Cherrypicked stories
One Green Bottle
I'm having problems talking. It's all clear what I have to say, but she's just looking at me, bemused, half smiling, and embarrassed.
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- 1176 reads
On Temple Street
In the amber light of morning, after the markets, the street is awash: plastic and vegetable scraps lie at the feet of the last few Chinese hookers, standing in doorways, marooned in morning.
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- 871 reads
Nostalgia Competition
The Owlers Wife My Jemmys out tonight down Tenterden way a visiting his Father took sick at least I'm to say it or a drinking in Horsmonden telling tales
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- 1044 reads
AT MOOSONEE, ONTARIO essay
Suddenly, something ticked in my brain. Our ski-doo was heading for a narrow footbridge over the river and it was getting closer every second. "No, Denny, TURN!!"
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- 2166 reads
Chapter Five: The Old Gaol
He resembled a blighted potato. His skin was jaundiced and mottled and scabby and his eyes bulged as though he had been hung at some point but without any luck.
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- 1184 reads
Shattered Light
I had never felt so scared as the night I stole the hard light projector, but we had to find out if the effects were true, no matter what happened.
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- 1 comment
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- 900 reads
Greetings from Inner Space
Greetings from Inner Space: Writer’s Blog Stardate 2412/2007 time 1915 S.F.T.*
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- 1595 reads
Houses: One to Seven
w.i.p
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- 2 comments
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- 1573 reads
Nostalgia Comp
The Flight Back. Was that you at the airport? The back of your head, the model’s walk of nonchalance and the designer suitcase - compliments of Mastercard?
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- 3 comments
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- 1362 reads
Naked Tea
A chance meeting with William Burroughs in Fortnum and Mason's tea room.
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- 2 comments
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- 4240 reads
Mr Bleaney (pre-visited)
Mr Bleaney bagged the latex jumpsuit And stashed the hold-all in the usual hedge. Pushing open the guesthouse door his stoop returned. He tripped slightly on the wedge
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- 460 reads
Eternity AM
Throughout the morning, a woman learns to listen through her baby's ears.
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- 2 comments
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- 810 reads
Seventh Circle
In Hell, We plunged arms Elbow deep into the firelake And pulled out black scarecrow limbs That dripped like toffee apples And fizzled like crack spoons. On burnt twig digits
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- 4 comments
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- 3643 reads
My life as a frog
I was a precocious child. I went straight from Peter and Jane to Lady Windermere’s Fan. Of course I returned later to Enid Blyton but it was with a certain aesthetic detachment.
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- 1293 reads
OB - Odd Ball
Enjoy reading? There can be more to it than meets the eye.
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- 7 comments
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- 4358 reads
Leaf Fall
The remaining leaves on the trees disappeared overnight
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- 6 comments
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- 2607 reads
Endogenous Zone
Endogenous Zone All we can do is sit publicly, politely tuck into a downstairs deep corner of a wine bar, or a pub so basic it has straw on the floor and welcoming anonymous gloom
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- 7 comments
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- 7368 reads
Five hours in an airport waiting lounge
How to fill the time?
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- 881 reads