Tag Archives: Friday Fictioneers

  I was despatched to bring him home – a spiritless task rankling even more than the unconvincingly louche nonchalance of his newly-acquired Gallic associates. Did they try harder to detain him, I wondered.  Or were some seeking to extend … Continue reading →

Instinctively, I moved it beyond his reach. It wouldn’t stop him trying, but for the moment it was safe. As he grew, I shifted it higher, observing that others took similar precautions with cherished possessions, seemingly intuiting the potential for … Continue reading →

  The theatre is silent and in darkness, save for the Exit signs, gently pulsing a dim green glow across the big screen ahead. She’s no idea how long she’s slept, but even as she searches for her handbag she … Continue reading →

  He enjoyed the swings, but then seemed uncertain, so until the roundabout gathered speed, I paced alongside the undulating red and silver horse. The second time around I saw his expression relaxing from angst to delight. And the next … Continue reading →

The chair is mine now. For thirty years it was his chair, moulded by time to his generous proportions, the arms polished by perpetually drumming fingers, the head-rest darkened with grease. For twelve months now it’s been our chair, my … Continue reading →

  He watches her stumbling up the hill towards him, the hem of her gown soiled and wet. He’s not hiding, simply waiting to be found. “Why?” she says, on reaching him. “We had something beautiful,” he says, “why wasn’t … Continue reading →

    Eyes are the windows to the soul, they say, but at this abandoned asylum the windows are the eyes for a thousand tortured, captive souls. She knows her gift renders her vulnerable, so she skirts the building cautiously, … Continue reading →

  Shortly after we entered the room, I understood that part of my life was over. Like a fox scenting the breeze, she sensed his presence, swiftly leaving my side to prowl amongst the assembled guests. They found each other … Continue reading →

“You’re always so supportive.” A divorcee herself, Ellen has total empathy. She embraces me.  “That’s what friends are for, hon.” “And thanks for the quiche,” she calls, as I leave. Ellen’s always been excruciatingly tactful.  She hates quiche and won’t … Continue reading →