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The Entries
DIR By: Admin
Date: April 30, 2019, 6:08 am
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#01
I found it on Cyprus: Victory
Brian was always best in our souvenir contest. When he got
malaria somewhere and threw arms in the air, I said "Unfair!
Must be a purchased doodad."
Eye for bad, he found San Fran fog in a can and a chip-dip dish
with the bugs of Oz.
Then I spied a pink shell in a shop. Ancient like Cyprus, sharp
little horns on top.
But oh the indignity done: red plastic berries, green sprigs, a
loop of lace glued on.
Snatched from the sea: doomed to hang on a Christmas tree.
Finally the winner, Brian bought me a steak dinner.
#02
Waiting for a Kiss
It will sit on the wooden frame, making a perfect hemisphere,
glistening like a jewel, seeming to vibrate with energy as the
wheel turns slower. Seconds will stretch into hours, days,
decades, millennia. That which was bright will dull, its shape
and form flattening. A skin will develop, scarlet will turn to
rust and the liquid of life will gradually evaporate while you
slumber. It will become an unnoticeable smudge, an
insignificant stain on the crime scene, the one drop which
caused silence to fall. In that moment, my power will be
revealed and they will wish they’d invited me.
#03
Don`t Always Believe Your Eyes
Morning dawned gray and wet. My mood was not much brighter. The
deadline for submitting a story to the magazine was looming
large but I was struck by a writer`s block. A blank sheet of
paper seemed to radiate accusations that hit my conscience
rather painfully.
Something else flashed across my mind – I`ve run out of coffee.
A disaster! I have to get it.
Walking along the passage, I noticed a woman. She was about to
enter lingerie department and doing so greeted the dummy,
obviously having taken it for a shop assistant.
Hurrah! I`ve got at least a character!
#04
The Fall
I always remember thinking that the term ‘falling in love’ was
so cliché and stupid. I thought the same for anything that could
even be considered part of the romance genre. How could somebody
‘fall’ in love? It sounds so theoretical, and frankly over the
top. As Jim Moriarty once said “falling is just like flying,
except there’s a more… permanent destination.” Falling is
cynical. It’s deathly. It’s unexpected. There it is, the
epiphany. The unpredictability of one’s love is the fall. To
fall in love is to fly in unforeseen air, and I suppose the
heartbreak is the landing.
#05
The Truth (for want of a better title)
It was only as she left that I arrived at the truth; of the
person I’d become and how much I had changed. I did all I could
to make her happy, but succeeded only in adding to her sadness.
I had neglected myself, my needs and my own happiness, and it
was that which destroyed her. She knew that I loved her, more
than I would love any other, and there lay the problem. I loved
her too much to be myself. To be the man she had fallen in love
with. She left, so we both could live.
#06
Spaced Out
Everything feels a bit numb, but a bit sharper all at once. Like
when you’re trying to focus a camera, but you end up swinging
back and forth between a blur and reality.
Have you ever felt like that? It’s quite confusing, really. You
can’t tell what’s right. Should you be eating, or are you sick?
Did you sleep well, or need another nap?
It’s not your fault though. I suppose it’s my own personal
method for coping with the world; I do weird things like this a
lot. And in no way is that anyone’s fault but my own.
#07
Flight of Fantasy
I lie by the pool; cocktail by my side as the sun streams down
from a clear blue sky. My eyes are shut with pleasure, basking
in its glow. All around me sun tanned bodies dive into the
water, laughing raucously.
I stir suddenly. Why is water dripping onto my body? I open
my eyes. Snow is falling from the sky and my sleeping bag is
saturated. I feel bitterly cold.
The realisation hits me. I am homeless and sleeping under a shop
front. Each night I book my passage escaping from reality but
somehow I always seem to awake.
#08
Boss
The dog was known as Boss by the Belfast housing estate kids.
They heard harsh scratching as he desperately tried to crawl
away from his tormentor, his muzzle leaving a dark trail of
blood from where the first round had hit him in the face. His
life trickled away from him through the short grey hairs on his
jaw; an occasional desperate snarl ripping apart the cold
morning air before he began whimpering again like a child.
Lining up the rifle sight, his tormentor watched the heaving
chest, pressed the trigger and the pavement was awash with blood
and fur.
#09
No Sweet Corn, Thanks
A tuna mayo sandwich.
That was all it took. He gave up all his beliefs for a sandwich.
It wasn’t a medium-rare steak with fried onions complimented
with a simple mushroom sauce, from where they’d had their first
date. It wasn’t a shepherd’s pie, the meat and gravy combining
to bringing back childhood memories. It wasn’t even a tuna
sandwich from their local delicatessen on two slices of lightly
salted focaccia with mozzarella and gruyere and toasted for two
perfect minutes. Just a shop bought tuna sandwich.
The tweet from two days prior had stated he was now a
vegetarian.
#10
Mother's Days
"Mother’s Day, Mothering Sunday. All rubbish really. Just a scam
by the greetings card people.” That’s what my Mum used to say. I
would save up to get her something, and she would still moan her
moan. Couldn’t just be chuffed and grateful. Now she’s long gone
and I’m a Mum. I trot out the same lie about the greetings card
people, but I’m chuffed to bits when they ignore that and buy
something anyway. My Mum was just seven when her Mum died. She
had to grow hard, make out it didn’t matter. We all knew it did
though.
#11
Composing a Story of My Life
Composing a story of my life. Write about what you know, they
say. But what do I know? I know how transparent the wings of an
apollo butterfly can be when it feeds on a thistle on a sunny
day somewhere deep or high in the Mountains of Dagestan. I know
how stiff the hands of those who would never do anything with
these hands are. I know that sometimes I see more exciting
things with my eyes closed than widely open. I know that
contrast is the key to any composition. From this perspective my
life is composed perfectly.
#12
A Story Only Time Could Remember
The year was 1967.
A thick blanket covered the ground, dusting the world in white.
Everyone was in awe of the beautiful sight – a familiar view,
yet it looked so different. Hidden by the flurry of flakes, the
park lay motionless, the world having come to a standstill. The
usual bustle of people was no more. Trees and flowers bore the
weight of falling snow, the only sign of life.
It was a winters day of bluster and ice.
Two sets of footsteps crunched through the dazzling snow. They
tarnished the pristine picture, telling a story only time could
remember.
#13
Pest Control
The droplets felt different this time, usually they were gradual
and spontaneously placed, now they seemed to chase him with
watery tendrils. He scrambled across the pathway panicked and
blurry eyed, left, right, no, left, he needed to reach safety. A
quick glance behind concluded that these weren't the cold biting
droplets he was used to, no, steam rose from this advancing
watery beast.
Was this the end? During his thought a crevice appeared in the
distance, “A miracle!” he cried. Safety at last.
Mrs Robinson thought she'd cleared the ants nest with her boiled
kettle water, she was wrong.
#14
The Unknown
Complete darkness, their eyes were unopened, a lamp in the
corner provided the only light. They had no idea where they
were. The room was clinically white, empty.
They could move their eyeballs, staring down all they could see
was their own nose and mouth. Something felt odd. They didn’t
know exactly, they just felt lighter somehow. Their memory was
cloudy; they couldn’t remember how or why they were here.
They felt for their hands. Nothing. Then wiggling their legs,
again nothing. The door swung open revealing a shadow.
“You have no limbs, no torso. Just a head!” it stated.
#15
Frostbite
Frost laced the windows, a lattice of desperate despair sealing
her soul, suffocating her.
She shivered.
Ice shivered down her spine. Again.
She ignored it.
Her fingers screamed with the frozen lacerations of her
captivity. Once more, she was forced to ignore it. Weakness was
contagious, the bitterest gall, a poisoned perfume of-Gas; she
could smell gas.
She raised her head, tasting the air, swallowing the corruption.
The pollution raced down her throat, infecting her senses, her
every finite freedom.
The chill was forgotten; all she could feel was the fire as it
singed her lungs, merciless.
She screamed.
#16
I Have No Face
I am sergeant 122 and I currently have no face. I know you are
currently debating whether I have a nose, eyes, ears: Obviously.
Well I used to. It was the watershed of a submachine gun
infiltrating my face which caused my features to melt.
“122 Are you injured?”
“No.” I said.
I was really. The bullet entered my pores and developed into a
crater containing the remains of my flesh. I blushed, in
bemusement that I remained alive. I fell.
Now my face yellows with age, the crimson stains forming around
the battleground: My face. Now I lay unconscious.
#17
Boy Racers
With a screaming engine, the tyres skidded across the gravel
tearing up the grass speeding uncontrollably towards the edge.
Then in a blink it was flying in the air before gravity pulled
it down crashing into the concrete with a sickening sound of
crunching metal. It lay on it’s roof, smashed, wheels pointing
up to the sky like a dead fly.
For a second there was no sound. Then a scream rose up into the
air.
“MUM!” A small boy started running towards the wreckage crying
“Darren’s smashed my car again!” he wailed snatching the radio
control from his brother.
#18
There Will Be No Headstone
There’s no point in making provision for a headstone. She isn’t
eligible for ‘Beloved Wife and Mother.’ Surely no stonemason
ever carved ‘An Efficient Secretary’ beneath a name and its
dates.
She wishes to be cremated. No doubt her unclaimed ashes will be
left to moulder on a shelf until they are thrown out. Or perhaps
she will be given to a grieving family by mistake.
She pictures the family keeping her on their mantelpiece
believing that she is Grandma. She’d be at family meals,
birthdays and Christmases. It would make a nice change to be
part of a family.
#19
Infatuation
That feeling. You know it. Of Fierce raging passion that engulfs
your stomach. Ignites it. He had it. That night. Blazing inside.
Never had he felt so wanted. So desired. So Utterly alive. He
slept deeply. Deeply content, in all consuming wholesome
yearning. He dreamed of home, a farm. Trees. Landscapes. Birds.
A sparkling stream. The sound of his phone woke him. Abruptly.
Aggressively. He reads. Breathes. Sobs. Violently. Painfully.
Passionately. He's exhausted. The Pain of need and of loss. He
hides under the sheets. He is safe. Never to leave his fortress
to the cruelness of the world again.
#20
Dear Millie
Every day a little boy, no older than six, walks up and down the
hill outside my house to the old oak tree, almost tripping on
his oversized orange wellies. Today after he left, I went up to
the old tree. There in the gnarly wood was a small hole crammed
full of hand-made envelopes holding letters written in crayon.
Dear Millie,
Did I make you mad at me? Dad says you went away like Mummy did.
Mummy went because of me, after I was born. Did I make you leave
too? I’m sorry Millie. Please come back.
Love,
Kenny
#21
The Light of a Goddess
A warning. That’s what they left me.
“No man dares to look her way, she is a goddess and you are a
mortal, do you think you would ever stand a chance?” I chuckled
in response.
They think me weak and feeble, get near her? I just want to
look, to gaze at her beauty, even for but a second, I would
sacrifice my sight, for a second. Time is of the essence; I have
to time it just right. The end draws near, my eyes stop burning.
The sun, at last. You grant me sight to your boundless beauty.
#22
Fear Against the World
I never thought it would come this. I never thought I could face
my fears. I knew it would be hard but nothing could stop me, as
I held my breath and let go of the fear that would hold me back
for many years. The fear of leaving my house. As I slowly
stepped from my protection out into a dark, uncaring world. I
realised its not all that It seemed. Slowly but surely the world
seemed to turn brighter…happier. It seemed that this once cold,
broken world. Could possibly be a better place than it once was
before.
#23
Irreconcilable Differences
Agatha watched as thirty years of marriage disappeared into the
waiting Ford Focus. Ken paused momentarily but didn’t look back
as he drove away. She closed the front door and began to remove
her cardigan. Her dress soon followed as she ascended the
stairs. She lingered in the doorway to the bedroom and gazed at
the glorious site before her. Without further hesitation she ran
to the tantalising presence and climbed on top of what was now,
unashamedly, hers. Starfishing on the freshly laundered sheets,
Agatha smiled to herself as she realised she’d never have to
share a bed again.
#24
Last(ing) (W)rites
Words we’ve shared in anger. Staccato, clipped and bruising.
We’ve used most of them now. Recoiled, regretted, reloaded.
Come back for more.
Words we share as writers… re-arrange with flagrant copyright
disregard. Patient humour that forgives the need to get soaking
wet in your words.
Our words are tea and chocolate biscuits for the soul. Lo-cal,
crumb-free and kind to keyboards. Eyeball to eyeball, never face
to face. Warm, playful, supportive… words. We’re learning the
language of each other without the nuances of sight or sound.
Words we share as friends. Subtle, intuitive, connected. Filling
the gap I never saw.
#25
Five Tears
People often asked him ‘how are you feeling?’, but he knew they
were terrified of the potential reply. Incredibly he’d managed
not to sink ruinous levels of alcohol. Sally still kept nudging
him. Rob needed professional help.
So he went to the GP, who listened, and looked grave, and stuck
him on diazepam.
Rob shook hands and didn’t collapse wailing and remained
dry-eyed as he watched the miniature casket. It was lowered
smoothly into the yawning hole.
Later, he does cry a little. Five tears leak onto his face.
One for every minute he left her alone in the house.
#26
Terms and Conditions
Opening my eyes, bright white light.
“He’s awake Doctor” a nurse said, checking the monitor.
“Cerebral Function good”
White coated figure approaching.
“Excellent, operation was a success”.
Why couldn’t I speak? I can’t even move!
“Showing signs of distress”.
“Mr Carson, keep calm, we will shut you down”.
Shut me down, what’s he talking about?
“You agreed to this”.
I did?
Remembering.
Angry at being told to stop playing.
That message on the screen
Play Duskfall, uninterrupted
Read and accept.
Fantastic, one click.
Who reads terms and conditions anyway?
The Doctor smiled.
“Brain attached”,
“You’ll be joining the others soon”.
#27
The Promotion
I dropped a plate at the special dinner he had organized for his
work colleagues,including his boss. He craved recognition, not
humiliation. He was infuriated. His look across the room
instilled an all too familiar feeling within me. Fear. I would
be punished.
Later the rage turned into violence, I the recipient an
accustomed punch bag. Our two year old son rubbed his eyes as he
entered the room. It was time. Bruised and battered, clutching
my boy, I left during the night.
His boss was aware. She helped me. This was my promotion after
all. New beginnings. Freedom.
#28
The New Principal
The new principal is no stranger to this school. Thirty-five
years ago, she suddenly quit the sixth grade and left town.
A long-serving teacher shows her around. The premises are
different from what she recollects. Except a room at the far end
of the corridor.
Door shut. She halted.
“The music room. Wanna take a look?”
“No. I know it well.”
The man is puzzled.
She looks straight at him, growls, “A storeroom back then. A
timid girl was detained and sexually harassed in there. The
secret has been locked. Until now.”
Stunned, he collapses under her eyes of wrath.
#29
Capriccio
I watched the old man as he played the piano, in a music shop on
St. Clemens' after working hours.
His eyes closed. Keyboards memorised. As he leaned closer to the
piano, tickling him, making him laugh in the notes of Bach's
"Capriccio" my eyes fixed on his head. And it was pink. Soft
vulnerable pink.
It was supposed to be a piano concerto, yet he was not
accompanied. I pressed my fingers on the showcase. Tears in my
eyes. Completely helpless as I saw his head falling on the
piano. Hammers striking the strings violently. "Capriccio"
unfinished. Why grandpa?
#30
Good Decision
My toes over the roof-edge. I'm not crying because I'm doing the
right thing. I let myself fall.
Tumbling, I plunge through the layers of my fruitless life.
My family when it was.
Me, the bullied apprentice.
The lonely schoolboy.
The unspeakable things of home.
Violently, I spin between blue sky and concrete. Wind flaps in
my ears. Rushing towards the blessed impact - Now!
Awake. Sitting up in bed. Sweating. Shivering. My breaths short
and sharp. My jackhammer heart.
It was so real. It was too real.
Where's my phone?
I dial a Samaritan. I say;
I...I need to talk.
#31
A Quiet Night In
The amber light breaks through the curtains, which is blown
apart from the midnight wind. The world is quiet, as I remain in
my hazy in-between. Only the sounds of people on the prowl for
excitement and an echoing breathing. Strong arms hold me in
place with their heavy breathing moving my body in sync as it
purrs down my spine,. The pulsing throb has mellowed in my head
now and the light becomes much clearer. The only part of the
night that remains cloudy, is the fact that I came to my bed
alone, in an originally empty flat.
#32
Angelic
I'd never seen someone single-handedly do 'perfect' the way
Talita Michaels had; there was just something incredulous about
her approach to the system that besotted me.
To believe that youth could be used so masterfully is really
very intriguing when you look at it from a desperate, lonesome
mans perspective.
A man willing to do anything if it means not having to look into
the same, dreary eyes of his failing marriage. And a man of my
word I am.
“Don’t worry beautiful, I don’t bring anyone here anymore.
They'll never look for you here-
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Talita.”
#33
TV Dinners
She yawned. “A great dinner, but I have a bit of indigestion;
must cut down a bit. Think I’ll get to bed now, but you sit a
while and watch an hour or so of boys’ TV. Promise you won’t
wake me up?”
Slowly upstairs, breathless by the top. “Must get fit; maybe
some gardening tomorrow? But my arm really hurts. Don’t know
why.”
She crawled into bed. “Tired, tired, tired. Ooh, that
indigestion is right across my chest now. More painful than
childbirth, I reckon.” Darkness. An hour later he slipped into
bed, next to her silent, unmoving body.
#34
A Step Under Sky
There’s just something about evenings. The way the sky darkens
around you and springs into soft ever fading pastels. I love
when it smells of smoke, I always have and will never know why.
Walking past houses with little lit windows, occasional doors
open and not quite familiar faces about oblivious to the scene.
I wonder what goes on between their walls, how happy the people
really are. Minds intrigue me, there’s just so much to learn.
What makes a person cry or wish to fade away, what sets their
heart on fire, their places of hidden darkness and light.
#35
Of Sword and Pen
I pluck my weapon from its makeshift tin holder. A sharp, acrid
taste smacks my tastebuds as I purposefully run its sharp tip
along my tongue, where I know the bitter flavour will nestle
until midday.
"Today’s the day," I mumble under my breath. "All I have to do
is start."
A slick film coats my palms as I grip the delicate, white body
and lay it in front of me. Its smooth skin taunting me with its
blankness. Familiar conversations echo around my mind and pull
me into a well known darkness.
"We all have one novel in us."
#36
Flour Babies
Our English teacher, worried we had unrealistic pregnancy
fantasies, assigned us flour babies. My daughter was
economy-sized. I named her Mabel and PVA-glued fabric to her
packaging for a dress. She never cried, even when I left her
sleeping in a drawer and came back to a trail of white pawprints
across the carpet.
Our Science teacher didn't like the experiment (though it
certainly proved something) and made us line them up on a shelf.
Protective, I let Mabel go last.
Between cell diagrams came a crash.
‘Somebody's baby fell in the bin!’
Sorry, Mabel. You should have been self-raising.
#37
The Key to My Heart
His letter says it all. How much he misses me. My little
idiosyncrasies. My short fuse. My eyes. He paints me on the page
with words. Subtle words, echoing his love. He never actually
said ‘I Love You’. I guess this way is easier for him. Easier
for him to go, never look back. What made him write a letter in
the first place? Does he feel he owes me something? Maybe it
isn’t so easy for him.
I’m left wanting to tell him that he found the key to my heart
and then threw it away.
Too late now.
#38
Reminder
I was wearing a black suit, itchy and new. Grandma photographed
Anna straightening my tie; Mum teared up.
"Are you crying, Mummy?"
She shook her head, pulling me against her. "Just proud of you,
darling."
She kissed my hair. I clung to her.
More photos: everyone watched me trying to be brave.
I felt overexposed.
We arrived and the camera was dead, and Grandma was frustrated.
I almost felt guilty, batteries clinking in my pocket, but I
looked at Dad's picture by the pulpit and justified myself. You
don't need photos of your father's funeral to keep the memory
fresh.
#39
Cait Sith
The cat wandered aimlessly awaiting the body to be taken to the
cemetery.
With rolls of thread, seeds, to keep her entertained outside the
cemetery gates.
She would come to the grave & purr & try to steal his soul as he
passed.
I had the sudden urge to throw back the linen on the mirror in
the room where the body was resting.
I never knew if the stories were true.
I resisted the urge to remove the linen from the free-standing
ornate mirror.
I could capture his soul I thought & keep it there like a
trapped butterfly.
#40
The Noise
Again the sound, the one that makes me flinch. I feel it
gnawing inside me, like nails on chalk board, the sound making
every fiber in my body scream in agony. Beyond the door I hear
the muffled screams, which flow like a tide, my clenched white
knuckles gripping the seat, knowing my time will come, my fate
will be upon me.
The handle in front of my eyes turns slowly, my heart leaping to
my mouth, peering eyes look into my soul, as I barely hear the
words as my name is called for my teeth to be checked.
#41
A Captain's Tale
I entered emergency at last, with an apology and snow clothed
uniform. She called before the plane ascended; the trembling
startled me, more than the words did.
The bareness of her hand shuddered me. She abandoned the terms;
I was a fool for wearing mine.
“Do you want to witness it? People often faint.” A neglectable
concern. My ring clenched against her skin; there was nothing I
could do but stare. “Dearest, I have not forsaken. Dearest, I
have not complained. Was there nothing in that promise?” The
nurse broke my silence. “Sir, would you like to hold your son?”
#42
Certified Copy
- What with our irreconcilable differences? the boss asked.
- Well, there will be no headstone so, who are you not
reconciling with other than yourself? The truth and the fall are
both a flight of fantasy. Infatuation starts with the unknown.
Composing a story of my life is like frostbite and pest control
hoping for the light of a goddess.
- Try to have a quiet night in, remember to read the terms and
conditions, do not always believe your eyes and never appear
spaced out. If anyone offers, always reply: ‘No sweet corn,
thanks, just the flour babies’.
#43
Demon Forest
She slammed the door behind her and started to walk towards the
forest that was lit up slightly by the moonlight. The trees were
billowing and the shadows of the leaves were creeping along the
ground as if they were alive. As she continued into the forest
she heard the crunching of the fallen leaves behind her. She
looked back and saw a figure trying to hide behind an old tree
with branch like claws. She panicked and her breathing grew
increasingly fast. She turned around quickly and ran as fast as
she could. Then a hand grabbed her aggressively.
#44
Date Night
What I remember most about going back to Odious Rick’s place
that night is the enormous onion that was sitting on his kitchen
counter. He pointed it out to me in the morning, as he was
swanning around the squat in a dressing gown like Hugh Heffner,
making himself breakfast, but not offering me anything. The
monstrous onion was startling, a welcome diversion from him,
myself, and from Sergio, an expressionless kitchen spectre who
intermittently complained quietly about the electricity meter.
‘Who’s your landlord?” I asked, lighting a cigarette.
“Dunno,” Rick winked.
The onion seemed to laugh. I joined in.
#45
Caesura
His foot is placed on cold cobbled stone beneath the coffee-shop
table. The soft brown brogues tap out the rhythm to an unknown,
silent song. Your eyes trace beyond his naked ankles and up the
seam of his cold blue jeans, reaching white worn knees and
taught thread over muscled thigh. It jumps, flying across the
wire of his knotted earphones, leading towards a stubbled jaw,
which in turn sharply jolts towards his -
Your eyes lock.
Your heart thumps in your ears and your stomach knots.
Your breath fails as-
You
Wait.
-
His gaze retreats.
The moment ends. You drown.
#46
The Kitchen Window
In his last letter, he said he would look out of the window and
wave. So, as the train carried her through his beloved
countryside, she imagined him there. He would be stood alone at
the kitchen window, making a strong cup of tea in an oversized
mug. Eyes straining, and ears listening out for the disruptive
sound of the train. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to see him-
she was too far away- but she knew that he was there. He would
always be there, patiently waiting to welcome her home. That was
all she needed to know.
#47
Not Today
It’s too cold for this coat. But it doesn’t matter. I wonder how
you might remove all of your teeth without alerting a soul. How
much would that hurt? If I was lost would they insist upon
finding me? Haven’t I angered them enough?
Funerals are a funny business. One must pretend to be so solemn.
Then all that escalates into self-interested rage, how dull.
Vertigo and ecstasy surge through me as the train that won’t
stop passes by. Too late. It doesn’t matter, there’s always next
time. At least disingenuous, sordid and perverted relations
won’t know that I’ve died.
#48
The Suitcase
Jane admired the suitcase. It was a gorgeous shade of green that
would stand out from the other boring suitcases. It was a great
size and had dainty turquoise wheels. It was on sale too, a sign
her and Michael’s make or break holiday was going to be a
success.
Then Jane had returned home to find her husband’s bags packed.
He had decided the trip was superfluous; he was leaving to be
with his new girlfriend.
Jane stepped back and admired her new suitcase. Michael’s body
had squeezed in perfectly. Jane knew this suitcase had been
meant for her.
#49
Gemma's Teddy
The breeze wafted through the thick deep orange curtains.
Bathing the drab third floor flat. Manky midden air from the
rising summer heat mingled with the rising damp of the crumbling
tenement walls. A fresh lick of paint only tricked the eyes.
Festering rot just beneath that thin surface.
Gemma sat in the corner of the living room, face blotchy red in
desperate tears. Huddled into her baby wrapped in his pale blue
teddy blanket. Dead. Still. Rocking back and forth quietly
sobbing, “I just needed you to stop screaming, just for a
minute.”
“You can wake up now, Teddy…”
#50
Banana
Through the enclosure window we spotted a young female holding a
half eaten banana. Excited, my young son did monkey gestures and
eventually caught her attention. The young female approached
cautiously, watched by her mother. When she was in touching
distance my son banged hard on the window startling the young
female causing her to tumble backwards and drop the banana.
Instinctively my son made a grab for the banana thumping his
head hard against the window. The young female stood up and
laughed at my son's stupidity before being picked up by her
mother and disappearing into the crowd.
#51
The Postman Only Cheats Once
He was only a postie but he was all mine. Until she moved in,
down the hill.
Home at lunchtimes, he was different. He’d pull off his bicycle
clips, race upstairs to shower.
Then I found out.
“Do you love her?” I screamed.
He smiled crookedly. “I’m head over heels.”
He moved out.
I waited in the darkness one morning, heard his bike
approaching.
At the crest of the hill, he started to freewheel. I pulled the
wire taut.
He must’ve been touching thirty when his neck hit it. Just like
cheese wire through cheddar.
‘Head over heels’?
I’ll say.
#52
A Broken Promise
Every morning she wakes up with only one thing set on her mind,
not to eat unhealthy food at work. Alas, that promise is broken
at least twice each day. For how does one control their desires
when it comes to food? That of the rich. With no healthy food at
hand, her work in confectionery is more or less a misplaced
nightmare from the night before. And there we have a problem.
She wonders how to fix this. Perhaps her only solution is, to
quit this job and move on. For a broken promise is not something
to carry.
#53
Gone Fishing
Reeling this way then that, bobbing past me at limpid midnight.
There’s no hurry, I’ve got all night - the stars are winking
like tiddlers and the moons a rockpool, and there’s so many of
them. Stiletto shoals, all rippling fishnets and silvery
laughter. Safety in numbers they think, but there's always one.
Look, there, separated from the shoal, zigzagging over.
Deep-water thoughts cast into my head.
She knocks on the window.
'You available?'
I nod and she opens the back door.
Her net-mesh legs part as she wriggles inside.
‘Where to, Sweetheart?' I say as the lock clicks shut.
#54
Hurt Me Not, My Love
The pain in my breast was extreme.
Last night he had bitten so hard at my nipple that blood came
out.
I was fast asleep when he started touching my breasts and tried
to press his lips into them. I tried to wriggle out but he was
persistent. Then I uncovered my breast and thrust the nipple
into his mouth. He grabbed it passionately and started sucking .
Suddenly he bit it very hard.
I cried and pushed him away raising my hand to slap him.
But held back in time.
How can you slap your one year old for anything?
#55
Lucid Writing
I yawn widely at my screen before deciding on another coffee.
Getting up, I stretch, and move through the silent house to the
kitchen. Feeling the stress of the deadline, I still can’t
finish this chapter. My thriller was, like myself, spiralling. I
feel like I could almost see the killer, sitting in the shadows,
taunting me. I shrug off the thought, knowing I would not like
to meet the end of his gun like my protagonist. Back at my desk
I begin typing, only to stop at the sound of a deafening click.
I feel metal touch my neck.
#56
Face Paint
‘Move closer,’ Dan whispers.
Ensnared by foliage, afraid of breaking twigs beneath my feet, I
lean in, taut, hold my breath. We’re both new to this. Dan
extends his fingers, smears my face with lines of black and
green, concealing our pale teenage skins. I disappear into
shifting shadows, wishing I was back home. We never asked for
this.
There are shots in the distance, the sound of others
approaching, thrashing their way through undergrowth. I can’t
make out their voices. We lie motionless, hoping they’re on our
side.
Oh crap.
We’re dead.
Paintballing. I hate these team building days.
#57
In Local News...
It was a policewoman who came round. You probably would have
fancied her. She looked like that one off the telly I caught you
googling once. "Is there anyone I can call for you" she said.
Well not bloody well now there isn’t.
I’ll have to cancel your magazines I s’pose. And the ‘oliday. I
told you we should have got the insurance Mick. Fat lot of good
that diet done you then eh. And that bleedin’ bike. I should’ve
put me foot down. You didn’t need to lose weight you silly git,
you were just fine as you were.
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