“Oh look at that. My luck must be in. She doesn’t know I’m here so if I just wait a while I’ll see if she’s alone. I can’t hear anyone else around. I wonder what she’s doing, shouldn’t she be in school, not sitting here all alone on the riverbank. That’s it, I’m going to sneak up behind her. If I stay really quiet she probably won’t notice until I’m right behind her. That will be a shock but so much fun when I see the reaction on her face and hear her gasp. I won’t hurt her but she doesn’t know that. Right here we go, slowly now, slowly, keep low and don’t make a noise. Oh no, she’s heard me, she’s turning round.”
“Ruffles, you naughty dog, what are you doing here? Did someone leave the gate open? Give me a hug and then I’ll take you home.”
“At the Window” – Juliana Kolesova
Bereft of habit,
the tonsured friar gazes.
There was a young teenager from Lee
whose breasts grew exponentially
with each day that passed
she needed new bras
it became rather embarrassing you see.
a word with so much meaning
Cheering only to owners,
shareholders and Directors
Nursed unto the death,
final act of devotion,
eyes gently closing,
only memories remain
in that void once filled with love.
removing Brother Michael’s
guaranteed compliance with
the order’s vow of silence
“Tell me Bottom, which colour would you like to wear?”
When the cancer struck,
only way to save his speech,
a plastic voicebox.
Philip put on his coat and hat. With the rather old but still functional library ladder tucked under his arm he walked out to the now quiet high street. Elated, he realised that the clear night sky held the promise of a stargazing bonanza.
Leaning the ladder against the old viaduct wall and ignoring the stark warning, bright in black on the mud-hued brick, he slowly started to climb. After fifteen minutes he found no inspiration so with a loud sigh he climbed down.
He shuffled home to his apartment. The thought of a tumbler of whisky while listening to a jazz record afforded him much pleasure.
Every picture tells a story, each crumpled sheet, the telltale crease imprinted on each dishevelled pillow, this shrine to another night of brazen, shameless infidelity.