Alexander slurps on his Pepsi as he waits for the call, his van idling with a rhythmic grumble in the dark lay-by.
‘Who the hell are you people?’
Laura suspects she blacked out, but cannot be sure, or at least cannot be sure she is awake again.
I hear the accusation, though it is never spoken, never actually presented to me. It is evident enough though, obvious in your involuntary glance away. The eyes tell a thousand truths the mouth dare not.
This has been coming. I feel like I’ve been running on empty for a few days and so, after 86 consecutive days of new fiction, I have to bring the run to an end.
He pauses at top of the stairs and takes a deep breath before descending. As usual, he has forgotten something, but if he is quick, retrieves the stool from the kitchen without delay, his nerve should hold.
Brent Overton looks out of his window for two hours at the same time every day. The view is nothing special; a quiet residential street in north London, and if only the houses on the […]
We watch other people’s children
Mourn their futile endeavour,
As feeble dams break and the tide
Takes their cherished castles.