Stories in Short #19 (Good old dog)

Derek the hound had the scent. I followed him with a torch through the copse of trees behind the Leary household. Mr. Leary had vanished two days before. Mrs. Leary said her husband had run away with the car and the cash from the safe underneath the bed. We’d found the car the day before.…

Rustling of the corn, part 2

I start to run. ¬†Grandma had mentioned the cornfield, it’s not like it used to be, and I could tell, it seemed thicker, denser. Untamed. Had she told us to be careful? If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s not to run in a corn field when the ears are showing. The stalks bend like elastic…

Cat on a pub stool, London 2017

What’s better than a cat on a pub stool in moody black and white? Taken in a pub I’d walked past hundreds of times. Finally went in. There was a cat, and later someone started playing the piano. Sold cheap beer for somewhere so central.

Stories in Short #18 (The rustling of the corn)

Grandma is ill again. She dips in and out. Today she’s told me to take Ginny out of the house, because the air is stale, and the house smells like dust. ¬†I ask Ginny where she wants to go and she says, not far, because Grandma is ill, so we decide on the corn-field behind…

Mr. Tokida’s Lament: extended, part four

Tokida walks in the direction he knows he has to go. His legs pull him one way and one way only. The pinnacle of the triangle, this is an equilateral, perfect and horrifying, and yet one side is slipping, sloping in the middle, where she used to hold up the middle. Like Atlas. Bearing the…

I CAN’T BREATHE OUT HERE, NOR SEE YOU THROUGH THE SMOG

London skyline, pretend goats, smelly llamas, waiting to be stuffed, flares on.   Rabbits, not fit for the wild, content munching hard frozen grass, mostly mud.   So much white in so much mud.   So much white in so much mud.   Standing in the cold garden admiring Victorian foresight. A green space in…