Short stories

I have to confess I enjoy doing pap smears.

Anorexia - without appetite, asexual - without sex, anosmia - without smell, achromatic - without colour.

I gave you the moon and stars for your birthday. You furrowed your brow and wrinkled your nose.

The front door frowns as I approach, its post box mouth turned down in disappointment. Shame burns in my cheeks as I remember my hasty departure last night, tail between my legs. I don't have a key. My knuckles graze the wood and I think can hear her footsteps in the hall. I bend down and prise open the letterbox, I push my hand through the inside flap and peer inside. Stale alcohol and burnt toast reaches my nostrils. My jacket hangs on the hat stand, the key in the right hand pocket, tantalising out of reach.

I was putting out the rubbish when a loud fart caused me to look up

What if...?

Are Polar bears and seals the stuff of myths and dreams?

"So which one is he? The tall dark one by the Gents? That blond one by the fruit machine? Coast looks over to where Lynn is pointing. Lynn nudges Faye, raising her left eyebrow. "It'll be the ugly one, the ugliest guy on the row, Faye says, lighting a cigarette.

We spread contented on our thrones and clap the supple tumbles, like shiny silver dollars spinning cross the blade lush lawn. We sup sweet wine and sour beer and goad each

When I tell people that I am an Angel they usually smile, vaguely. It doesn’t matter if they believe me or not. Because I am, and Denial doesn’t alter the Truth, however much it shakes its head.

The Roberts were just plain greedy. Ugly, feckless and greedy - what a bunch of bloody eejits. It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that they were ‘copycatting’...