'A better life' by Laura Besley

‘You what? Are you going to throw away your future on some boy you’ve only just met? You know you won’t be able to go to university now, don’t you?’

‘Have you not been listening to anything I’ve just said? Did you not hear me when I said I feel happy for the first time in years, maybe ever?’

‘You know that having a baby isn’t all roses and moonshine, don’t you? Have you considered–?’

‘Are you asking me to…? Surely not?’

‘No, just think carefully, eh? You’ve got the rest of your life to settle down, haven’t you?’

 

'What Happened to Us?' by Zoe Critchley

 

What was that? What did you say? You love me? You don’t, though, do you? You say you do, but when was the last time you meant it?

This was inevitable, wasn’t it, really? What is it that they say again? About ‘fools rushing in’? What? You don’t think we did? What house have you been living in?

Which house have you been going to? Hers? You think I didn’t know?

Oh, you think I care? You think I still give a damn about what you do? You think I still give a damn about you after all of this?

What? You think I’m making a mistake? Seriously? You mean a mistake other than you? I don’t think so, do you?

Well why else would I have packed up all your stuff?

Don’t let the door hit you on your way out, ok?

 

'Alternative medicine: To be swallowed whole and taken once a month' by Jennifer Watts

 Once a month she rises, a bright goddess in a dark sky. 

All day I’m restless, pacing round the small room. The ward gets noisier as the hours count down, and my expectation grows. 

Nightfall comes. Here she is - pearl and perfect! 

I reach out the barred window and, gently, between thumb and forefinger, pluck her from the star-struck canvas. I pop her on my tongue, hold her for just a second. Then, with one gulp, she is gone. 

This full moon is no bitter pill. 

She’s a sweet orb, fizzing through my veins. I’m the exact shade of deep happy.

 Now I’m exquisitely focussed, everything crystal clear. 

I call out answers to the universe’s questions. Harried nurses nod, offering sedation but I tell them, “I’ve taken my medicine.” 

The full moon, she holds me enthralled til morning when once again I’ll shuffle through moody days, my thoughts woolly, my plans half-baked. 

Until the next wild tide, when they’ll call me crazy again. 

'Man and Myth' by Sarah Mosedale

Finally it was over. Last night had been the end of all the nights, the culmination of what felt like a lifetime of peering through a dense fog. And don’t think it had been easy. She’d have done it years ago if she could only have figured out how. He’d seemed invincible, impervious to tears or rage, effortlessly manipulating her words, curving and twisting them into a smokestream, demonstrating black was white, leaving her stranded, gasping for air, fins flapping uselessly.

 

Friends had told her, some more kindly than others, that he was gaslighting her, that she’d be much happier without him, that she deserved so much more. It was impossible to argue with them - she could see that from the outside it must look like that - but what they didn’t see, couldn’t see, was the man she’d created from her romantic dreams, from her happy memories of those early days. Created and then immortalised in myth, in a million stories she’d told herself, stories that wrapped their words around her, pinning her arms, preventing movement.

 

Then it had happened. It was impossible, what he had just said; it was inconceivable that he could have said such a thing, yet he had said it, she had heard it. One moment of blinding clarity was all she needed. No, she cried, feeling the beloved myth dissolve, the bonds falling away, her arms rising from her sides, the pain and joy of life returning - finally, it was over.

'A Gift From The Sea' by Sarah Jessen

 

He was far out at sea, too far to be detected by anyone on land.

He smelt her before he was able to detect her by sight, her scent was very distinctive, a mix of rosemary and vanilla, it's what attracted him to her in the first place.  It had been a few moons since he'd last seen her, she looked different, changed. The difference was subtle, but it was a change nonetheless. Her wild hair appeared thicker than before, she was flushed, and he noticed the swell of her breasts and stomach. She looked upset, forlorn. Like she was searching for something but no idea what.

He turned away and allowed the tide to pull him further out. Without a backward glance, he dove into the shoals of shimmering fish.

It had been midsummer, he and some others had come ashore, the moon was full and impossibility bright, the air was hot and heavy. He found her at the fire pit, the glow of the embers made her look ethereal. She looked up and smiled in recognition, without the need for words, he took her hand and for the rest of the night and into the morning, their two bodies contorted and like the waves, crashed together in unison.

The first time, he had watched her dipping her delicate toes in the foam from afar. Her eyes were closed, her head was tossed back, exposing a long neck. He was draped over a large rock, drunk on a rare October sun. The barnacles dug deep into his skin, a little uncomfortable but it was the perfect spot for watching her.

He couldn't wait any longer, shedding his selkie skin, he made towards her.

'Opposite Ends of the Tracks' by Martha Lane

 

She carefully applies lipstick the colour of cranberry juice. She imagines it is for someone particular. Just for a moment.
He gives his moustache one last comb. He imagines it is for someone particular. Just for a moment.

She locks her door, modern PVC, lifts the handle and twists the key.

He locks his door, old-fashioned, Yale and keyhole, have to have the knack.
She gets on at the end of the Metro where the trains run alongside the ocean, carving through salt mist and stinking of factor 30.
He gets on at the end of the Metro where the trains run below the planes, trembling under chainmail roars and stinking of duty free perfume.
She folds her newspaper back and tuts at the news.
He shakes his newspaper out wide and tuts at the news.
She avoids eye contact.
He avoids eye contact.
She gets off in the middle of the Metro where a stone duke stands tall, and wipes her hands with antibacterial soap as she steps carefully onto the escalator. 
He gets off in the middle of the Metro where a stone duke stands tall, and wipes his hands with an antibacterial wipe as he steps carefully onto the escalator. 
She drops her pass.
He picks up a pass.
She feels a spark as cool fingers touch her skin and a moustache smiles at her.
He feels a spark as warm fingers flex and a cranberry mouth parts slightly.
She walks in pace with size ten loafers. Just for a moment.
He walks in pace with size six brogues. Just for a moment.

 

'Last Dance 1-2-3' by C.S. Bowerman

Snap. Footsteps stop. I cringe back. They must be close. I breathe into the wall. I need to make a decision. I stretch my ears to find them.  Desperately scraping the silence for warnings of movement. The night air is thick with anticipated snow.  Bulging clouds lighten what should be a jet black sky. The faint barking of German Shepherds trickles into my cold strained ears. Before I realise my body is up and streaming away between the containers. My trainers almost silent as I try to run like a dancer through corridors. I have done nothing wrong except to be unable to prove I've done nothing wrong.  It's true that I cannot remember exactly how all of this started and where the pieces go.  Like an impossible jigsaw there are so many parts that I can’t fit anywhere but must fit somehow.  How strange it is that something as invisible as knowledge can wreak such a final havoc onto someone's entire life.   Just to know surely shouldn’t be a material enough thing to mean a bullet at dawn or a gibbet at dusk.   But apparently we cannot escape our fate and all roads lead to Rome and I’m running out of solutions as I trip gracelessly forward.   Held tenderly by the crisp concrete, my head feels hot and warm and I see him again radiating understanding and compassion, like a night-time sun.   Through all the lies I see he is real, no matter what the law dictates or the populace want to believe and he was here.   As the first flakes fall I smile in renewed tranquility, hear the dogs as they pass, and understand finally my way out of this life's mess.

 

'Ignored' by Katy Ward

 He kept silently repeating an extract from a novel he'd read the previous night as he drifted off to sleep. Cold and alone. 

“There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room."

 He already felt like an angsty teenage cliché so why not immerse himself in The Bell Jar? 

Today, standing next to Dan and Jenna, it felt like the book could have been written about his own life.

 

Not that the group of women in the sushi bar at the other side of the food court would have had a clue Dan and Jenna were crazy about each other. 

They seemed aloof, bored even, as though they were discussing whose turn it was to empty the dish washer. Would it feel so anti-climactic when, if, he ever found someone? 

Dan had bragged that he'd slept with Jenna the previous night. It had been a first for both of them. He’d told her “I love you” amidst the awkward fumbling and meant it. 

Of course, Dan hadn't asked where his best friend had spent the previous night or how things were with his parents. 

He was suddenly distracted by a speck of mud on the toe of his left trainer. He'd managed to scrub himself up pretty well after a night sleeping under a tree in the city centre’s main park, but he'd clearly missed a spot.

 “It's like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction –every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it's really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier.”

'The silence because of what I know...' by Georgia Ashman

I can’t help but look at him differently, my own brother. I walk down the blissful streets of New York and wonder, does that girl know? Does he? They can’t. The little things remind me of that night, the sound of a metal door opening, the ticking of a clock. It haunts me. Why me? Why? Why? Why? But I must stay quiet, they said so. Otherwise it will happen sooner. There’s still a look of innocence in his face, his eyes still glisten when he watches the sunset and his dimples still show when he laughs. I try to take it all in, whilst time flies by. All because of what I know, and the silence that I am with.

 Enjoy their presence, before the evil takes them away. 

'Mirror, Mirror' by Maeve Heneghan

 

She had to be the vainest woman I had ever met.  Her hair was never out of place and she always kept up with the latest, most expensive fashions.  What else did she have to spend her money on?  Her darling only son had grown up and had the misfortune, in her eyes, to marry me. The barely concealed contempt that she had for me always carried on her voice in conversation.  I pretended not to notice for Jack’s sake. The only thing that was going for me was the fact that I cooked and cleaned well enough.

When mum died, I stepped in as surrogate mother for my six younger brothers. Daddy worked constantly. I cooked, cleaned up after them, read to them and was their counsellor. When I left they were broken-hearted.  I hope it was more than my housekeeping skills that they missed.

As I plumped the cushions in the sitting room, Jack had that imploring look again.

‘Can we tell her tonight Connie?’ ‘You are past the twelve weeks.’

‘Can I think about it Jack?’ I’m still a little bit nervous.’

He was about to talk me around but I cut him off. ‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t I make that apple pie that your mom loves so much?’ You know, with the cinnamon crumble?’ That seemed to sway him enough to put the pregnancy out of his head for now.

I busied myself with the pie and I resolved that I would not tell her tonight. If I had my way I’d never tell her.

As I sprinkled the cinnamon into the crumble mix, I thought I might add a little extra something this time.  I could blame it on the hormones. Daddy always said my apple pie was to die for.