Tag Archives: Friday Fictioneers

She reacts like a startled deer when I slide into the pew beside her. “Shall you miss him, my dear?” I say conversationally. A heartbeat, then “Won’t everyone?” she parries. “Well, none more than you, I suspect.” She’d bolt, but … Continue reading →

Yesterday’s festivities have left Clemmie fractiously tired, and now she dozes in her pushchair, her flushed face dappled by the shifting leaves of the sycamore tree above. Will and I nestle in the lush grass, picnic remains littering the tartan … Continue reading →

She looked fragile, confused and vulnerable. “What’s up, Ma?” said a trucker. “I’ve lost my purse in the bushes, with all my savings in it” she whispered.  “Please help me…” The trucker grinned at his mate. “Sure we will, honey.” … Continue reading →

Memory is what I have instead of a view. He hasn’t spoken, yet I’ve heard him. And he knows. I stumble past, trying not to catch his eye.  I might as well endeavor to fly. My sister pauses, reading the … Continue reading →

  Rejected on all fronts once again, they settled into the ruined land so grudgingly allocated to them. Not what they’d hoped for, but it was better than the hole in the ground they’d begun to envisage as their final … Continue reading →

She watches him stir, push back the quilt and reach for his notebook. Only when he’s read yesterday’s notes does he turn to look at her. “Hi,” he says. “Hi yourself.” “Yesterday was great,” he says, lips brushing hers. He’s … Continue reading →

It’s a long haul up there. Once there was a bridge at the top, spanning the next valley, but the nanny state dismantled it.  Said it was attracting ‘jumpers’.  They’d no sooner clean up after one loser before another spread … Continue reading →

  Her father taught her to fight like a hell-cat; her mother was teaching her whoring, before Social Services intervened. I taught her to read and write, telling her she could be the brightest and the best. Down the line, … Continue reading →

The snowman smiles his broken-pebble smile as Mildred waves from her window. By four o’clock, he’d been freshy-built on the village green. At six o’clock he’s across the street from Mildred’s house, his carrot-nose twitching left and right, as if … Continue reading →