One of my short stories, A Question in a Gallery, has just been published in Issue 5 of Spontaneity Magazine. It was written in response to this image of Waterloo Concourse by photographer Mark Charlton, also published in Spontaneity. Spontaneity is a new arts journal which seeks to link prose to visual art, poetry and music, and is one of the most original journals I have read in recent years. Dip into their pages and see what you find. It’s truly inspirational.
A Question in a Gallery
‘Mind the gap, please.’ The voice sounds cool, void of emotion.
I push through the doors, the signs for St Paul’s Station lining the walls as though I might miss my stop. I have managed to avoid the rush hour, having taken the day off work. The air is thick with anticipation, or maybe it’s fear. I don’t know.
I weave through the tiled corridors and find the bottom of the escalators. There are more signs – the St Paul’s wording replaced with To Street, like an instruction on a board game. Posters pull me into a world of colour and cabaret. A woman holds the hands of two small children, as they pass me travelling in the opposite direction. They fight over who will hold the moving handrail. Her face remains unchanged, as though they do not exist…
Continued at Spontaneity.
This is a short post to say that my flash fiction piece, My brother was a kangaroo, is today’s featured story on http://t.co/cCJ3XsOlVl
One of my short story has just been published in Litro, a London Literary Magazine. You can read it here.
The starched white sheets crinkle beneath my thighs. The walls are white; clinical. The door is pale and open. Beyond it, the muffled voices of people in white travelling along the corridor. I see flashes of clipboards, glasses, and white; maybe jackets. I am not sure why I am here. My head is woolly and my feet numb. Looking through the window, which is higher than usual, there is a meadow of greens and splashes of yellow. Beyond that nothing but sky; grey mainly. I need to wash my hands but they refuse to move, lying heavily, tingling, as though dipped in iced water. I was told to lie prostrate. It’s the drugs, they said, just rest.
My mind never rests. One. Two. Three. The tiles above the sink are unsymmetrical. Four. Five. Six. There is no middle groove where the grouting should lie. Seven. The fourth tile should not be in the middle. The lack of symmetry makes me feel uncomfortable and unsettles a sense of order, or disorder, in my mind. I remember, maybe earlier, a doctor in the house, an ambulance, a cup of coffee, a dog and Sandra, in no particular order. Why do I remember Sandra last? Where is she? Continued on the Litro website.