I felt profoundly sad that day, and I realised that dementia was claiming my father piece by tiny piece, memory by memory, and with each one gone, a little more of him had died. I had begun to mourn him then, to prepare for the day I knew would come; a day I would be ready for.
Nathan inhaled deeply and held his breath, allowing the chemicals in the smoke to pass into his bloodstream. He exhaled slowly, feeling the cool wave of intoxication that followed liberate his mind from the cage of reason. Under the covers at his side, thin bony fingers found the outside of his right thigh and slipped softly over the top of it to explore his groin.
Listen above, or read below. The Snow Globe – A Christmas Story The slender man in the donkey jacket and flat cap stamped his feet, the thick soles of his boots grinding and scratching at the frozen pavement beneath. The fingerless gloves on his calloused hands made a dull popping sound as he clapped them […]
Listen to the final part of this story above, or read it below! Missed part 1? click here! Missed part 2? click here! In the eighteen years that I have been renting out property I have encountered many different characters from dozens of countries around the world. I have spent sleepless nights worrying whether I would […]
It was the kind of cold, wet, nasty November evening when you think that Summer will probably never come again. My phone began ringing around 10.30pm which I knew from experience could only mean trouble. I let it ring and ring until it went quiet, then I picked it up to see who had been […]
I felt like the reaper was stalking me too, as if the angel of death was painting invisible crosses on the doors of those who had been chosen and wondering if I, also, was on that list.
Here is my first Podcast story in print, for those of you who prefer the written word to the spoken word. If you stumbled across this page and would like to hear the podcast version, you can find a link after the story. Flipflop – by James Dunford Ljubica Marić felt a familiar knot in […]
Well, I haven’t completely gotten over how much I hate hearing my voice on a recording, but I have at least discovered that I find it less awful when I use a better quality microphone. Below the image is a link to my first podcast, a five minute reading of a short story I entered […]
“Do you remember our first date?” she asked, as they admired the waterfall.
“Of course,” he smiled, “it was right here. You got drunk and nearly drowned.”
“I couldn’t swim, you saved my life. I felt…”
“Indebted to me?” he grinned.
Just a few days after his eighteenth birthday, as Ellen’s next of kin, he was being asked to make the decision to cut away a part of his mother’s brain in order to make her better.