There are some lives that don’t begin in earnest until they are almost over. Time is almost used up before the moment is reached, the decision taken that will give life some meaning. Until that moment, only holiday snaps show that time has moved at all. Children grow up, then move away and there are no more holidays, no more snaps. Time passes unnoticed. Continue reading “Friday by Jane Dougherty”
The woman cuddled the sleeping child who was oblivious to the man pointing the gun. The father stared and reasoned and wondered if he could. The other man also sat looking for an opportunity. The gunman stepped back and sat down in the armchair.
“Don’t even think about it folks. I know how to use this. I don’t panic and please forgive my arrogance but I am a damn good shot. I won’t miss.”
“What do you want?”
The father tried to keep his voice steady.
“I will get to that but let me first say, you are simply unlucky. I have nothing against any of you. But having just finished your barbecue, sitting having a drink and me seeing you is all that it has taken.”
She pulled the kiddie closer. Continue reading “Dilemma – An Experiment by Hugh Cron”
“May I?”
The man took a step towards the jar.
“You will be careful with it, won’t you?”
“A closer look, that is all. I know it’s worth a small fortune, what, at least…”
“…At least a jolly large amount I shouldn’t imagine and wouldn’t like to say.”
“Well I will say, Madam Panagoulias. Put my cards on the table so to speak.”
“As you wish.” Continue reading “Madam Panagoulias and the Pithos by Adam West”
Final credits. Show’s all but over. One last tune from Ed’s iPod and the crematorium doors widen. I’m going where the sun keeps shining, through the pouring rain. Randall lurches outside, wobbles in a thank-god patch of sunshine. Going where the weather suits my clothes. The family shuffle themselves into a line-up: the deceased’s mother reaching just the shoulder of the deceased’s wife. Ed’s brother next? Very tall and looks a little like him. Ed’s children, the daughter only up to her uncle’s waist. A face she loves interrupts the protocol and the little girl’s smile slashes the dark fabric of today. Ed’s son, adolescent and alone at the end, arms meshed over the outrage in his gut. Here now we see the stiff bar chart of the family, offering some kind of analysis. Continue reading “Post by Jenny Morton Potts”
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