ralph
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My stories
Jumping Trains
Jumping Trains They call this room, ‘The Pod’. Outside. It’s slatted, curved. A brown tortoise shell. Inside. I distribute Mirtazapine, Tramadol,...
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- 2665 reads
House
House 3.20am. Inside this kitchen under emergency fluorescents. Head in hands — elbows on polished, scratched aluminum. I scan the clocks. Thinking I...
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- 849 reads
Shame
Shame I’ve tried to outstep the shame of this. Even now the guilt piles high like records racked on an old Dansette. I was a youth lost in a bedroom...
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- 3429 reads
There is Still Time
There is Still Time to wipe your tongue across greying lips, and kiss the world back. For you are no different than us. We have all committed the...
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- 950 reads
Friday Night was Biscuit Night
My mum, she loved Marks & Spencer. She’d always say, ‘You can’t beat them for value.’ She was a brilliant shoplifter, my mum.
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- 387 reads