The Troll Beneath the Bridge

There was once a troll whose name nobody could remember, for he has been born long before the people had arrived, when their little huts made of straw and wood had popped up across the lush countryside.  He had seen the world change, but had learnt by now that change…

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The Visit

The Visit

The visit from my sister looks like this: Through the door, here she comes. Boots treading mud into the new rug. “It’s dry,” … View Post
British Holiday

British Holiday

Let me tell you how to have a British holiday. It should rain every day. Forget your umbrella though, and leave the car window … View Post
Wednesdays

Wednesdays

Palm comes crashing down onto the table as you thrust your papers into my face. “What is this?” you demand, spitting in your fury, … View Post
The Man at the Station

The Man at the Station

You are just ahead of me as I cross the bridge. I see your legs bent and broken, and I think: I’m thankful … View Post
Little Terrors

Little Terrors

Writing, and rewriting, scenes about monsters seemed like a good idea at the time.  But now, lying in the dark, duvet pulled up past … View Post
Elegy for a Dead World: Dear Marta

Elegy for a Dead World: Dear Marta

I recently started playing a fantastic game for writers called Elegy for a Dead World.  It plays like a scrolling platform game, but there … View Post