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Showing posts from October, 2025

Sonia- a short story written by Berni Albrighton

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It's been a long time since we embraced. Too many arguments stood in the way. We couldn't get past the words. Like shields in battle. They dented us. They became part of who we were to each other. Vicious accusations and behaviours, acts of spite. All designed to maim. And then, you took to your bed. I didn't understand the magnitude of it. I didn't feel the tremors beneath my feet. I saw you give up and I resented you for it. Until the pains came and you could no longer cope. You made the decision that you'd had enough. You chose the date and the place. Today, in your bed, in my arms. Those that mattered stood and sat in sorrow and support. I held you until your last breath. You were brave. I am left heartbroken for the relationship we never had. In memory ...

Second Sight - a short story written by Felicity Randle.

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  Second Sight The patient’s mottled, papery skin wrinkled as the doctor shook his hand. ‘I’ll check on you tomorrow, Mr. Freeman. Look after our patient, Nurse Ramos.’ As the doctor walked away, the nurse’s eyes followed. The patient noticed and managed a faint smile. ‘I see the new doctor has made quite an impression.’ ‘He has, Mr Freeman. That man is gorgeous!’ ‘Please call me Richard. We both know I’m not getting out of here. We can dispense with the formalities.’ ‘In that case, Richard, call me Carmelita, and answer a personal question. Have you ever been married?’ ‘Yes. I’ve been married fifty eight years.’ ‘And when you first saw your future wife – did you know ?’ ‘Are you asking if I believe in love at first sight? The answer’s no; but I believe in love at second sight.’ ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘Have you got a minute, while I explain?’ ‘Sure; unless my pager goes off.’ ‘What if I told you my first reaction on seeing Ana was that she was well dressed – for a homele...

Lonely House. A five minute written by Charles Roberts

            It was a Manor house, at one time, but now it stands forlorn gazing out over the untended parkland which surrounds it.   Its glassless windows looking blindly out at the encroaching woodland like shutter less eyes staring across the wide expanse of grass and scrub which once were lawns and rose gardens.   The cast iron roof guttering cluttered with dead and decaying leaves, grass and saplings growing here and there along their length.           Moss and grass growing on the rotting wooden window frames like lashes round the eyes. Multi-coloured Graffiti covering the walls both inside and out.   The once ornate oak door hanging, like a lopsided smile, by one brass hinge, a mark in the centre of the door where the large brass lions head door knocker once hung, but now prised off, unceremoniously with a crow bar the screws torn out and tossed to one side like some s...

An Act of Spite........ Written by Vic Davey

 It was an act of spite, pure and simple. The blind date to end all blind dates. My "so called friend" set it up, said I owed him. Mind you, I couldn't really blame him, I did borrow his new car without telling him....and then wrote it off. I was fine but the car was consigned to the crusher. He said it was ok at the time, but....... I had arranged to meet my "date" outside a restaurant in town. In hindsight, I wish now it had been the Cinema as it would, at least, have been dark for most of the time.  I know people can't help the way they look but I thought she might have shaved her upper lip, you know? She had a happy smile though which would have looked so much happier if she'd had teeth. Since we were outside a Steakhouse, I did wonder how she would manage a T-bone. Turns out her gums are well honed.... Much is made today of the dangers of obesity, but they'd obviously fallen on deaf ears. The last time I saw a dress like that was on a circus ...

An Act of Spites

  The noise emanating from the playground, a  small square of concrete filled with shouting, screaming,  yelling little people, was loud and raucous. To the casual observer it would appear that each and every child was happily engaged in some sort of rewarding interaction with his comrades.  But that would be to overlook the dark corners, because it is a sad fact of life that even in the very young, pain and  humiliation lurk.  We learn early to be cruel, to throw the first blow before we ourselves can be hurt.   At this age, it is not about sticks and stones, nor dragging your adversary to the ground and pummelling his back.  It’s about what we can do without the need for  our scarcely grown  physical strength.  Anyone blessed with a few inches or pounds extra from that of the pack can certainly throw his weight around.  But it is he who has the quickest eye and the sharpest tongue who throws the deadliest dart.  An all e...