Five fingers impatiently rest on the upturned London Gin glass. Five young women are ready to summon the spirits. “Is there anybody out there?” There is no response. Nothing. Deadly silence. “Are you in the room with us tonight, Peter?” continues Joy. She is taking this seance seriously, dressed like[…]
I cautiously enter the café and have a quick glance around. The table in the corner will do me fine. A young girl at the counter looks up and seems to be waiting for me to speak first.“Morning. Could I have a coffee, please? A black one.”“You mean an Americano?”“I[…]
The reason I can’t beat him is simple; he cheats. When we were walking home from school, he said “let’s race to that gate”. As I looked to where he was pointing, he shouted “go!” and charged off. He won of course. Yesterday, playing ‘Crossie’ on the IPad, I was[…]
Dianne carefully loads up the old, wooden trolley with the returned books. The wheels wobble, giving out a quiet, rhythmic squeak as she trundles her way to the far corner of the library. Today will be the last time she makes this short journey to the ‘Travel Section’. Before her[…]
I have received several letters from Sophie’s school this term. Most of them I just ignore. The one about her class paying a visit to the comprehensive school was headed ‘For Parents’ Information Only’. Somehow that ‘Information’ really got to me. Sophie will soon be moving up to the ‘big[…]
I always walk backwards. My first tentative reverse strides were on the way to the bus stop, keeping an eye out for the number thirteen. I quickly realised that looking back at places you have passed allows you to linger and absorb, creating calmness of reflection, rather than anxiety of[…]
The first time I stood on Pont des Arts, Paul passionately kissed me, then fastened the padlock to the barrier. It was engraved with our initials, with FOREVER emblazoned across the centre. I didn’t hear the plop, as I watched the key hit the water. A few months later another[…]
Hot water washes over the paint, turning my bath into a swirling battleground of fighting colours. I lie back and watch the patterns challenge each other. It was a daft thing to do; providing children with oil based paints and encouraging them to make handprints. Certainly not one of the[…]
Year 2002 Dorothy leans back into the recliner chair and carefully closes her book. She has another look at the picture of two officers on the front cover, dressed splendidly in pristine army uniforms. Their smiling faces show no signs of the atrocities they will surely encounter. Stories about the[…]
No one can see the boys holding each other’s hands. Darkness and high, fragile mud walls hide their act of intimacy. Their gloved fingers, tightly intertwined, pull their bodies closer and closer. Buttons, loosely attached to their jackets, rub silently against each other. Though tightly shut, tears still manage to[…]