HostageI never thought that it would come to this. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that it could become so wretched and twisted and out of control.Hostage
What was I doing here? Dust, an icy draft. But not from a window, any window, all covered in grey curtains that looked as if they hadn’t been opened in years.
I looked across at him and he seemed to be smiling. At least from his eyes.
‘The ropes? Maybe a bit tight?’
He spoke to me. I didn’t like him speaking to me. I didn’t want to hear his voice. And his words.
New User, Logged InAs the back door opened, I looked across at the clock.New User, Logged In
'Decided to come home then?'
'Ha, Ha, where’s my fucking coffee?'
She didn’t wait for a reply and threw her bag down off her shoulder and onto the kitchen table with one hand, while pulling out a chair, with the other, and sitting down. The kohl had nowhere else to leach to so she smoothed her palms across her face and into her hair, combing it back with her fingers before taking a breath and starting to search through her tote for cigarettes.
I’d flicked on the kettle as soon as I heard the back gate, and, as we were both wel
F is for FutureAnd it’s started already.F is for Future
Extreme makeover. Cosmetic surgery as contest prizes. Inner-city clinics taking out ads for Liposuction and Laser Re-surfacing in my rural weekly newspaper.
Have a look at what they’re doing with stem cell technology. Cures? Yes. Wonderful. But who decides what’s broke and needs fixing?
In the future we’ll all be perfect.
In the future ‘physical imperfections’ will lose out to ‘psychological well-being’ and the ‘cost to the community’ of mental health care for those suffering from an entrenched case of normalcy. &n
The Back-up‘Elbows!’The Back-up
He thought of his mother. Leaning forward, tiping his barstool onto the front two legs, he held his pot glass in two hands and methodically turned it around and around as he wiped the frost, carefully, in a single downward sweep of his thumb, from each dimple in the glass.
‘Elbows on the table!’
No-one cared about elbows here. No-one cared about much at all except the pick of strangers music on the video jukebox (‘Nice one, sweetheart!’) and respecting the queue if you wanted to play pool.
‘And no-one gives a fuck about me...’
Keep up the good work.
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