50 Word Stories: The Slowdown

The clouds made an unhurried journey across the sky like cars waiting to enter a garage that rationed its petrol. There was no point worrying so long as you knew you'd get your share. They knew. And I knew I got mine as everything slowed and my chest grew heavy.


The One You Never Knew

Author’s Note: I don’t know why, but I had a sudden urge to write something dramatic.


The tide rose in my wake determined to wipe me from the granite I clung to; it could not dislodge me. Fingers like limpets pressed to the rock as I scrambled, clambered and crawled. The clear air made fire of a throat used to the liquid nectar of a saline sea, yet still I fought my way towards storm-riddled skies.

To look down upon that which I’d always looked up to played tricks on my tired mind. I felt I might reach across the distance between us, touch your shoulder, stroke your hair, feel the curves of your wetted body pressed to my own. You were perfect, you see, an air breathing angel huddled against the squall. And for one sick moment, I thought to tip you into my domain, dislodge you from your little, brown boat; what a monster the ocean had made of me. Of course, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

And there, as I spied upon she who’d spied down on me, I forgot where I belonged, forgot what I was, forgot time and its consequences. I lingered in gasping breaths until I gasped no more. It was worth the pain to see you whole and to imagine what our life might have been.

When I lost my lungs, night descended. When I lost my grip, I fell. You may have heard the splash, but you’d never have known it me.

Like Oceans

If gratitude was an ocean, I’d have poured myself upon her. To see her float in my waves, drown in my eyes as I did hers, hang weightless for all eternity in swirls of aquamarine, a price worth paying, I think.

We met by the ocean; it seemed perfect symmetry it ending there, too. I wrapped her in a warm embrace, took a breath and waded into the waves. She soon quietened, her screams lost to the breakers, then depths, then deep.

At the end, just before the darkness took us, she smiled. I hoped she’d forgiven me, blessed us both in her way. Then again, she might just have been glad to be rid. I couldn’t blame her, I was.

In The End, There Is Only The End.


“Beyond the ocean where time stands still, beyond the starlit night and echoes of what was, lies a curtain. If one is brave enough, one can lift the fabric of existence and sneak underneath it into the unknown. I say if, for it is no sight for the weak-minded or those of no belief. There are treasures, my friend, those that await the dead.”

“Really?” replied the old man.

“Yes. This is the realm of he who imagined creation. There are no laws, no physical properties that one would recognise. In this space full of wonderment and exquisite beauty, there is enough perfection to make one weep, lower one’s head in shame, mourn one’s insignificance.”

“You don’t say!” The old man took off his cap and scratched his balding head, the wind making a mess of all that remained.

“Oh, but I do. Scholars have told of it, preachers have preached of it and the enlightened have visited it in dreams. This is the place I desire above all else. This is the place I shall one-day call home.”

The old man gestured to the young idealist, a simple two flicks of a beckoning finger. His companion hitched closer on their shared park bench.

“I shall tell you this, young man, for I have seen much in my life, things one should never have seen. I have witnessed death: associates; friends; family, and even a wife. So, I say this with a little more certainty than you who expound’s a possible truth, for I see in your eyes what your tongue exaggerates as hope. At the end, my friend, there is only the end.”

The old man patted the younger’s shoulder, creaked to his feet, then paused. It was with eyes as wet as autumn dew that he turned back once more and said, “Though, I wish you was right.” He then meandered away.

The Easiest Struggle

Life churns, drains, pulls at the fabric of self

Made madness by elemental forces and even

The planet itself tugging you down, down

Gravity unwilling to relinquish its devastating grip

Before time and age and furrowed lines show

To tell the short history of you and who you’ve touched

With tender kindnesses born of woman, mother

That slowly drained from the moment you

Sprung forth into this sharp and jagged world

So unlike the peaceful calm of lulling water

That cradled and cared, cosseted your burgeoning soul

Just like God shall the day you pass from here

To there; that easiest place to reach called death

50 Word Stories: Quietly Leaving

Life began with a bang and ended with a whimper. The universe that spawned my beginnings in such violent circumstances had come full circle. All I'd wished for was to bow out in glory, instead, I ebbed away. When the universe glowed an indigo embrace, I realised I'd already left.

50 Word Stories: Unwished For


She swept across the meadow in bouquets of death. The snowdrops, my favourites, turned black, the early daffodils wilted in grey. She entered my yard without asking and took my hands; I didn’t want to go. Lady Death cajoled me against my wishes. I’d so hoped to stay at home.