SHORT STORIES: Ilona

The dense heat of summer in the city left it deserted by day, but a crowded euphoria in the cool of the night. Those who held lodgings in the city would escape on a train in the early morning and pass the day in the cool of the mountains,…

SHORT STORIES: Glimpses Of Grace

“I guess I’ll never get that fiver back but it doesn't matter. I’ll consider it a parting gift. I barely knew her, and only leant it her because she was pretty, and I just crumble at a pretty smile. Knowing so little about her was the main…

SHORT STORIES: The Fake Yawn

Clarissa gave a loud and overly theatrical laugh, as a gravy soaked potato fell from Sebastian's fork into his lap. She had brought the six of us together this evening, and we all admitted that her hostessing skills were excellent. It was…

SHORT STORIES: Shrapnel For Leprosy

Gil’s entire demeanour sang of overconfident charm. His broad, well held shoulders, his wide toothy smile and his expectant eyes made him simply perfect at his job. He shook the heavy red container up and down, and smiled even wider at the…

Short Stories: A Night In Leeds

We had left for the concert in the early afternoon. My torrid poverty was such that I clearly could not afford it, but at times in one’s life one realises that one is barely living, and that measures need to be taken. We had crossed the…

SHORT STORIES: The Right Time

“This is it. It’s finally here. Everything thus far has been leading up to this moment, all the smiles, all the joking, all the heart-wrenching farewells have been building towards this. All my torrid despair has been working up to this…

SHORT STORIES: Dear Fiona

11 October Dear Fiona, I start this letter, simply by saying I love you, and that I miss you. If time heals all wounds, then the distance between us continues to scar me daily, and there is never any time to recover. Next Tuesday it will…

SHORT STORIES: The Passing Trains

Most high earning professionals chose to take holidays in far flung paradises, but Peter Harris always returned to his home town. The lure of the Caribbean was stale to him compared to the simple Mediterranean charm of the town where he…

SHORT STORIES: ‘Poverty’

The young man slumped down on the bed and looked over at the clock: 9PM. If I go to sleep now I shall awake too early, he thought, yet he could not find anything to fill these empty hours. The thing that really frustrated him about poverty…