Tag: Writing
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CRABBIT
Shovelling the seaweed away, Agnes was not happy. ‘Fourth time this year,’ she muttered and threw a disgruntled stare at the waves lapping against the ineffective flood wall. Archie pulled up in the hire van. He drove over the seaweed Agnes had spent the last hour gathering into one neat pile. ‘Next lot ready?’ he…
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ILL-GOTTEN GAINS
Her Mum helped her bake the pastries using the rhubarb they had grown in their garden. Each had their own neat tray – rhubarb crumble, rhubarb tarts, rhubarb and toffee cake. She set up the stall at the corner of her street, waiting to capitalise on the Friday, end-of-week rush hour footfall. ‘Treat for the…
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THE MORNING AFTER THE NIGHT BEFORE
She could hear her mother’s voice from the grave, ‘Is it worth it?’ The world tilts out of kilter. Sun sears her eyeballs. Cool tarmac against her face. Shards of broken green glass. A dent in a red metal bin. Memories of the night before. Anger and hatred. Standing firm. Too slow to run. Her…
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A FUTILE LIFE
It was time to give up. Admit defeat. Accept the desolation. The whole thing was futile. Life was futile. It was just another thing, on top of everything else, that made him angry about this year. A year of pandemic, riots, protests, more Brexit, more Trump, more Boris. Was it no wonder the country was…
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FREAK
They call me a freak. I live in the old church surrounded by crosses and hang garlic cloves from every stained-glass window and revel in the sunshine that pours through the coloured panes. They call me a freak because I’m not like them. They’ve stopped visiting now. I never invite them across the threshold. I…
Iain Kelly 