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Weekly Contest #376
For an imp, Maurice was remarkably adaptable and so well dressed in his claret blouse and blue pantaloons. Yes, he was only as tall as a Big Person’s little finger but give him an ear to play with and he was in his element. He could produce a ladder with a snap of his fingers, tall and sturdy enough to reach up from some gormless Big Person’s shoulder to their innocent auris externa, the outer ear to you and me. And once there he would do what he could not resist doing. It had always been this way, a germ that flowered every time he came cl...
Weekly Contest #374
The flowers were watching him. Watching all of the walkers. Turning their beautiful faces as people passed; emotional palettes swaying in the gentlest breeze and yet that was how he had noticed their subtle trickery. It was simple really, because sometimes the flowers moved even when there was no breeze. As he studied them further, he realised that many of them, in following passers-by, actually turned the faces away from the sun. That, he knew, was impossible. So, yes, the flowers were watching him but they were not aware that he was watchi...
Weekly Contest #359
Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Whose stars are these? The bearded interrogator, a policeman I think, wants to know who savagely beat me but I cannot explain to this officer, all dressed in white and wearing his flexible rubber ear trumpet, except perhaps to ask him: why are there stars in the ceiling? He doesn’t answer. How can I trust a cop out of uniform? I suspect he is not real. Maybe he’s just out to mislead me. Come closer. If I know you, I will tell you instead. Do I know you? You don’t have to answer. I must trust someone and there...
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