Glint

In glimmering gold
You dissect mankind’s triumph
They see only glints

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By Morning’s Light

“Mornings are great for delaying afternoons.”

“What?”

“It’s just something my da used to say.”

“Sounds like a wise man… not!”

“Wiser than you might think. He was a miner, my da. There were no mornings or afternoons down the pit. That’s why he said what he said. Mornings grow lighter, whilst afternoons only ever grow dark. Him and his mates never knew if they’d see the morning’s light again. The same each and every day. Makes you think.”

“Geez! And here’s you making candles for a living.”

“For da. Out of respect for him and his mates.”

“Why?”

“So those who fear the dark will always have a bit of morning with them.”

“Sometimes you’re deeper than I give you credit for.”

“Never as deep as them, John. Never as deep as them.”

50 Word Stories: The Firedrakes


I loved watching the firedrakes burn the clouds. The way the great beasts transformed vapour to radiant colours, light and steam touched my soul. I didn’t know why they did it, and didn’t care, they just did.
When they’d finished and our atmosphere burned, I thought differently. We all did.

Author’s Note: I took this picture last night, which inspired the story. Sometimes the sky is more beautiful than any story. Last night, it was.

50 Word Stories: The Caring Moon

The moon gave informed definition to the world in ways the sun refused. Where the sun seemed uncertain what colours to choose, blasting us with so many as to give kaleidoscopic headaches, the moon did not. Instead, it provided gentle outlines of subtle perfections. I loved the moon; it cared.

50 Word Stories: Unseen

Why’s it in stories containing ghosts, vampires and werewolves, every torch, lantern and match will flicker out just when the hero needs illumination? Do they put it on the packet: disclaimer: matches may extinguish when most required. Do you know the answer? Because I want to see what’s biting me.

Breaking Oblivion 


The light drew back like a luminous tide, a flowing, undulating glow receding into endless night. The darkness pinched at light’s essence with the stubborn determination of mosquitos seeking blood. Light resisted, but not for long. I watched as the last of everything that ever had, was or would be pinged out of existence like a switched off bulb. All was dark. Nothing was everywhere and everything was nothing. Yet, where some would have despaired, I stayed strong. Moving as though through deepest ocean, I reached into the pocket I could not see, withdrew my salvation, shaking the matches as if their rattling would prove myself still alive, then lit one. In a blaze of new creation, light returned and the whole process began again. Not ideal, I know, but one way to break the oblivion.