Short Story Sunday: St Patrick's Day

The feeling had been growing all week. It sat in the pit of her stomach, first as fear; then  anticipation. She eyed the crushed velvet skirt she dusted off once a year, and imagined that the colour rivalled rich Irish moss. The knock at the door made her start.

"Ready?"

Short Story Sunday: If the Fates Allow

There's no way to avoid it, Jocelyn thought, as she stumbled through the crowd. All around her were people with lifeless eyes in pursuit of something. Was it happiness? A way out? She couldn't tell. But she knew that if she was to survive the ordeal, she'd have to leave soon. Except there was one more thing on her list that she needed: a gift for Mr D. She closed her eyes and steeled herself as her body and bag was jostled by passers-by, seemingly on similar, perhaps more important, missions. 

Wednesday Write-Up: Dawn (for Mike)

My memory of that day always starts the same way. I usually see it in the bottom of my wine glass, when Luc has left to order more drinks at the bar. In the haze of smoke and the thrum of the music, I go back in time.

Tuesday Tale: Escape

I escaped, and nobody knows. For years I have carried this secret like a stone in my shoe. I would stand in line at the shop, with my basket of eggs, cheese, milk and rye, look at the boy ahead of me and wonder, does he know? Does the cashier sense what I have harboured in silence? Will the security guard stop me as I leave and demand I empty the pockets of my mind?