The conclusion to Will Miles' short story, An Exhibition
It was the middle of the night when Greta woke up, feeling as if an invisible weight was pressing down on her in bed; a bulky weight, far heavier than the skimpy blanket which covered her.
An excerpt from a novel-in-progress by Dennison Smith
The duck boards over the mud flats were precarious, just a collection of haphazardly placed planks stretching all the way from the rail track to the pumping station.
You’re walking around the lake. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is out, shining benevolently over the willow trees around the greenish flat water.
This extract is from 'Josephine Primitive' by Tom Raphael Eaves
The Destivelles come round to check everything is in working order. That’s what they tell Sophie, by email, two hours...
Her hostel did not offer breakfast, but it was saturday, which meant the Baptists parked their station wagons outside with toasters and Wonderbread and vats of sour, filtered coffee.
I found them in her bedroom: two black leather legs with a pale chiffon blouse laid out on top of the perfectly spread duvet – an invisible woman sleeping.
The Home Office telegraphy department always smelled of tea. It was a mystery to all four operators. Or rather, three thought it was a mystery, and one pretended that it was.