The Written Word Group

           She vanished just as the year ended.   That was New Year’s Eve nineteen nighty nine, Judy was a party animal and was dancing her legs off in the city centre celebrations, she was high on the excitement for the coming year, the new millennium and all that would bring.   She was looking forward to a new job in a new city with the promise of more money and an apartment thrown in.   Her life only going one way and that was up.   She didn’t drink or take drugs of any sort, hers was a holistic way to care for everything.           Judy was tall, blonde hair, blue eyes and was slightly Asian looking and very attractive; the life and soul of the normal party, but this night she was just one of the throng of people in the city centre enjoying the celebrations for the coming New Year.   She danced with anyone who wanted to dance, but no more than that, if they got too close then she wo...

I remember, oh yes, I remember. I remember the warm sun on my face, the blue sky, the birds singing in the green trees. I remember the sound of the Ocean crashing on the shore, the smell of ozone in the air. I remember the aroma of baking bread, of freshly brewed coffee, of onions sizzling in the pan. Yeah, I remember.  I remember the softness of her hair on my face, her perfume, the warmth of her mouth on mine, her body pressed against me. I remember every curve of her, every line, every secret place as my lips scorched across her skin, kissing, tasting, exploring. I remember her whispering my name, and her cry of passion as she clung to me. How I remember my secret love, forbidden love.  I remember the betrayal and how it ended. I remember the confrontation, the struggle, the red mist descending, the madness which overtook me. I remember the glint of the blade, the feel of the knife in my hand and the look on his face as I plunged it into him again and again and the blood an...

  When you’re writing and something, or someone, takes control of your hands and fingers, the words just flow onto the page, seemingly without you even thinking about what you are writing.   It may be for only a page, or it could be a hundred pages and you stop and look at what you have written and think, did I write all that, I don’t remember writing so much, then you go back and read it wondering where it all came from.           Finding that the story flows like water in a mountain stream.   That’s what makes me happy, it doesn’t happen often, but when it does it feels fantastic.   Oh you feel drained at the end, at least I do, but also elated because it is the best thing you’ve ever written, until the next time it happens and the feeling is just the same.

I was stationed on a base where they carried out top secret aircraft development, it was out in the middle of nowhere and most of the personnel were civvies.   My job, if you could call it that, was to patrol the airfield side of two hanger, walking back and forth from one side to the other carrying a rifle, always at the ready.   Although the local police had been informed and did a good job of keeping sightseers away, they were backed up by the RAF police and a platoon of army, all dressed in civvies.   My orders were to shoot anyone who crossed the wire no matter who. When they were to carry out a test flight I would get a message in my ear piece, then stand aside until the doors started to open, at which point I would climb onto the towing vehicle and ride out to the pad.   All the inspections had been carried out in the hanger and the aircrew were aboard.   The towing bar would then be disconnected and I would either ride back to the hanger or stand by ...

  Stark naked, I shivered. Outside from where I waited, armed soldiers simulated warfare.   They scurried around a network of excavated practice trenches. It was almost my turn for a three-hour physical examination in a dungeon like, military tent at Higher Barracks, Exeter which boasted one single antique stove down its far end. ‘You’re next, Drake,’ an officer instructed a recruit, who was close enough in front of me that I enjoyed his body warmth and could reach around his torso for extra, if needed.   Drake dutifully peeled off the line, as more men behind me shuffled forward. I was at the front.   ‘Open wide,’ the medic said. ‘Ahhhh,’ said Drake as the medic peered into his mouth.   I made a mental note of this as it was a sensible response. I took his place, then was told, ‘Up on the scales.’ I stood as tall as my five foot seven could reach.   The medic dropped a measurement bar to my crown and extended a tape measure from the floor...

     I remember my drive south.  I remember my elation, my anxiety, my hopes and my doubts.   It was 1983 and we were returning to live in London, now a family of five distinctly different from the excited, carefree newly-weds who made the same journey northward 13 years previously. We loved the North;  my husband, a Londoner borne and bred, especially so.  He loved the openness of the people, and their  genuine interest in others,he loved the easy access to beautiful countryside, and, inevitably,  the low cost of living, especially of housing.  But this was the early eighties and the recession that was to devastate so many the length and breadth of the country, was already wreaking havoc with companies, jobs and livelihoods in the North East. It seemed to happen overnight.  One day our company was doing so well, life was good, then quite suddenly no-one had money for home improvements, our company went to the wall and tough decisio...

 The Club Card The broadleaf  trees I love so much are stark and bare, their naked branches reaching upwards to a grey sky, the air is  chilly and the atmosphere over all would be decidedly bleak but for the warmth of the Christmas lights,  the excitement and anticipation of the crowds filling the shops, and the unmistakable and distinct character of the welcoming British pub. However, a visit to the supermarket is unavoidable, we must make our contribution to the festivities. What seems like many years ago when we resided here in good old Blighty, we had a Club Card, a Tesco Club Card, I remember it well.  It didn’t seem to be an enormous advantage back then, but a quick journey through the crowded aisles of this local branch, reveals a totally different story now. Just on wine alone, already an exorbitant price to our Spanish eyes, the difference is huge.  My husband is on a mission.  We need to find and reinstate our Club Card.  I look at him a...

            The robbery had gone well, they’d left all the jewellery, that was harder to get rid of, and just taken the money, Johnny estimated that there was about two million in used notes all neatly bundled into thousands.   The gang had returned to the disused warehouse, they used as a base to split the money up, then go their separate ways.           They had split the money up five ways and the other four had gone into another room to eat and get a drink, Johnny stayed with the money, not because he didn’t trust any of the others, he just wasn’t hungry or thirsty, besides they could see each other through the open door.   The shortest of the four stood and walked to the open door looking at Johnny suspiciously though half closed eyes. “Who sent you?   Who do you work for?” the man asked as he walked into the room where Johnny leant against a large table covered in neat piles of bankn...

I remember attending classes in Millbrook College in the unforgettable place of Liverpool. I was lucky and grateful that these courses were financed by the Liverpool City Council and I received a humble remuneration for attending. I have fond memories of this city with its beautiful, warm and welcoming people.   The aim of the course was to learn English in a year. There were about twenty young adults in the class, the majority were Chilean who couldn't speak much English. In the course of a year some of the ladies became my life-long friends.  There were days my brain felt like it was going to explode. I felt exhausted from listening and speaking English, eight hours a day, five days a week. Although each lesson would last forty-five minutes they seemed to last longer.      The class had one break in the morning, one in the afternoon and in between, an hour for lunch. This time was the chance to rest our brains, relax and talk in our ...

            I remember that I were walking home from the pub along the canal bank when I saw this bright light hanging over the water, so bright it was that I had to almost shut my eyes.   Something made me stop walking and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t even lift my arm to shield my eyes from the light.   That’s when I saw them, there was two of them, and they was standing on the towpath in front of me.   They had long spindly legs ending in feet like a cows, sort of hooves, they had rounded bodies and their heads was round as well.   I couldn’t see a mouth or nose but they had big round eyes, well they looked like eyes, but they was all blue and they was looking at me I felt that they was undressing me.   They had two arms, but didn’t have hands as we know them, they had like claws or pincers, just the two on the end of each arm; they was about five feet tall.         ...

            Look at ‘em all, gathered round my grave like wasps round an open jam jar.   Fifty per-cent I either didn’t know or hated their guts, the other fifty per-cent hated my guts, but one of those bastards murdered me, stopped me from breathing, bumped me off, finished my life, suddenly and completely; well not suddenly, but slowly, a bit at a time.   Was it in my early morning tea?   My breakfast?   If it was then it must have been that gold digging bitch of a wife of mine.   My drink of tea at work? Slowly poisoning me over time.           No subtlety in it, no treading softly least they crushed my dreams.   Just stetting out to rid the world of my earthly body the best way they could without bringing suspicion on themselves. And as for that eulogy, the bitch must have hired some out of work hack of an actor to spout all that bullshit about me; becau...

  “Dinner is in one hour. Get washed, put this on. And do something about your hair, you look a mess” Her eyes were struggling with the light. He was wearing a red jumper and his hair was greased back, that's all she could make out before he left, locking the door behind him. She followed his orders and when finished, looked in the small broken mirror. The  red lipstick, encased in a luxurious gold tube,  looked hideous against her pale skin. He insisted she wore it, and wouldn’t look at her otherwise. The bruising on her neck and arms were fading, now barely visible. Pain seeped throughout her body, and her bones, ancient under her young skin, jutted out as a reminder of the cramped conditions she was being kept in. The door opened and he led her to the dining room. Small framed images of young women sat on the mantelpiece.  Their eyes followed her. “Stay alive” they silently pleaded. A perfectly cooked chicken took center place on a table which was set for two....