Tag Archives: Friday Fictioneers

It’s dark and safe here. But these strands are flourishing, encroaching daily… strands of consciousness that must be avoided at all costs. And it’s becoming difficult to move around them. Brushing against one particularly robust strand, she’s swiftly hurtling to … Continue reading →

Sea-mist clung stickily to our clothes and hair, as we trailed after Rose to the shoreline. Once there, our stepmother raised the urn in dramatic fashion and, shrieking “farewell my love,” she cast our father’s ashes to the waves. My … Continue reading →

As a medic, Bill couldn’t accept he wasn’t a suitable donor for his son; he’d gone straight into the records for more information. If he and Ellie are still together, and that looks doubtful, it’s only because of the baby… … Continue reading →

Years of speaking only to the camera have blunted her sensory processing. No one will contradict her, for few survive the witch’s tongue, fashioned over time into a weapon of mass destruction. Submission has become an art form, a group … Continue reading →

In the end, there was no-one left to talk to. Where politics and pandemics failed to divide and isolate, cancel-culture and censorship succeeded. It had become easier not to talk though, for fear that someone, somewhere might hear you and … Continue reading →