Tag Archives: Friday Fictioneers

  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 →

In accordance with my father’s wishes, we planted the biodegradable cylinder containing a mix of his ashes, an organic nutrient and the precious seeds. Sentimental clap-trap?  Or something more sinister? Throughout the ceremony my siblings sobbed uncontrollably, casting speculative or … Continue reading →

  By nightfall, a small crowd had gathered, familiar faces from the past. We stared in silence, remembering a time.  The ruined house had been a sanctuary, a meeting place, somewhere to play, to dream, to act out our ghostly … Continue reading →

Jim stares blankly at the woman on his sofa. “So someone will visit every week, there’ll be social clubs, theatre visits and group outings with people in the same position as yourself.   How does that sound?” Jim strokes his chin, … Continue reading →

  Fingers of mist drift low in the valley, ensnaring trees and bushes in a gentle, transitory embrace. Ailsa hurries forward, biting her lip as the sharp frost eats into her fingers, drumming relentlessly into her arthritic knuckles. The barn … Continue reading →