fiction
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For part one, click here For part two, click here She hadn’t meant to say it. Time was ticking away. Weeks were passing, months, then a year. Time ticking down to their return to England. It wasn’t long. Surely she could cope, just a little bit longer? But he had asked her. And she couldn’t…
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“I’m not going in there. Not if there are great, big, ferocious tigers,” Gemma cried. Eight-year-old Abigail tutted at her younger sister and shook her head. “Tigers, indeed. Of course there aren’t any tigers. It’s a garden, not a jungle,” she said, folding her arms. Sarah tried not to laugh. Despite her bravado, Abigail didn’t…
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With Valentine’s Day almost upon us, it’s time for a special love story. My thanks goes to Murray Clarke for sending this in: Roses are Red By Murray Clarke Violet, ninety-six, stared thoughtfully out of the window, a tear in her eye. The other senior citizens in the room were either asleep, reading or watching…
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The zombies were coming closer. Arms reached out. Eyes, large and lifeless, sought hers. Mouths gaped open, drool dangling down. Groans gained momentum, their frenzied excitement building. Something solid touched her shoulder. She jumped. This was it. “Want a cup of tea, love?” She looked into her husband’s eyes and then back to the TV.…
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For part one, click here. Minutes, perhaps hours, passed. Laura awoke to a dull shroud hanging over the room. The half moon shone a shining light on the bed, shadows dancing in the corner and shapes bouncing on the ceiling. Tap, tap! She swivelled round at the knock on the door. ‘There’s someone to see…
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‘Mum! Come and meet my new friend,’ Jake burst through the kitchen door. Laura beamed at her son. ‘Your first day back at school went all right then?’ ‘It was okay, I suppose. But I’ve made a bestest ever new friend. Can he stay to dinner, Mum? Can he?’ ‘If his mum knows where he…
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For part one, click here. Granny stared at the dials on her silver watch. Tick tock, another minute passed. It had been five hours and still no news. They jumped together, shoulders wrenching back and screams catching in their throats. The shrill, sharp ring of the telephone was a foghorn. ‘You answer it, Granny. Please,’…
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I touch his face, my fingers caressing his lips, catching on a ragged ridge of chapped skin. I press my own to them, tasting the tang of tears as they cascade down my cheeks. I drink in his warmth. Or what’s left; it won’t be long before his lips mirror the hue of a bloated…
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For part one, click here. 6th September Dad came to see me today and he was on his own. He tried to act all pally, giving me a pat on the back and ruffling my hair. He shoved an ‘HMV’ bag in my hand. He winked at me and said that he knew I liked…
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3rd September Mum and Dad’s divorce came through today. Mum danced round the breakfast table singing, ‘I’m gonna get that man right out of my hair.’ She looked like a witch with her hair stuck up and a grin Tony Blair would have been proud of. Then she ran up to me and kissed me…
Esther Chilton 