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Submitted to Contest #316
TW: contains themes of abuse. It’s that time of night when you have no business being awake, with thoughts for companions no one would want. Switching on the lamp, you fiddle with odds and ends in the bedside drawer. Earplugs. Vaseline. The odd paperback you’re no longer able to read. You scrabble for a pill only to find all the packets are empty. Story of your life. Can it really be thirty years since his life ended? If you can call it a life. Only thirty years — forever wouldn’t be enough. Your bony hands grip the bannister. Another fall w...
Submitted to Contest #315
TW: Some swearing and mentions of self-harm. Fingers catching on a loose thread, I smoothed down the sequin top.The voice always started when I was ready to go out. Her voice.“Aren’t you a bit old to go clubbing?”I picked up my eyeliner, hand trembling slightly.“Why do you say that?”My eyes met my own reflection, star dust sprinkling the sides of my face.“Well, look at you!”“What do you mean?”“Hardly love’s young dream!”“Maybe not, but—”“But what?”“But…”“But, but, but…”“Don’t be mean.”“Isn’t it time you faced facts? You’re too old to dress l...
Submitted to Contest #312
Maisie watched the news announcement with keen interest. Her lifelong fascination with technology – perhaps something she’d passed onto her son – still burned bright. Her grey hair – thinner than it once was – remained neatly styled. The immaculate presenter, probably in her mid-thirties, spoke in the crisp, yet neutral tones of a news presenter. If you didn’t know better, you might have mistaken her for one of the very AI models she was reporting on. Designed to integrate seamlessly into everyday life, the Soltek models promised to eliminat...
Submitted to Contest #309
Armed with a bitter tasting coffee that was strong enough to stave off a hangover, Mike barely heard the waves lashing the lighthouse walls. Once a popular artist, he had spent the past ten years in his solitary home painting stark seascapes. They were mostly black and white, with hints of grey breaking out as an afterthought. These days, applying brush strokes seemed like chasing empty dreams on canvases. Unlike his earlier crowd-pleasing scenes of bathers enjoying the sea, Mike was never satisfied upon completing the dark sea pictures. Ins...
Submitted to Contest #308
At dawn, on the longest day of the year, a throng converges on the temple grounds. All eyes are drawn to the rising sun. A throbbing ball of radiance, it rests a while, bobbing on the horizon. Gradually, it recedes behind a line of distant palms, trailing ribbons of red in its wake.^^^Canet, my faithful young servant, was intended for the priesthood but when I saw him struggle with the hieroglyphs, I took him on in the lesser role. His loyalty is a useful resource in a temple that has turned into a pit of vipers.Entering my chamber, the dark...
Submitted to Contest #306
RECIPE FOR BAKED ALASKA INGREDIENTS You’ll need two quarts vanilla Ice cream. There you have me. What’s a quart?Siri will know. I’m wondering if I haven’t become a bit too attached to Siri lately. Maybe it’s that “manly” voice. Firm but friendly with a trace of “If you try my patience too far, you never know what might happen.” Hey Siri. (In my breeziest voice, but really just practicing for R later).Uh huh.WHAT IS A QUART? (Clear enunciation to avoid misunderstanding).(Circling of what looks like an AI brain at the bottom of the phone scre...
Submitted to Contest #304
TW: Mentions physical gore.Any moment now Mike’s motley crew, which was how he thought of his art group, would be joining him. He turned the radiator up two notches in the attic room that currently served as both studio and workshop.With sheets spread over his most recent canvases, a faintly surreal air hung about the place. Regarded as a successful artist in his heyday even if that was some time ago, the only work on permanent display was the self-portrait painted in oils not long after leaving art school. It depicted a man with white-blond...
Submitted to Contest #302
It happened a month ago and it was an accident.It started off with my mum saying why didn’t I give being a volunteer at a charity shop a go as I might enjoy it. I’d been working part-time in a restaurant kitchen. It was ok at first but then they kept changing my shifts and everyone was running round all stressed.I don’t like stress!Anyway, the first charity shop I went into seemed ok. There was a big model of a dog outside with a slot to drop coins into to help raise money for dogs in trouble. I was surprised to see it as people don’t carry ...
Submitted to Contest #297
A bird must learn to spread its wings, or it will fall like a pebble. Unless it’s a puffin. In which case it might land in a comical heap on the ground or end up in a classic belly flop on the waves. Such antics, combined with a plumage designed for attracting a mate during the Spring months, may be why this colourful auk is sometimes called “the clown of the sea.”Just before midnight, a pair of red-ringed brown eyes peep from a burrow opening set high on an Atlantic clifftop. Belonging to a fledgling puffin named Puffle, they are mesmerised...
Submitted to Contest #295
Forty years after leaving Kevin’s seaside home, the decline is palpable along the winding streets. Many of the old places are boarded up, and some businesses have changed hands more than once. He passes the usual tawdry trinket shops designed to trap tourists into paying exorbitant prices. Less than five minutes from the sea, with the seagulls circling, he finds himself making a detour into one of the dilapidated side streets.That’s when he sees it.Set back a little and squeezed between two equally insalubrious establishments, a blue plaque ...
Submitted to Contest #291
Dipping and soaring, we fly through skies of rippled blue, eyes fixed upon the ocean. Constantly shifting shape and focus, waves churn up spume which land like snowflakes on the shore. To the distant eye, we appear like specks of grey in the sky.Playing at Peekaboo. Now you see us, now you don’t.Sometimes called “parrots of the sea,” we’re not all we seem. Flying at speeds of up to 55 miles, our wings beat extra hard as we wait for the sea to calm. Other times we avoid the tumult by ducking and swimming underwater. Using our wings and feet a...
Submitted to Contest #286
The envelope joined the pile gathering dust on Mike’s table. He would read its contents, but only after his run. He dreaded a confirmation that would seal his fate almost as surely as if he’d thrown himself off the rocks and plunged into the oblivion of a churning sea. But no. In spite of everything, he wanted to live.Besides which, Jeff would have expected him to fight rather than cling onto a past long since gone.There was no point running away from problems.But running away was exactly what he’d been doing – for months, even years now. As...
Submitted to Contest #284
Nothing is more challenging than the start of a new year when people have been clearing out their unwanted items after Christmas and the donations are piling into the charity shop filling up every inch of spare space. It’s not unknown for this state of affairs to continue even after we’ve closed when you get donors literally banging on the window demanding to bring in boxes of goods they can barely lift themselves. You’re expected to receive all this with a smile of undying gratitude, even though you’re desperate to cash up so you can get ho...
Submitted to Contest #281
Christmas is round the corner and I’ve never felt less Christmassy.Here I am surrounded by all manner of festive gifts and must-have seasonal cuties. The boxes of crackers may look appealing but seeing the person I want to pull them with is no longer around, maybe not so much.However, even I have to admit the very reasonably priced snow globes with their miniature snowmen in funny hats and colourful scarves, have a certain charm. One of the store’s best sellers, only one remains waiting to be shaken and given a good home.These new goods are ...
Submitted to Contest #276
The Social WorkerNames and places have been changed. Some who played a part in this are not included, but in essence this is a true story.Whatever I was expecting, Mrs Lauren wasn’t it. An older woman, well spoken, with not a hair out of place, wearing heels and a power suit, she didn’t fit my image of a typical social worker, whatever that was. The first time I saw her; I didn’t think she’d be much help.***A voice called from the half-open door where my favourite teacher Mrs Swanson was conferring with the school secretary.“A quick word, He...
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