sickos, under the pseudonym Fionnain J McKeon, and in March 2026 he released his first anthology under the same name titled ALIVE ALL NIGHT, which can be purchased from Rickie/Fionnain directly by emailing: saltedstrings@gmail.com

ALL EARS

By Rickie O’Neill

After six gruelling months of searching, and waiting, Vicky Mortimer finally got an email into her inbox one Saturday morning saying that she had:

“Failed spectacularly during the whole interview process.”

The email said: “Thank you for your application, Victoria. But after some consideration, not careful, we here at ‘Such & Such’ have come to the solid conclusion that you are absolutely not what we are looking for in this company at this time. Your skills, Vicky. . .” they said. “Both practical and personal, seem all too vague. They lack Appetite. Conviction. Drive. And Balls. And here at ‘Such & Such’ we value Appetite, Conviction, Drive and Balls. . .particularly in our employed females. Myself and my colleagues came to the conclusion Vicky that your CV, at least the version you submitted, is probably one of the worst things we have ever come across – in our professional lives. Laughable beyond measure. But thank you all the same for making that particular Friday go so quick for us. Time really does fly when you’re having fun. Going forward, we would like to wish you the best. Maybe lorry driving might suit your temperament? Or work along those lines. It’s not creatively demanding like this is, what we do here at ‘Such & Such’. All you have to do, really, is not die or kill anyone in oncoming traffic or at roundabouts. Simple.” To finish, they said “We feel, Vicky, that you’d be best not living YOUR dreams but rather assisting the real talented people at living theirs. This now, could be something you’d have a real flair for.”

Signed, the recruitment manager,

Sally.

By the time Vicky finished reading, a sharp sensation had swept through her guts and curled her up into a small and miserable ball on the carpeted floor.

“Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.”

Spinning about in a daze and kicking up her legs, the girl clutched at her stomach like she were a woman who had just gone into labour.

“I can’t go out like this.” she said, panting, wincing through the pain. “NOT IN PINK PYJAMAS.”

This ‘thing’ she was feeling, however sudden it had been, was definitely, DEFINITELY, something she had felt inside her before, and right away, upon impact, she knew that that was true.

“I’ve fucking seen you before.” she said to herself. “Yes I have. I’m just not sure where.”

Tucking her legs under her bum, biting her lip, Vicky would gaze up at the ceiling, eyes squinted, trying to place just where she had come across this sensation previously. This God awful pang. In her head it would have been recently enough. Only about two weeks or so ago. “Yeah. Around that.”

Then suddenly. Boom. She had it clocked.

“Ah yes.” she said, clicking her fingers victoriously. “When hamster Benny died of sepsis. That’s where I know this awful pain from. Jesus, I got an awful doing back then but this, honestly, seems to be a lot fucking worse. Awh.” she said then. “Poor ole Benster. I do miss that boy terribly.”

For the next forty minutes or so, Vicky sat in front of her treasured make-up station, a thing her father built, carefully applying eye-liner, lipstick, blusher and anything else that would temporarily take a young girl out of her own skin. Today was Saturday. The third one of the month. And she’d have no plans to go anywhere. Literally no plans at all. But after everything that had gone on, the way she was dismembered,

shook, put back together,

and now – with the eerie prospect of a haulier’s lifestyle hanging over her head – she said the only real thing that’d lift her spirits up, maybe, was the ritual of experimenting with some of her favourite make-up.

The quiet notion of that very still indulgence.

“It doesn’t have to be much.” she said, undoing the cap of her lipstick. “No, I only need a small bit. Just to feel special again.”

Then, a sound from downstairs. That all too familiar voice of a much older woman shouting up, going: “Are you alright up there, luv? Any word back from that lot in. . .whatever they’re called?”

“No, mum.” Vicky replied, speaking to the back of her closed bedroom door. “They said they really liked me. They did. Thought I had real flair for a lot of things. That my head was in the right place. But, they went in a different direction unfortunately.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I thought I’d be a good fit for the place too but, I guess with these things, you just never know what the bigwigs are really thinking on the other side, eh?”

From where Vicky was sat in her bedroom, you could sense, almost through the door, the incredible sadness radiating out of her mother below. If you stood back, even for a second, and listened real closely, you might hear the tears well up in her eyes and each one of the drops as they hit the carpet on the stair. The poor woman, she’d be haunched there pinching the bridge of her nose, cursing God, and taking big deep breaths before she could say anything else.

Protecting.

Because she knew her girl had her heart set on this place for employment, whatever they were called. Going back to the drawing board now would be a tough pill to have to swallow.

“You’ll be absolutely fine.” mother said. “There are plenty more opportunities for you out there in the world. Trust me. Much better ones.”

“Yeah?” said Vicky. Laughing now. “Well then, if that’s the case mum. I am all ears.”