Chris A

I dreamt about you last night.

Really? I haven’t thought about you for ages.

Ooh! Harsh.

Aha – Sorry, Jack. That sounded terrible. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, well, you know – the kids and all that. I don’t have much time for myself.

How old are they now?

Callum’s ten and Orla will be seven on Saturday. Most of this shopping is…[Read more]

‘I dreamt about you last night, or rather I dream about this every night.’
‘You’re not John. Who are you? Do I know you?’
‘It’s me, Gran. It’s David.’
‘I don’t know anyone called David.’
‘Sure you do, Gran. It’s just that you don’t remember. I’m Moira’s son. You remember Moira, don’t you? She was your daughter.’
‘Moira’s dead. She had a…[Read more]

Are we allowed ‘he said/she said’ and scratching of heads, or is it pure dialogue you’re looking for?

Apologies for the delay in posting these results…You know what I’m like with feedback but I did my best.

Firstly, though, many thanks for taking the time to post an entry 🙂

Sandra – Great use of short, staccato sentences and broken sentence structure to indicate disorganised thought. Sharp intake of breath when I realised where this was…[Read more]

A week left to get your rage on the page or your venom on the vellum!

Halfway through the month, so still time to get an entry in!

Eek! Sorry about this, but I’ve been caught on the hop. Loved ALL of your stories and wasn’t expecting to be anywhere near the podium this month.
Thanks to Janette for hauling me out of a particularly deep rut with the theme for this comp, and thanks to all of you for challenging me to be better.
I think I have a idea for October…

Great stuff @seagreen. Super story.

Red Sun

Sunsets are very different here. Everything is different, but it was the sunset that I was staring at last night. Or rather, the absence of a sunset.

OK. No sunset. Tell you what, there aren’t any asthmatics here on Grissom’s planet either. I’m not blaming anybody; when a 300-mile-wide asteroid drew a bead on Earth at twenty-five miles…[Read more]

390 words.

Prison? Or exile?

My senses woke – to unfamiliar birdsong and the whisper of wind through long grasses; to the brush of warm air across my skin and the scent of lemon lavender and rose petals spiced with cinnamon; to the taste of salt-tinged air on honeyed lips. I stretched, easing joints taut with inactivity, then opened my mind t…[Read more]

Congratulations to all (of us), especially @Janette 🙂