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The Teenagers (1/2)
There is little to do for the children of the village. There are no shops except for the Post Office and Londis. The nearest town is seven miles away...
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- 1271 reads
A Turkish Delight
Kamal Scinkote was the oldest man in the village. He had been born in the reign of Morkhum Bey, a time of great prosperity for the Turkish Empire...
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- 847 reads
The Conduit (3)
Landmarks are always disappointing. Like Jeremy Truscott’s 5,000th operation, there was no chance to celebrate. After a busy morning of scheduled...
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- 1282 reads
Steve
__ -- __ +=== __--____+====& _-++__________ \+============== %^&____________ We've found Steve's notebook. This is all that is written on it...
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- 445 reads
Please and … (IP)
Buying tins from off the shelf, I realise that it’s not myself who raised the beans, and cooked, preserved – so, many farmers have deserved my thanks...
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- 10 comments
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- 3743 reads
Drear Diary
***** Today marks the start of another fast march past time *****
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- 12 comments
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- 4836 reads
Green Trucks Carry Everything at Night
K first noticed the trucks when he was pulling the living room curtains together late at night. A sliver of world remained between the drapes and his...
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- 4610 reads
The night shift
I’ve always had outstandingly good eyesight. In fact as a child I used to wave to people at a distance and get annoyed when they did not wave back. I...
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- 860 reads
BERMONDSEY GIRLS - Rose Amelia Wigzell - Part 1 - Younger Days
My name is Rose Wigzell, I was born Rose Amelia Cherry on 28th May 1920, during the Depression, in Bermondsey, South London, near the canal.. When I...
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- 11 comments
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- 4583 reads
We Who Survived - 4 - Note from Catherine - part 2
Part 2. Owing to the location and the evaporation in the spring of alkali ponds near by, Waiilatpu was not healthy. The mill pond was near by, and we...
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- 3368 reads
Prospectors
The city crackles like dollars unfurling, Nationalities queued up in transfer shops In shirt-sleeved, mustachioed lines that spill Into the street,...
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- 293 reads
Promised Land
Flimsy wall Bedroom door Up against The dirty floor Scratched-up back Midnight black Giving me The simple fact Bite down hard Leave a mark A white...
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- 766 reads
Whiteout III: 5 (The End)
5. The End “Five minutes until the sun sets.” I said quietly. Lopsang, James and Siana stood at the far edges of the cave, gripping their ropes. One...
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- 328 reads
Blind Corners
I jumped on the back of the motorbike, welcoming a ride to my hotel, after a long walk across the city in the sticky wet air. The bike was an old...
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- 3 comments
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- 1671 reads
The Traveling Immigrant
My name is Tichere Vong and I know this sounds cliche, but I ran away. I know, I know, alot of kids run away. Why is my story so special? Because i...
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- 264 reads
The Sailor problem
I was woken early one morning by a hammering on my back door. I quickly dressed and rushed downstairs to find Alun in an agitated mood. “What on...
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- 1808 reads
The Commissar
The Commissar The old man could see beyond the solitary window. The lime tree, stark and leafless in the winter sunlight, looked lost and homesick...
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- 623 reads
Ode to Juno
i In my ruddy restless dreams, she has been duly bidden; Through pomegranate seeds of thought, how she does grow; So vibrant, wild, in wind bitter:...
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- 521 reads
Fearless
I watch you brink trembled tingling hackles raised in contemplation of abyss I smell you terror scented as frozen slime, crawl frigid limbs in lofty...
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- 481 reads
THE WEEKEND 5 - Sunday: 'Smoked Salmon and Cocoa'
This is Part 5, the final part of the essay; the factual account of a lads’ bizarre weekend in the mid sixties, this one dealing with the usual Sunday comedown from Friday and Saturday’s excitement – the boredom further aggravated by the dread of Monday. Names, as they say, have been changed to protect the innocent, though none of the protagonists were. Be warned, however: contains strong language, as well as frank references to body parts and functions – assuring total veracity (and some nostalgia).
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- 650 reads