“ACCESS GRANTED.”
The door slid soundlessly aside.
“Christ, man,” Jessie whispered, awestruck. “How’d you manage to do that?”
I smiled in what I hoped was an enigmatic way. “Easy, I hacked the list.”
“But —”
“But what? It’s uncrackable? Nothing is if you try hard enough. Now get your arse in there before a security patrol notices.”
Continue readingHOUSEHOLD
?Rat Poison?
Tilly had forgotten her specs. She hadn’t transferred them from the pocket of her winter fleeced Danimac to her summer cotton jacket. Always the same with April weather in Swansea; an overnight rise of 8 degrees meant searching out the summer wardrobe with the risk of a disruption in “ the system.” House keys, shopping list, pouch containing store cards and bus pass were in the left pocket as usual, but no glasses.
“Mum your phone should be in a separate pocket from keys. The screen could get scratched” Moira’s words.
Having a “system” was as important as having a shopping list … and being able to see, Tilly’s thoughts reposted.
“Never get your phone out in public.” her daughter’s words again.
Well Tesco’s <Household> aisle is hardly The Kingsway,
Tilly acted. Needs must. The snufflings, rustlings and scratchings from the bedroom next door were getting too much; she had hardly slept for the past three nights. Every year when the weather changed, it happened. Squinting around she spied a blurry Dad and toddler at the far end searching amongst the plastic buckets. Not a risk. Tilly extracted the mobile from her right jacket pocket, stooped, chose panoramic mode and photographed the bottom 2 shelves, then cranking herself back up zoomed-in to examine in detail the latest pics in her Gallery app.
Continue readingThe policeman, I forget his name already – Masters? Marsden? – reclines in his seat and regards me with a gaze that is probably intended to be intimidating but can only be described as ‘cute.’ It’s true what they say about the police looking younger as you age.
“Tell me about your conversation with Gina Montrose on Monday,” he says. “You were overheard talking about Marco Conti.”
Continue readingThis was a row that had simmered for years but hadn’t yet been defused. It was an underground river of molten lava that threatened to erupt but, apart from the odd burps of hot magma, remained sluggishly subterranean and unacknowledged.
The accelerant was the proposed retirement, in five years’ time, of Joan and Hywel. Each had busy and fulfilling jobs – which had masked their need to discuss points of incompatibility and irritation. However, they were both keen to leave the worlds of work for the worlds of…..well this was the main problem.
Continue readingFor Uzma, joining her local Creative Writing Circle was the challenge she felt ready for, a therapy of sorts. When she wrote, secrets flowed from her pen, bypassing her brain and heart into prose on the page. They told of the secrets she kept, the secrets she revealed and the secrets she told herself.
It was as if this week’s writing prompt was beckoning her to confront all her secrets at once. Let’s do this, she thought…
Continue readingThe Beynons woke to find a wall around their house. Hearing workmen behind the wall, Fred bellowed: ‘What’s occurring?’
‘National plan,’ came a muffled voice.
‘Keeping others out or us in?’ Dora shouted. Her mind was quicker than her husband’s.
‘I’m just doing what I’m told.’
‘How do I get to work?’ Fred yelled. ‘How does Alice get to school?’
Continue readingAs Howard opened the washing machine and pulled out his clothes, his heart sank; everything was blue. His favourite white shirt was now tie-dyed, his jumper had shrunk small enough to fit Albie, his grandson.
Margy had only been gone three days and he was failing miserably. He really had tried to follow her list. Some of the things seemed a bit extreme like polishing all the surfaces every day. Why when there was only him there?
Margy, at sixty eight, had got herself a last minute free holiday with Faye, whose husband had a chest infection. It was Margy’s first holiday without him.
Continue readingNY December 2026.
There is an awkward moment on my arrival when an ICE agent insists on me unpacking my case. He tells me there is similar name to mine on their no-fly list.
I realise I can’t remember my PIN, so I put my hand in my suit pocket to get my phone, and he reaches for his sidearm.
“Phone,” I say, a weak grin on my face, withdrawing it slowly with two fingers. I can smell the heat of my sweat rising and try to suppress a tremble in my hand, but only succeed in dropping the phone.
Continue readingHOMEWORK for deadline Thursday 10pm, 24.04.25.
TASK: ‘The List’. Write 500 words or fewer about ‘The List’. Your story title isn’t included in the 500 words.
Homework to be in by 10pm at the latest, Thursday 24th April 2025. (This time deadline will be helpful to both Martyn and Pat).
Meeting at 1.30pm, Sunday 27.04.25, Waterstones Bookshop,1st floor, Oxford Street: subject to confirmation. Finish at 3.30pm.