Image by Jörg Peter from Pixabay Moira sat in the sand, brooding, like the roiling thunderclouds in the distance. The soothing splash of waves breaching the shore didn’t ease her mood. All those job applications without a reply, and today, the train-wreck interview. She knew it was going to be disastrous from the get-go. The twenty-something woman interviewer…
My gaoler reminds me of Odette. She smiles a little. Sometimes. For the thousandth time I ask her where I am. “I’ll tell you that when you tell us who you work for.” Her voice isn’t harsh anymore, just tired. We stare at one another across a battle-scarred table top. It is her eyes that…
Below in the valley the trees barely move, but here the wind tugs the purple heather and salt spray fills the air. My hair whips my face, stinging my eyes. This will be the longest walk I have ever done. Out in the bay, the island – humpbacked and barren – is clad with its…
Hidden behind the old wooden door, my courtyard sanctuary. Cool and quiet. I am safe from the hustle of the office to eat my lunch. Here there is serenity and peace. I dare to switch off my phone. I will not be contacted. I will not be found. The small wall fountain gurgles away my…
I close the lid of the box and carry it to the kitchen. It feels heavy, which is strange. I only cleaned out the bathroom cupboard. The box contains a collection of half-used face creams, an empty spray can of deodorant and a bottle of pink nail polish. They’re items I won’t use. Does the…
It was just the two of them now. The rest had gone on to greater adventures. They sat side by side on a park bench, like the winter companions in the old Simon and Garfunkel song. Tootles leaned forward on his walking stick and squinted over at the statue of the boy with the panpipes….
There are ghosts on the Underground. You don’t notice them because they look just like you, or a ticket inspector. They clutch their lost life as though it was a briefcase full of important documents. Their faces flicker dead-white against the recycled pages of the free newspapers. You don’t notice them. They are just passing…
I wake at eleven, only it isn’t. The numbers which assure me of the time have lied. I’ve gained, or lost an hour, in the uncertain darkness of night. My lazy lie-in quickly turns into an early morning. I curse the clock for its deceit. The rhythmic passing of seconds can no longer be trusted….
Are those the remains of the starter? Urgh! Hummus and garlic, if I’m not mistaken. You’re using the paper napkin. You didn’t even remember a pen. Cadged one off the waiter. Which one is the jotting about? The comb-over in the corner? The fat legs protruding from the lycra mini skirt? The repeatedly licked full…
They were just putting the man into the ambulance on the corner of Brunswick Street when Pauline Wiseman arrived. She had been lost in thoughts and memories. She was among old men and children. As a policeman moved people on she got a quick look at the man’s face. Had she seen him before? Where…
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Text & stories © Joanna Sterling
Stories © various authors
Editing by Joanna Sterling & Alyson Faye
Audio by Menna Bonsels
Brooch photography by Mark Colliton
Website by Brighton WEBtech