After reading the first line out loud, my mum falls silent. I dig my nails into the palm of my hands. She holds the piece of paper away at arms length while she reads and narrows her eyes. Her reading glasses are in her bag but she always squints, claiming that they tend to smudge her mascara. Continue reading
Even the stains on the towel looked authentic. I didn’t know there would be so much of it. The small red bottle was a tardis. Continue reading
Mildred passed Ernie the small silver jug of cream and he attempted to balance the blue cup and saucer on the thick ridges of his corduroy trousers.
extract from ‘Things We Do Not Talk About’
Falling off the wall had been the most exciting thing ever to happen to Jane. The doctor’s soft hands, the crisp white hospital sheets, the smoothness of the empty vase next to her bed. Continue reading
She has bought a box of supermarket sushi for lunch, but all the green spaces and benches in the centre of town are so packed with people. Loud people. She wants to go somewhere and relax. She would like to be able to enjoy her lunch in peace and quiet. She hates seeing so many faces crowding round her. It is upsetting. She can feel herself becoming panicked. The panic feels like a snake. It pulls itself up out of her stomach and up through her throat; like a slow, venomous vomit rising into her mouth. Continue reading