In late 2020, my nan sent me a letter containing the opening to a short story, which she had written during lockdown. She doesn't usually write fiction, but she told me this had just come to her one day, so she
It has been almost three years since I last posted to this blog, so you'd be forgiven for thinking I'd given up on it. I will even forgive you if you've given up on reading it. But only this time -
Randal moved his fingers down the length of the weed so that his knuckles were pressed against the cold, hard paving slab of his driveway, and tugged. The weed’s prickly leaves tore off in his hand, leaving the thick, wet body
‘Good morning, Alan,’ Trixie said gently. ‘It’s 6:30a.m. Time to get up.’ Alan Briggs lifted himself onto his elbow, rubbed his eyes, struggled to bring the bedside clock into focus. Trixie, it turned out, was telling the truth. How
