Uncle Albert

The house came along with the rest of the inheritance; all sixteen million of Uncle Albert’s un-explained fortune.

When the men came to fit the new carpets we didn’t question the stained riddled floorboards, the join in the skirting halfway around the living-room or why the job was only ever completed halfway.

It was always best to avoid asking questions of Uncle Albert.


Continue reading “Uncle Albert”

Upon The Fingers Of One Hand

You can count them on one hand,

those ones that mean the most

care the most

put up with the most.


You can gather acquaintance like confetti,

but there are always gaps between fingers

where people fall through

and when the wind sweeps by

it will leave you with empty palms.


Those ones who cling on,

who can be counted on one hand

are the ones who’ll scale mountains,

dig beneath oceans,

trek over desert

and parachute in over enemy territory.


All for the sake

of standing in the background

to push you forwards,

when the spotlight seems too bright.


Continue reading “Upon The Fingers Of One Hand”

The Meeting

“I would have picked somewhere more…” she paused, eyeing up the two sea-gulls screaming at each other at the edge of the shore while he wrestled with the clasp on his briefcase.

Their cars waited on the cracked, weed strewed concrete, three hundred yards behind them. It was the sort of beach that struggled to find warm days in Summer. She pulled her jacket tighter and looked back at the contact.

“This isn’t a place where you can meet someone unnoticed.” she said.

“It’s fine.” he reassured her, the briefcase popping open at last. “No one alive for fifty miles.”

Continue reading “The Meeting”

The Wait

You were late.

Kept the rest of us waiting; hands bearing down on pocket linings as we hunted for the warmth of previous hours before the storm.

“He will be here.” she said, your wife of three months. We did not comment on the press of curves against the clarity of damp cotton; only offered her jackets which she refused with the comment: “They are not his.”

We stood ankle deep in leaves, eyes towards the bank where track met road and carriages might run. We heard the horses first; they did not like the thunder.

I wonder if you screamed as well?


(Prompt: “The air was expectant…”)