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A short story by Aileen Cleave

  I did not want to get in the car.  I remember thinking clearly, this is not a good idea.  But he was very persuasive and seemingly so inoffensive, the heat was intense and my feet were hurting .   I clambered into the passenger seat and we took off.  Neither of us spoke for what seemed an age, until I began to feel a little uncomfortable.      “ So what have you been doing since university, Charles?” i enquired, more from politeness than interest .   We had been at the same school , though he was more into the sciences while I definitely leaned towards  the humanities .  We had had very little to do with each other throughout our years there and I was somewhat surprised but not unduly bothered to find him in the same college as me at Cambridge .   Again our studies kept us separate – mercifully, I thought unkindly – because I found him rather strange , not at all my type.   “I’v got my own company, building software systems” he replied while leaning  in a little to fli
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Open Mic - 8th May 2024 - The Kubatin - Arboleas

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  NEXT OPEN MIC FOR WRITERS. The next Open Mic event, organised by The Written Word Group, is Wednesday 8th May at 1.30pm, The Kubatin - behind Hostal Mesón, Arboleas. Please contact us if you would like to read out a piece of your original work. Maximum 500 words. Entry is free. The Written Word Group is a supportive space for any writer, at any level, to be part of. There are no ego's, no one has an agenda, it really is a place for open, honest communication.                                                             Email: thewrittenwordgroup.albox@gmail.com
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The Performance-a short story by Charles Roberts

                The Performance.   A short story by Charles Roberts   “How did tonight’s performance go?   Was it a good?   Did the audience enjoy it?   Did you get a standing ovation?”           “All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. At first the infant, mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.   And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail unwillingly to school. And then the lover, sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, seeking the bubble reputation even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, in fair round belly with good capon lin'd, with eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, full of wise saws and modern instances; and
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I screamed and - a short story by Aileen Cleave

I SCREAMED AND……. I hadn’t planned on spending the night alone, not in this Godforsaken place, miles from anywhere or anyone.  Well, I hadn’t planned on being here at all, actually.  Greg had insisted, more than insisted, almost forced me into the car, citing our urgent need to talk.  Precisely what I wanted to avoid. We had driven in total silence, up, up and up the mountain as I watched the terrain become wilder and ever more deserted.  His brother’s lodge was buried deep in the pine forest and in any other circumstances, I would have considered it idyllic.  But not today.  On reaching the lodge he had immediately produced papers for me to sign.  I’d been signing quite a few papers recently, and because I was so preoccupied with the business, I hadn’t demurred. Until this time.   I said I wanted to read it first.  Quite unnecessary, he assured me, just routine ordering of supplies.  Something in his manner made me uneasy.  Just let me cast an eye over what I’m signing, I replied.  Hi
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The Fat Man by Tom Fynes

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  Charlie Sweeney felt the controls of 'Bockscar twitching. The big silverplate B-29 was vibrating from the stress at flying at 30000 feet. They’d stripped everything out they could. Armour plating, guns, it was totally defenceless. But it meant they were flying free, way above the Japanese air defences. Fat Man, the $20 Billion bomb to end all wars, was safe for now, in the specially constructed bomb bay. And ready to be dropped on the designated target, the Japanese city of Kokura. They’d tried three passes over the cloud covered Kokura, before switching to the secondary target, Nagasaki, which was about 34 minutes flying time away. Takeuchi was working away in his Nagasaki factory, when he heard the drone of engines. He rushed out to see US bombers flying overhead. They didn’t seem to be dropping bombs. He assumed they were on a reconnaissance run. Then they suddenly turned and flew away. Ground Zero for the Fat Man, just happened to be the largest Catholic Cathedral i
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