Tag: STORGY

Amongst the Litter By Mark Colbourne

At the point when they’re about to sign, I’m always gripped by the strangest feeling. It’s a rush, I suppose. A chemical release; the flood of endorphins. There are moments when we are all teased by that quintessentially human impulse of self-destruction: the irresistible urge to do something detrimental, simply to see what will happen.

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The Basak Pottery By Alice Read

From advert to interview the time had finally arrived. First day nerves fizzed through her. She rang the bell, straightened her skirt and checked her phone one last time. Mrs Basak welcomed Eva in, told her to wipe her shoes and hang her coat up next to the grandfather clock. ‘The bedrooms are mostly guest

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The Hard Lessons of Old Men By Theo Von Prondzynski

Buddhism has a curious hold over me. I go through a trunkful of Buddhist books every year. I think I’d be a better person if I could put a few of their beliefs into practice. But then I fetch up against some strange epigram that sends me right back to the sense, the safety, of

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When She Opens Her Eyes By Sophie Gregory

She’s dying. She’s dying and I’m thinking: What if I don’t cry? “…wonderful thing about orchids is the variety of species, about twenty-eight-thousand. I bought Gareth a Lady Slipper Orchid and he simply adores it…” My eyes roll so far back they do a full rotation; a morbid one armed bandit where the Reaper always

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Praying For Dad By Nicola Ashbrook

Dear God, Mum said I have to speak to you at bedtime or else you’ll strike me down so, hi. Mrs Jenson, who does RE at school, says you can’t just ask you for stuff ‘cos that’s rude or summat so I’m gonna say all the things I’m grateful for first: chocolate crunch for pudding

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Runaway By Ian O’Brien

It isn’t blind adrenaline or fury that drives her but a kind of flat blackness, a steady humming like the engine, somewhere deep in the gut. Nelly gurgles in the baby seat behind her and when she looks at her in the rear-view mirror she catches her own eye, black and swollen. The last time,

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Daiquiris By S.D. Jones

I fell in love as she brought us daiquiris on a silver platter held above her head. She was breathtakingly, unbelievably, beautiful. Her hair was a rich, onyx black; her eyes were deep storms; freckles lay like constellations across her nose. And she was less than three feet tall. Not that that was part of

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Laid-Off Love By Bodie Fox

Ronnie Babes rolled over to the other side of the bed, and through the dark he could see Cheryl standing over him, already in her scrubs, blonde hair in a ponytail. Leaving so soon? he asked. Same time as always, hon. Yeah, but feels like you just got back home. I’ll be back around 7:30.

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The Seadog and the Queen By Anna Thomas

The best thing about dementia is that you can really wind people up. Take the old woman I sit next to at breakfast. I’ve asked her seven times this morning what we’re having and had seven different responses – a personal record. Yesterday I only got her up to five, but I think she’s on to

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Contaminated By James Woolf

It began with a simple statement. An uncontroversial statement, as so many conversations do. “Hey, I bought that T-Shirt,” I said, standing in the kitchen doorway. She was peeling the dead outer skin from an onion with a knife and her fingers. It came off in one piece, revealing a layer as white and perfect

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