Cherrypicked stories

A letter to the past. Picture: Pixabay Creative Commons

This is something that affects me, particularly the sound of people eating - though there are other sounds. It's not the volume, it's the sound itself and the almost inability to control the irrational anger it gives rise to. Until a few years ago I used to think everyone felt the same. I don't know whether that makes it any easier to put up with. At least giving it a name helps I suppose.

The sun is a heart beating light into the coldness of space. And this heart is a small, ugly dog running joyfully through the bright spring air,...

Angel heard the shuffle of feet coming up the stairs. She could still taste fried food in the air and the dank smell of unwashed kiddie clothing...

It’s Friday evening; it’s Friday fucking evening! Excited chatter slips through the gaps in the music that bleeds from my earphones. London beckons;...

Performance poem.

In the beginning it was perfect. It was as if all roads in your life had been converging on this point. Every false start that you had endured, every...

Dog Rose moved silently across the neatly trimmed grass of the park, heading towards the locked gates on Manor Road. Tonight, he would take his route...

It may seem unfair to start an article with a question that the author has no intention of answering, but that's exactly what I'm going to do. The...