Keith Morris

  • The Last Straw

    Eric held the present in his large hands, surprised at its weight. Not a scarf then, he thought. He picked at the edge of the sellotape with his right index finger. As he did so, fragments of dried grime were dislodged from under his fingernail. “Oh give it here.” Margaret grabbed the present. Eric noticed…

  • Unreliable

    Once I had an affair with a Princess. At the time I was homeless, sleeping rough in a cardboard hut in the Bull Ring at the end of Waterloo Bridge, where the IMAX cinema stands today. It was very late, early morning probably, the soup runs had long departed and most of my fellow residents…

  • Lipstick in his Handbag

    “Is she dead?” David, a plump, balding, middle-aged man wearing a tan-coloured raincoat and holding a Tesco’s carrier bag asks “Are you sure?” The care-worker looks at David and with a well-practised sympathetic half smile and slight inclination of the head replies. “Yes, I am sorry, she slipped away peacefully about half an hour ago….

  • The Blue Box

    The taxi draws up at an industrial blue box. Out of place in this country of mountains, clean air and cuckoo clocks. We are greeted. They call themselves escorts. Not your usual kind. We are here to be processed. I am here – to support – to bear witness. This is your choice. Papers to…