There was a reassuring ring of Time having been unspoilt, having not moved in the decade since I last dialled the number that was scrawled out on a rough piece of paper, torn at the edges, almost in the shape of a child’s jagged, over physical idea of what shape an island lost in some storm tossed sea should be like. Hurriedly torn from a freshly bought notebook, the lack of thought in the action that would ultimately lead to the early demise of the re-pulped paper, by my mother as she passed me as we exchanged a Christmas Card on the train, the ragged island now sat comfortably on my desk before me, pride of place for a phone call I never truly wanted to make.
Tag Archives: short story
Jack The Lad By David Orr.
Jack, the Lad
Every day Jackie’s alarm wakes him up to a randomly selected song from The Charlatans’ Wonderland album. Today it’s Judas and the scratchy synth-laden intro has sounded six or seven times before he gives acknowledgement to anything other than the snooze button. The last time he looked at the clock it was 5.41. Now it’s barely half 7. It’s been another predominantly sleepless night at The Playhouse on New Street.
A Trip To A Festival.
So I married a cheese plant…well given the alternatives, I think we have both been happy enough, although I am well aware that I was not the poor cheese plant’s first choice of possible life partners.
The Birthday. Ian D. Hall
As a man approaches his fortieth year on this fast spinning globe we call home, he is struck by the sound of his decaying mortality. The ticking time bomb, tick, tick, tick, within him lets him know that the spring of his youth has long since moved on and is nothing more than a distant memory, occasionally waving from a far off hazy shoreline.