Cherrypicked stories
3 boys
Three boys tired to sell me a Christmas tree for one pound, As I walked along black ground in January dusk.
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- 722 reads
The Return
The opening of something longer, meaner and perhaps a little scarier. Aimed at a young-adult audience. How do people feel about the tone?
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- 3 comments
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- 1718 reads
Redress
This week's IPOW... The writer's revenge: writing about old hurts.
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- 3 comments
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- 2331 reads
Whose Ark?
Inspired by a Postsecret card.
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- 7 comments
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- 3427 reads
The French Dresser.
The beautiful antique dressing table seemed like a bargain. But its true cost would not be paid in money. It came with a very unpleasant history. And a long memory.
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- 4 comments
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- 3394 reads
BESIDE DORCHESTER, NB poem
It is a terrible experience to visit your son in prison. To see him locked behind barbed wire, with guards monitoring every movement. We still love him.
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- 3083 reads
Friday Sonnet: Silver
No wine these grapes of hurt set free, No coin is bartered for their taste: my lover, My friend, you do no longer look at me… The forging of my fantasies is over:
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- 1529 reads
These Make the World Smile
"I bet you can't make me cum," she said. "I bet I can, my tongue is magic," I replied, the taxi driver staring at me in the rear view mirror. "No-one has ever made me before."
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- 2 comments
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- 2436 reads
Silence
There was silence. She looked up at me, her eyes huge and trusting, her lips trembling slightly, bitten red with panic. I caught her hands in mine and pressed them to my lips.
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- 1 comment
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- 863 reads
The Sentinel
Alone I stand No friends have I My feet in earth I touch the sky No hands to hold No voice to sound I stand alone On higher ground My watchful eye Always alert No life to lose
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- 1 comment
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- 1200 reads
Prime Numbers
The day the world flinched, like sunlight through a coma they carried their dead on advertisement boards. Surgeons waited like ignoble cannibals to strip out their organs or lay them
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- 2 comments
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- 2081 reads
Escape Root
Escape Root (22nd January, 2009, 2.25pm) Today is sponsored by overtired SAD and the high squeals of the black-clad birds of prey; I pray on my own time,
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- 3 comments
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- 2466 reads
Memsaab
This story was an entry in the New Writing Season Competition at ABC Tales
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- 4 comments
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- 1712 reads
Christmas Cock-Up
It was a Christmas time Saturday night
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- 6 comments
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- 3252 reads
I Guess Everyone Has Hang Ups
“Hi, this is Lina. I’m not able to come to the phone right now. Leave your number and I’ll call you back as soon as possible.” Beep.
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- 494 reads
Spontaneous house combustion (SHC)
“Why are you being so stupid? Why are you being so stupid?”
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- 457 reads
My Dad the Pussy
I see the spanner just before it connects with my dad’s head, feel the jolt of it through his arms as he tries to lift me off the floor.
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- 5 comments
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- 7385 reads
Spider
Such a scary insect. Pandemonium, the way it scurries. Is it going to weave a web or scramble all over you? Don’t move an eye lash. Eat your breath.
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- 4 comments
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- 1235 reads