Tag Archives: short story

Scrimshaw

And there was the body, lying at the foot of the cliffs on top of thick coils of oil-black seaweed. I smiled. I was walking to my uncles Arthúr and Níls’s summer house in Rauðasandur and I’d left the path to … Continue reading

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But Beautiful

  A group of people are gathered, shivering, outside a small town registry office. They stamp their feet and hug themselves; some try to smoke a last minute cigarette, cupping hands over lighters, the little metal wheels spinning tchh tchh … Continue reading

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The First Hard Rain

Somewhere over the Irish sea an almighty storm must have exploded, a tempest of such Biblical proportions that a flock of seagulls, a flock of chaotic, tumbling, terrified birds, hundreds upon hundreds of them, had been forced miles inland: herring … Continue reading

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Tiger Feet

    Tiger Feet I got to the club at about six thirty, more or less, dressed to kill. When I say club, I mean Ettington Youth Club, England, 1974. There are clubs I go to nowadays which you may … Continue reading

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Say Good Morning to the Stars

This story appears in the Stories for Homes Anthology, edited by Debi Alper and Sally Swingewood.  All proceeds from the book go towards supporting the work of Shelter. Available via Amazon.    My mother wasn’t always drunk, but that’s like saying … Continue reading

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Tiger Feet

    Tiger Feet I got to the club at about six thirty, more or less, dressed to kill. When I say club, I mean Ettington Youth Club, England, 1974. There are clubs I go to nowadays which you may … Continue reading

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