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Weekly Contest #47
The Ghost and the Demigod Suitcase in hand, you hurry to the railway station. “Now Preta,” you warn yourself, “don’t look back!” Of course, you look back. Just a glance, quickly over your shoulder. Shadows in the dark street make your heart pound faster, but no, it’s no one. They haven’t followed. You’ve made it this far without detection. You want to check the slim gold watch on your left wrist, but your sleeve covers it and your hands are full. A suitcase, a handbag, a small cashmere knee-rug that you grabbed as an afterthought before you...
Shortlisted for Contest #46 ⭐️
Writers’ Group Therapy. I wrote about the day my mother vanished because Mr Timms who ran the group said to write about something true. My mother was a woman of habit. When I walked in the door after school, she was always at the kitchen table. She was always just finishing up making a plate of cheese and gherkin sandwiches for me. She would look up as I walked in and say, without a smile, “I wasn’t expecting you yet. You can pour your own cordial”. Of course, she was expecting me. Our routine never varied. Until the day it did, the day it...
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