written by me

Our place out here

short story written by me


How long am I here for? Oh who’s to say, boy. We’ve got a cottage on the island, so I suppose it’s really up to me how long I’m here for. Where? It’s out on the spur, right out where the lane starts bolting back and forth like a silly little rabbit. Near the end. It takes an age to drive out there and it knackers your suspension and in fact… it’s a lot easier if you just walk it, if you don’t mind the distance.

The return

short story written by me


Liar. Couldn’t stick with it, it being something you said you would want forever, forever being from the early lusty days until one us died. You (being a liar) gave me three years and gave up when it got complicated, which is to say boring instead of exciting. You proved yourself to be a fair weather lover, which is to say? Coward. Max dropped bread in the toaster without looking.


poetry written by me


Take these for the pain twice daily after eating Take these for a headache and these for your tired legs Take these for a pain in the neck in the mornings Take these if you miss your train And you can’t see the funny side Take these if you suffer Take these for loss or a twinge in the heart Take them in the evening Stand by a window you can’t see out of


short story written by me


Pieces of aeroplane sprayed across the water in front of them, but only Arlo saw the distinct shapes of people striking the sea’s surface. The beach was the thin fringe of a wide bay. At their backs, the drastic slope of the mountains dove into the ground. The town, just four streets deep, was squeezed tight between the mountainside and the sandy beach. The double blades of beach and town pinched off at the end of the bay: a headland the shape of a fist.

The Professor

short story written by me


The emcee stood off to the side of the stage in darkness and in a rented tux. Standing in amongst the clutter of the backstage area he swallowed a choke as he tried to clear his throat quietly. Reaching into his jacket pocket he felt the thick stack of note cards there and shut his eyes for a moment, allowing the cool calm of their presence to wash through him. He turned to his side and gestured to the drama student stooped over the lighting board.


short story written by me


1 Tonight, Kwame would clean the altar. He walked to the front of the chapel. He methodically clicked each in a row of switches and light soaked the altar. Standing next to the altar in the bright lights, Kwame couldn’t make out the first row of pews. His breathing slowed there in the warmth. He stood next to the altar and allowed his arms to hang by his sides. The very end of his middle fingertip brushed on the cotton tablecloth.