Cherrypicked stories

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905 reads

Rest Cure

By rokkitnite on Thu, 13 Dec 2007

Hand me the revolver – Today, the crushed hats of spinsters Scroll past like carnival ducklings And good God that weathervane Is asking for it. When the newsagent Hands me my change

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859 reads

Adjustment

By rokkitnite on Thu, 13 Dec 2007

The first thing that happened, We stopped separating out Our glass and plastics. Dad turned the recycling box into a still And bracketed it to the roof Next to the harpoon and the razor wire.

Certificate PG

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853 reads

The Sculptor

By hoalarg1 on Wed, 12 Dec 2007

He carved a face for himself through milenia by looking at others,

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1056 reads

eli gets caught

By flurtypete on Wed, 12 Dec 2007

The door to the hut flung open at ten to four in the morning, and in stormed eight guards, pistols drawn and rifles cocked.

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882 reads

Instant Fires

By Brooklands on Wed, 12 Dec 2007

Last term, my school introduced a one-way system for the corridors. We’ve been reading 1984 by George Orwell and I am beginning to notice the similarities.

Other Fiction

Certificate PG

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3656 reads

Ennui

By hejira j on Wed, 12 Dec 2007

My dad makes lists To entertain me At this age, I cannot explain That boredom is etched out In my eyelid veins That there is a reason Jade is my colour.

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770 reads

A DAY WE REMEMBER story

By Richard L. Provencher on Tue, 11 Dec 2007

Grandpa said, "I could help you catch the biggest fish of your life." And his grandson took the bait.

Children's

Not the Maternal Type

By Lorraine_Mace on Tue, 11 Dec 2007

Some women aren't meant for motherhood. My 200-word offering.

What I Would Never Know ( My 200 Words)

By nandinidhar on Mon, 10 Dec 2007

Ma’s voice over the phone sounds anxious, “Mamon…how are you?” Long pauses between words. “Ma, is everything alright?” She blurts out, “Mamon, Dimma is no more.”

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1174 reads

Goodbye - Nostalgia Competition

By Alan Green on Mon, 10 Dec 2007

Nostalgia Competition

Other Fiction

Certificate 12

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1173 reads

Things Untitled

By nandinidhar on Mon, 10 Dec 2007

On that particular Wednesday morning Titin did not have any classes.

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1119 reads

Soft charcoal lines...

By littleditty on Mon, 10 Dec 2007

poem

Love

Frown lines and empty baskets

By chelseyflood on Mon, 10 Dec 2007

I think it’s true that smell is the strongest trigger of nostalgia. Just cut grass and a hint of petrol reminds me far more of my father than a photo ever could.

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1101 reads

Lucky Thirteen

By Margharita on Mon, 10 Dec 2007

A totally self indulgent and sentimental 200 words. Today is a special day.

Non-fiction

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5107 reads

This is Saturday

By hejira j on Mon, 10 Dec 2007

She says: 'I am as brittle As dog biscuits and my teeth Are as dusty'. Frets She will flake out On the sheets stained Clover green. I am not afraid. I love this girl to my bones,

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1519 reads

Bird Watching

By hadley on Mon, 10 Dec 2007

Down by the stilled green water that offers no clue to depth, except that there is enough for some heartless bastard to drown six puppies in a sack, I wait, as I hear a dragonfly