short fiction
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Mrs Morelli came into the living room while Martin was waiting for Yvonne to get ready. Yvonne had left the door open on the way upstairs, but her mother closed it over. She went to the fireplace and lowered the gas fire. A packet of Embassy Number 1 was in its usual place on the…
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The night of the power outage, Bernie calls me to check that I’m okay. This was about two weeks ago. I tell her yes, yes I’m fine, then ask if she’s okay, but it’s all very quick. And then I feel some sort of jittery guilt that I didn’t talk more with her, so I…
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The others leave, one by one, and it ends up being just me and Ginger at the steps by the river, sipping from the bottle in lukewarm turns and staring out to the monstrous city lights that seem close but are worlds away. ‘Let’s get some chips,’ he says. ‘You go,’ I say, resigned. I…
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Are you there, Uncle? Can you hear me? It’s late. There’s someone on the phone. An unexpected caller. They say they’re approaching the house, and they may not be alone. http://www.inshortpublishing.com/shop1/uncategorized/interrupter/
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I’m waiting for the tram, at the junction. Waiting where the streets cross, and the lights change, and the cars stop and go in regular patterns, repeating over and over. Passengers stare and I stare back, like we’re sizing each other up. My tram’s late, so I have to keep waiting. And all the time…
Barry Lee Thompson 