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Weekly Contest #26
At approximately ten minutes to eleven every evening, Mr Backshaw stumbles out of the dimly lit pub and heads towards his car. It fits nicely into his journey home from the concert hall. The Turk’s Head, known for its rather dubious clientele, has only ever cut one person off in its sixty-five years of the Boyles’ ownership. An unlucky lad who was aiming a bottle of beer at the dart board, and whose coordination was severely impaired by this point, let loose a little too early flinging it backwards knocking out the barmaid. More importantly,...
Shortlisted for Contest #23 ⭐️
The cold and I are not best friends. Nor are we enemies. We are friends that catch up once every year but have no need or want to be in constant contact. When they arrive, I embrace them with open arms, looking forward to our much needed reacquaintance but when it is time for them to leave, we part happily and readily. We are currently towards the end our of encounter which is why I was rather begrudgingly putting on my shoes to go outside. Everything was crisp; the light, the snow, the air and sun. A white glow emanated from every angle of ...
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