Short Story Sunday: Things We Lost

I check my phone again. There's a part of me that wishes I wasn't so hell-bent on being early for appointments, coffee dates and work. I know I am missing out on that frisson of excitement that comes from just beating the clock with seconds to spare. I study the menu again. I already know what I want; I come here often and order the same thing every time. I know what you're thinking: that there's a certain neatness and predictability to my life. Of course you're right. But you'll forgive me for being prepared, for wanting to anticipate what every day brings as a way to try and manage the fact that my life is something of a tornado and I am hanging onto passing debris to survive.

Short Story Sunday: The Man from Verdun

Louis crumpled the paper. The ink was smudged from the number of times he checked the address. He memorised the block letters from the moment he received the note, but found checking the scrap reassuring. By his calculations, it would take him fifteen minutes to walk to the depot. He had to time it perfectly: too early would make him seem eager; too late, and they would think he was disrespectful.