I received a box; a long, flat, cardboard box, that made no sound at all when I shook it gently. There were no clues on the packaging. What could it be? Who was it from? The postman handed it to me, with a wink, and for some reason I was slightly offended - what did he think he knew, that I didn't? I delivered a curt thank you and then took the package inside, laying it on the table in front of me; not wanting to spoil the magic of not knowing. I looked at the box for a long

A real-life story based on my first experience of a rugby league game in September 1978 I had waited so long! Years of watching my dad and uncle, nan and grandad disappear every Sunday afternoon—climbing into my grandad's old Triumph and driving down the road, scarves trailing from the rear windows, taunting me. I used to stand miserably, with my chin on the window ledge, refusing to move until the car was out of sight, the last of the exhaust fumes carried away on the wind

Tim dropped his spoon, and his porridge splattered all over the cloth. "Bloody hell!" He heard the words come out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Language!" His mum was not impressed. "...and at the breakfast table as well." She tutted as she scrubbed at the mess with a cloth, "What prompted that outburst?" "Erm nothing," replied Tim sheepishly, "I've had enough anyway. I'm going to be late." Before she could argue, he grabbed his rucksack and phone and ran out of

Date: 2030 I was nervous throughout the interview. Any relevant experience I’d had seemed so long ago, but I really wanted this. I took another deep breath as the interviewer looked down at his notes. “Final question…” I held my breath. “…tell me why you want a job after all this time.” I exhaled slowly. “I want my life back.” His eyes narrowed and he looked as though he was going to ask me to clarify, but he didn’t. Maybe it hadn’t been the right thing to say, but it had b

We stood at the kerbside waiting for the taxi, the luxurious all-inclusive hotel behind us and adventure in front. After a week of lazing by the pool and reading, we were ready to see the wonders of the Nile. The taxi arrived, its boot slowly rising, a response from a signal inside the car. The driver didn't get out, neither did he speak as we got in, instead pulling out into traffic before I had even fastened my seat belt. "Good morning.'" I offered. No response; that's

Half asleep and half frozen, I stood at the end of the street, stamping my feet and blowing into cupped hands before thrusting them deep into my pockets. That first get-up after the Christmas break was always going to be awful: tossing and turning half the night, despite my good intentions and going to bed early, dragging myself from a deep, dreamless slumber to switch off the irritating sound of the unwanted alarm clock, and having to dress and eat an unwanted breakfast at t

It was the year that the Swifts didn't come. As April passed into May, a heavy depression settled on Jeff. It didn't bode well. Migrating Swifts had been in decline since the late '90s, but somehow he kept hoping, year after year, that there would be an upturn. The problem wasn't limited to the Swifts either: the Spotted Flycatcher, Cuckoo and Nightingale were also in sharp decline, and Turtle Dove numbers had crashed by 98% since the 1960's - they were now on the black list

The cat sat on the fourth step, her eyes darting left and right, whiskers twitching, as she surveyed the room. The fourth step was the best place to be - she had learned this through experience. Any higher and she lost her view of the room; if she sat on the third step she would be noticed by Antoinette and shooed away with a feather duster or tea towel; on the second step, she would be clearly visible, and kicked and cursed at by Pierre; and on the first step she would be vi

A short story, written after a visit to Peak Caverns in Castleton, Derbyshire and published in the online magazine, Cafelit Bert Marrison sat in the cave mouth on a rickety hazel stool. It was 1970 and he was 85 years old; too old to be a rope-maker any more, with his gnarled and deformed hands, but not too old to fend off the returners. In fact, his age – in this role – was a definite advantage, as even the roughest and most foul mouthed of the lead miners would stop shor

“Name please?” Simon looked up at the bloke in front of him; he didn’t look anything like he had imagined. No robes, no big book. No pearly gates for that matter – obviously a myth spread by Sunday school teachers. Just an ordinary guy in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a slogan scrawled across it ‘ Eye of a Needle’ . He hadn’t heard of them, must be a foreign band. “Erm, Simon, Simon Cavanagh.” “And have you completed your questionnaire?” “Questionnaire? I’m not s

I hobbled clumsily down the seven steps from the front door to the street; steps worn shiny by over two hundred years of feet passing up and down: tenants, tradesmen, and for the last eighteen years, our family. I usually skipped down the steps, my mind on other, mundane, things, but today I was totally focussed, manipulating my crutches and trying to remain upright. Once on the level, I made my way along the pavement, negotiating up and down kerbstones and across roads unt

Harry jolted awake as the front door slammed. Jenny looked flustered as she deposited a cardboard coffee cup on the table and shrugged...

I opened my eyes. Slowly, millimetre by millimetre, until I could see a smudge of blue sky through the dusty haze; a soupy mist which...

She awoke early. She had dozed into an easy slumber around midnight, lulled by the soothing call of the Tawny Owl in the field behind the...