Autobiography
The Flying Brick

I’d been scouring AutoTrader for weeks — every spare moment, even before I passed my full motorcycle test. What I really wanted was one of those...
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- 258 reads
The Daughter-Wife

When she died, The house fell quiet and wide, And he looked at me like I should slide, Right into the space where her shadow stayed, A child in a...
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- 3866 reads
Jaws (1988)

I first saw Jaws when I was about eleven, maybe twelve. It was late, a school night, and I couldn’t sleep. I got out of bed, in the bedroom I shared...
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- 370 reads
An Afternoon in Lausanne

It was death that gave me the courage. In the space of two years, I lost my uncle, my stepfather, an old friend I shared an office with in Barcelona...
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- 916 reads
Massage Parlour
I generally don’t go in for spas or massage. It’s the pampering that puts me off — the soft music, the hushed tones, the candles. I don’t like being...
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- 157 reads
Le magnetiseur
When your child’s skin is red and cracked and nothing works—not creams, not oats, not changing his diet, not even the sea (which did help, but was a...
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- 206 reads
Garden Centres II
Yes, garden centres have certainly changed over the years. There are still some originals, with more weeds than plants, no refreshments, and three...
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- 261 reads
The Gesture
This story contains reference to suicide and mental illness. It doesn’t take a tragedy. Not always. Sometimes it’s a drip from a ceiling, a broken...
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- 305 reads
“Damaged goods”
Back in motion with a poem I wrote during a reflectionary period. I was questioning my self-worth as someone with CPTSD. The whole "____ girls" is based off of my experience with harmful unsolicited advice from loved ones that reflects deeper issues like generational trauma, victim blaming, and overall misogyny.
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- 93 reads
Those Shameful Blue Pyjamas

You are what you eat but you’re not what you wear.
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- 1390 reads