Stories

Original published on Paragraph Planet

Sounds easy. Especially for a former teen Goth. She recalled Dad’s anthropological approach to the 90s; bemused but interested. “Why on earth would you wear those big clobbering boots with such a pretty dress Gill?”. The Doc Martens had long-gone but her crammed drawers remained mostly monochrome. Lace, fake leather, sequins, and as forty approached – applique flowers. What would he have made of that? Maybe she would just stay at home.

Stories

Shortlisted in Ad Hoc Fiction

She swayed from left to right buttock; not easy to achieve in slow motion and a silk skirt.  Head locked forwards, she kept a sideways eye on the congregation for cues. Time had muddled her memories of the moves: a jumbled sequence of sit, kneel, stand. Her lips moved to Our Father. The drone of synchronised praying distracted her from images of her father turning in his coffin; placing his cold back to her, as she had to him for so long.   A familiar guilt weighed down on her shoulders and settled in her guts. Not belonging, not believing. To mesh with her family’s faith would bring bittersweet relief. But it was too late for that.

Stories

Shortlisted in Ad Hoc Fiction

It’s a bit tricky in the big holidays cos boom the curtains go shiny all around the outside but guess what it’s not really getting up time it’s Too Goddamed Early. That means Stay In Your Room.

No problemo.

If you do come to my room, and you can if you want, you might think What A Mess. But everything is just right. It took me ages to work it all out. That is called an experiment so it’s science really.

If things go wrong and just as you are doing your mega jump off the pillow end of the bed you fall in the crusty bit of carpet with the black iron shape don’t worry. You can twizz round onto the pants pile then climb up onto the box with the broken tv so you are safe.  But don’t stomp or rattle or you are a Bloody Idiot.

Stories

Winner in Morgen Bailey Creative Writing Blog 100 words competition, click here to visit

I always knew I wasn’t worth much; not even a birthday each year.

Born shortly after midnight, I sometimes imagined my stern mother holding me in until the clocks chimed.

A leap year birth was in line with the family motto of “don’t make a fuss.”

Twenty (or is that five?) today. I have not told my colleagues. I live in disconnected safety.

I get to my desk and see an envelope. I hope nobody sees my flushed face and flicker of a smile. I open the card – ‘Happy Retirement, Ron’. I sign my name, with no fuss at all.