On the 14th Day of Christmas Edward Ahern gave to me… “I don’t like turkey.” Sarah made shushing noises. “Phil, it’s Christmas. Pretend it’s veal. Or pork.” “It tastes like greasy cardboard. I’ll tell my brother I’ve gone Vegan.” “They’ve been to your cookouts. They already know you scrape vegetables off your plate.” “Yeah, but
On the 13th Day of Christmas Hannah Storm gave to me… Today my four-year-old found the Lord in his lunchbox. Tucked between the apple slices and the yoghurt tubes, Charlie might have missed the miracle, but fortunately for him and the future of faith, his form teacher Miss Angel was on hand. I had feared
On the 12th Day of Christmas Judy Darley gave to me… I watched her emerge through the gleaming glass doors and hurry through snow to the bus stop. With a flick of my ear, the electronic sign glitched, showing false news of buses running late. She pursed her lips, and settled on the tilted plastic
On the 11th Day of Christmas María Mercedes Romero Day gave to me… Christmas was scorching hot in this corner of the world. The only white was the shimmer of the water as they lazily floated around the swimming pool, looking up at the cloudless sky. The kids only crawled out of the cool embrace
Kirsty Logan has, with Things We Say In The Dark astutely given a voice to the fears, anxieties and troublesome ideas that we so often utter in the silence of the darkness, what we scream into the void when we believe no one is watching or listening (many of these stories focusing on women and their fears).
On the 9th Day of Christmas Lucy Goldring gave to me… On balance, it’s better that he didn’t notice me. Invisibility might just be my new superpower. Being in here – bass a distant drub-drub-drub, fellow ‘freshers’ a drone of bullshit – offers vodka-clear perspective. I will ignore the rat poison pellets squealing annihilation (too
Since the passing of James Herbert and the gradual decline of Shaun Hutson’s power as staples in the British Horror Scene. I’ve been hankering for someone to step into that rather large void; which has been left vacant for some time now, by in my opinion two of the brightest and loudest voices that we’ve
On the 8th Day of Christmas Alexis Wolfe gave to me… The air was thick with cigarette smoke outside my back door. It was the Big Supermarket delivery drivers’ Christmas party. Except, Big Supermarket didn’t give its delivery drivers a Christmas party and the drivers weren’t allowed any time off work during December, so actually
Jayne Martin’s collection of micro fiction, published by Vine Leaves Press, is billed as ‘tiny tales for the time challenged.’ It features thirty-eight stories, none of them longer than 300 words, some of them much shorter. Martin began her writing career as a TV screenwriter. She’s been publishing flash fiction for about ten years and
On the 7th Day of Christmas Rich Glinnen gave to me… “Now they notice us,” Elm guffaws, simply stunning in an afro of violet, “all year long these people just coast on by, picking their noses.” The nearest trees grunt in agreement. “What did Elm say?” “A little louder, please. Some of us aren’t spring
