The Written Word Group

  Death can be a sneaky bastard. Its threatening shadow hangs around long enough for you to imagine it enveloping you. Then you’re told, “Everything is fine. You are in remission” So you contemplate living again. You start thinking that 2 weeks in Thailand is a real possibility. Having highlights would suit you after all.  And gel extensions in shocking pink is the answer to your paper thin nails.  You decide that the down stairs bed is going and you are calling the decorator in to revamp the lounge and the master bedroom. Oh, and why don't we trade in the people carrier and get something a bit more sexy. You allow yourself to breathe out and think about a future.  You force yourself to feel better. You listen as joyful conversations abound. A couple of months in and you don't want to acknowledge it, but you know. You have seen it. The shadow crossing the walls. Passing you in the hallway. Leaning over you as you sit in your newly decorated lounge. The joyful conversations stop

  Even before opening the cupboards I knew there would be a bottle of Daddies Brown Sauce.  A tiny bit of watered down Spar ketchup. An open bag of sugar with brown bits from the wet tea spoon. Salt. Quaker Oats.  I had hidden the Fray Bentos foil dish from the old man's dinner last night. It was licked clean of crumbs and gravy. The pie would look very posh in that. He might think I bought it from the shops. I mixed everything together. There isn't enough to fill the foil dish so I go into the garden for some soil. I mix that in and suddenly iIt looks like a pie. I bake it for 20 minutes. Hopefully the oven will cool down before Mam gets back.  I put it in the outhouse, out of sight to cool down. When Mam gets home I tell her I am going out to play. I take the pie and carry it carefully down to where he lives. The handwritten note is in my pocket. I reach his house.  It's so clean and white. There is a big blue car outside. I’m nervous in case someone sees me. I put the pi

Crouched with closed eyes, covered with a water-soaked bandana, I was at one with the dark. Feeling the sweep of air along the floor. The broken symmetry as it meets resistance, snaking around chairs and the table. Then movement, as the boards creak and sing as a foot moves upon them. The touch, ballerina light. Testing its weight. Then nothing as the sound disappears. I was on the move soundlessly. But to a trained ear I was still making a disturbance in the ether. The air suddenly parted as a dart was thrown from a position to my right. And chunked into the wall panelling. Retrieving my Bowie knives from the long table, I was well away when the next flurry of darts arrived. The dark was my habitat, the Jim Bowie duel my game. I headed towards the faint creaking on my right. Were there two duellists in the room with me? I moved silently and quickly to the middle of the great hall. With backs to the wall, I knew they patiently waited. Putting two in this dark hall with me was a bad cal

The Texas Panhandle 1868. Ned walked the porch and watched the sun setting fast over this vast lonely untamed land. He could hear the high pitched howling of a hunting wolf pack carrying on the wind. Ned had worked this land the Lord had so graciously given him, but tonight, as a long drawn out wolf howl rended the night, a biting, gnawing fear overtook and almost engulfed him. Hannah called him in for dinner and prayer. He held the heavy, unfamiliar Colt Dragoon revolver tight in his hands. He’d bought it off a drunken Ranger he met in town while buying supplies. Why the Ranger was selling it cheap, he didn’t bother to ask. He was sure it had to do with the demon drink. The Ranger had laughed when he heard Ned was homesteading, out in the wilderness, with his pregnant wife and kids. “You’re plumb loco,” he said. “If the Mexican banditos don’t get ya, them Comanches sure will.” He laughed again when Ned said, “The Lord will protect us from the heathen savages.” “Listen friend,” the Ra

  Father. You dont scare me anymore, you’re an old man and you are dead. Your days of bullying and terrorising are long gone. We met again, after many years.  I was a mature adult.  You thought  you could snarl at me and I would jump to attention, no way. I saw the way you looked at me, weighing up what you could get away with, but you see, I’ve grown up, I've married, I have children of my own. I tell them I love them. I tell them they can achieve anything. They love me in return. There isn't an ounce of fear in those words.   I had a successful career. Not in a factory, working oily machinery like you wanted me to,  but in the corporate world. A world you hated because you were scared of it. Scared that your intelligence wouldn't be enough and people would see through you.  I drive my own car, something that you said people like us don’t do. Well, I have had many cars in my life.  I have friends, some of which are much smarter than I am, but that doesn't worry me. I d

  It's 2am and I can't sleep. It's always the same when I come here. It's been 5 years Jeff. 5 long years without you.  I feel so lonely.  I miss the feelings of belonging and being loved.  I miss the way you made me feel so beautiful each and every day. How your hand fitted mine perfectly as we walked side by side.  The way our bodies moved in harmony as we made love. We were good together, you and I.  Earlier, I had sat on the beach and I could still visualise the moment you proposed to me. It was April, the beach was quiet, the day had been warm, not hot like now. We sat on the blanket, you took the champagne from the hamper and we drank a toast  to the last day of our holiday in Mojacar. Then you asked me to marry you. When I said yes you jumped up, ran into the sea doing that crazy dance of yours and then came back with soggy trousers and a big grin on your face.  We married in August and for the last 5 years, on our wedding anniversary I have travelled back to sit

  Janet poured herself a drink and picking up a magazine, crossed to the settee. Settling herself she began to read. It had been a long day and she was grateful for the opportunity to relax. Hardly had she finished the first paragraph when there came a knock at the door.   She opened the door and was shocked to see Adam standing there with two Policemen. "Hello Mum." "Adam, what are you doing here? Why didn't you call to tell me you were coming?" "Can I come in Mum?" "Of course, you'd better all come through." They entered and sat on the settee, a policeman on either side of Adam. "What is going on son?" "Mom, I hacked the Vatican." "What! Hacked! I don't understand" "This is serious stuff Mrs Brown. Adam  hacked the Vatican Secret Service servers.  At this moment, all your lives are in danger"   Meanwhile Pope Nigel was in his study thumbing through his latest copy of Al

  The head bounced once and rolled towards me, blood spraying in it´s wake. It came to rest, face up, the dead eyes staring into mine. The mouth was twisted into an ugly rictus, the blood-stained teeth grinned, mockingly. A sense of relief swept over me. I had my justice at last. Someone stepped forward, grabbing the head by it´s hair and tossed it, unceremoniously, into the waiting cart to be reunited with it´s owner´s body. The crowd bayed for more but I had seen enough and turned away just as another victim was dragged kicking and screaming towards the block. I pushed my way through the throng and heard the dull thud of metal on wood, once, twice and then thrice as head was stubbornly parted from torso and a cheer went up. I reached the edge of the square and stepped into the main, cobbled thoroughfare which traversed the city. Although I had grown up there, I had never got used to the usual stench of effluent, excrement and rotting vegetables which assaulted the nose. Heavi