Author Archives: swanseawriters

The Love Cry of the Determined and Crazy

Posted on by under 2023, January 2023 - Infatuation

You wake up, tied to a tree in the middle of the woods.

Tugging at your restraints, figuring out that some bastard has bound you with a rope. You kick, you scream, and nothing happens.

Last thing you can recall was riding the school bus back home, looking forward to wading the night out curled up on the couch, high on paracetamol, on account of one motherfucker of a migraine.

You’re trying not to panic over the fact you’re totally powerless, so if you starve, freeze or a wondering bear decides you’d make a good snack then Christ, there’s not a lot you can do.

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Wintry

Posted on by under 2023, January 2023 - Infatuation

In his mother’s bedroom, Christmas Day. He puts the cup of tea and mince pie by her. She stirs. ‘Thank you, son. You look after me, don’t you?’ Then she’s asleep again. Worn out, she lays there like an old sack, split, on the verge of falling apart.  

            His mind shifts. Boxing Day races tomorrow, eleven venues, seven races at each. Kempton, 2.30pm, Energy Supply. That boy’s a flyer. He opens the top drawer of the dresser, takes out the credit card, hesitates. Guilt like a barbed wire suit pricks him. He hates these tricky moments.

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Will She Never Learn?

Posted on by under 2023, January 2023 - Infatuation

Felicity handed the wine bottle around. The girls had decided on a quiet weekend, nibbles and wine, relaxing in their pyjamas, the usual banter – who did what to whom and how their romantic lives were. The subject of Kelly came up when Jodie asked why she wasn’t there.

          Felicity laughed, ”Have you not heard? She has a new infatuation.”

          Groans and laughter spread across the room. Jodie looked towards the heavens. ”Who is it this time? Thought she was still chasing Simon?”

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Laurie, Alice, and the paycheck Senator

Posted on by under 2023, January 2023 - Infatuation
vague outline of a mna holding a glock pistol

Laurie threw the empty Bud can onto the couch. It skittered among the discarded cigarette cartons, magazines, and sandwich boxes, creating an avenue of disruption in its wake before resting against the curled edge of an old Simon and Garfunkel album. His eyes crinkled, and he fingered the black shape strapped to his waist.

“I am a Glock,” he sang, laughed at his joke, and gazed out of the window at the streets below. There was no silent shroud of snow, but there was a sedan with darkened windows under a streetlamp on the corner of 3rd. He drew the Glock and sighted on the driver’s window.

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Someone I No Longer Know

Posted on by under 2022, December 2022 - The Stranger
Elderly woman sitting on a bed

I wait in the car outside the home, waiting for the Lateral Flow Test result. Part of me wants it to be positive, as an excuse not to go in. I’m unlucky in my wish as I have the all clear. I climb out of the car wearily, taking as much time as possible. My mind and my conscience wrestle. I need to do this, but I don’t want to do it.

It’s more and more difficult every day. My mother’s dementia has taken away the parent I once knew. Her long-term memories come to the fore as her most recent dissolve within seconds. Conversations circle between us. It feels like we are both trapped in a revolving door. 

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Mastering the Mountain

Posted on by under 2022, December 2022 - The Stranger
Therapy group sitting in a circle

“Are we expecting more? Roger? OK. A few minutes.” No-one else arrives.

            “Let’s start. I’m chairing. First, we introduce ourselves. Starting clockwise, give your name and a few words as to why you’re here. Then hands up whoever wants to speak. The topic this week, Mastering the Mountain. I’ll go first. I’m Reeta; been a regular for a year. My fear is meerkats. I call it Herpestidaephobia. That’s a made-up word actually,” she waits, weighing the effect, “but my therapist seems to like it.”

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A stranger

Posted on by under 2022, December 2022 - The Stranger
A faceless man stands with the universe behind him

It was a ghastly sight, twisted and unnatural. To look upon it was to feel your brain revolt as some deep-rooted and primal instinct urged you to turn away.

And Jamie, against all judgement, stood his ground, wincing in terror and disgust as the figure, no eyes, no hair, no nose or lips, but a smooth spherical face, stood opposite him.

This white matchstick seemed to move with a faux gracefulness, well maintained of course but never suggesting anything close to a homo sapiens, nothing close to organic in truth. Instead, its motions recalled a marionette’s imitation of life.

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Say My Name

Posted on by under 2022, December 2022 - The Stranger

Well, why not? Seven tasty days and nights with her in that holiday camp, fifteen years ago. She’d said she lived in the Swansea valley, place beginning ‘Ys’, on an estate. Probably married now and moved. Probably wasting his time.

            Atop Ystalyfera, a couple of streets clinging to a hillside, a deep valley dizzying below. A faded place: dogs, kids, toys on the pavement. Even the evening sun seemed grubby. He was getting in the car, about to go, when, standing by a front door, a blonde, thirties, curvy, nice.

say my name

The Doctor

Posted on by under 2022, December 2022 - The Stranger
Man on house back riding through snow-laden western tow. A red scaef lies on the ground

Snow fell in clumps the night the Doctor rode into town, carpeting the cobblestone streets. It was as though God himself had poured clouds out of the sky to welcome him. Lit by a full moon, snowflakes gilded every surface and our stricken community glowed with hope.

He had come to save us.

No-one had visited since the plague had hit. And we were forbidden to leave, succumbing to the sickness one by one.

‘I am The Doctor!’ he said, tipping his hat to the gathering crowd.

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An unusual Sunday “Simon”

Posted on by under 2022, Nov 2022 - The Lesson

“A-men.”

As the last notes of the hymn echoed around the rafters, and the sound of the church organ faded, the elderly congregation sat in a rustle of paper, a waft of too much perfume, and a bustle of perfectly coiffured Sunday hairdos. The vicar remained standing as his flock settled, gazing out over the one-third full church, before smiling gently.

“I’m very pleased to say,” he said, “that we’ve a visitor in the congregation today, young Michael there, who’s about to be ordained. He’s exactly the sort of person that a modern, forward-looking Church should be looking to engage with.”

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The Lesson of Catastrophes

Posted on by under 2022, Nov 2022 - The Lesson

His disruptive nights of parading nightmarish spectacles were persisting. Jonas awoke, yawned, and prepared to start the day, then realised he was still asleep dreaming of waking, yawning, and preparing to start the day.

“Catastrophes come in all shapes and sizes.” He attributed this philosophy to his untreatable narcolepsy and lamented the waste of creative energy others devoted to anticipated global apocalypses; energy that could, he believed, be more usefully employed addressing life’s immediate personal challenges. Comet strike annihilation; rebellion of the robot serfs; flooding by rising sea levels; alien invasion; all such fear fests he had let pass by.  Humankind waited for Armageddon; he waited to wake up.

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A Lesson in Life

Posted on by under 2022, Nov 2022 - The Lesson
bric-à-brac jumble sale stall

She’s at it again, using her allure to get people to do things for her. I watch jealously from my bric-à-brac jumble sale stall. I had spent the last half an hour carrying heavy bags from my car. Now, she strolls in, followed by a team of eager pleasers hauling all her boxes. I really hate her sometimes.

Angela, five foot eight and with an effervescent personality and curly blond locks. I understand what the entire male population sees in her, but what I don’t get is why she is able to bewitch the female population as well. That doesn’t include me, of course. I’m immune to her charms.

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You Chose to be Colourblind?

Posted on by under 2022, Nov 2022 - The Lesson

“Toby Metcalf!” thundered Mrs Thomas. “Are you insulting my intelligence with this effort!?”

It had been a simple request. Mrs Thomas, covering Mr Ellison’s art class, had tasked the students to colour in a black and white drawing of a king standing outside his castle. Whilst the kids scribbled on their printed copies with coloured pencils, she had marched between desks, sniffing out any miss-behavers.

“I want normal colours,” she boomed, “no purple grass or orange skies, realism is your goal!”

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My Mother’s A Witch

Posted on by under 2022, Nov 2022 - The Lesson

Billy Thomas stomped up the lane, kicking anything in his path, muttering away to himself, frustration written all over his face, every muscle tensed. She had been right again. Even when he made gestures behind her back, she knew. It wasn’t fair. Everyone else got away with things, but not him. She caught him every time.

            Plonking himself down on the river bank, he gave vent, screaming at the top of his voice, ”My mother is a witch,” over and over. Behind him, a gruff voice asked what his problem was. Turning, he saw old Mr Morris stood behind him, dressed as usual in clothes that looked too large, a wrinkled face like the bark on the trees, a flat cap, but eyes that were clear and bright. Billy didn’t know him that well, but he always had a couple of pennies when the boys went round with penny for the guy and carol singing. Embarrassed at being caught, Billy grunted. The old man then motioned him, ”Come and walk awhile and tell me your problem, bach, I may be able to help.”

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Learning Together

Posted on by under 2022, Nov 2022 - The Lesson

Lewis and Jackie Mullens accommodated mother and son asylum seekers for six months. Their action surprised the neighbours who’d considered the childless pair to be the most boring couple on the estate, Jackie doing something with ledgers and her husband something similarly uninspiring with laminate flooring. Both had fewer interests than a sleeping tortoise.

            Initially the visitors brought no change to their lives. Lewis tall, walking with the gait of a superannuated guardsman, had a face stamped in capital letters with silliness of the kind found in nineteenth century inbred, minor European royalty. Jackie was equally unemotional, her mouth usually clamped shut as though she’d swallowed a rat. Occasionally when nervous she uttered a loud laugh that could cause a stampede at a horse fair. They were expecting Greta and Volodymyr to fit in with their rigorous dullness.   

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Lessons in Magic

Posted on by under 2022, Nov 2022 - The Lesson
Guardian angel overlooks baby, daighter and mother.

‘But I can’t write a story!’ Gwen cries, scraping her chair backwards and folding her arms, as though the blank page might scald her.

I wave her pencil around like a wand. ‘What if I told you that this is an enchanted pencil?’

Her eyes widen but she purses her lips, willing herself not to smile. She’s still not sure.

I tilt it towards her. She twirls it between her fingers, examining it from all angles.

Something must convince her – the way the silver paint catches the light, perhaps – because she tucks her seat back under the desk and begins to write. She writes furiously, her tongue protruding and her fingers gripping the pencil so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

The story, when she reads it aloud to the class, is a magical tale of adventure. She beams proudly through the applause, and then says,

‘The magic pencil worked!’

I hold it up and frown theatrically.

‘Silly me!’ I laugh. ‘This isn’t the magic pencil. It looks like you didn’t need it after all.’

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Visiting Rites

Posted on by under 2022, Oct 2022 - The Visitor

If you ask me, you can’t beat a good pilgrimage for a leisurely outing offering structure and purpose. It is a bit like the Ramblers but with fewer hills.

Maybe we can agree that what’s needed for a good pilgrimage is a common destination and plenty of people to talk to along the way. Yes, alright, a decent pair of shoes, maybe an umbrella, a level of hardship and precarious access to toilets and food all help with the authenticity. Shared purpose or religious intent are sometimes valuable in holding things together.

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