Fiction. We're Doing It Right.
While they were out Betsy answered a ring at the door-bell. A woman who looked to be in her late sixties (though it wasn’t easy to tell with all the muffled up clothing) stood there. She said, “Hello, I’m sorry I don’t know your name, I just know of you as Harry’s sister. I’m Hilda Lawson, Mr. Edgar Winterbottom’s landlady.” [Read more...]
Alirat is the pen name of Alison Griffiths, a web designer, photographer and writer living in Auckland, New Zealand. Alirat started writing poetry in the 70′s and has quite a lot of unpublished work. There is also a body of half finished stuff, including a novel. One book, The First Kissamouse, has been (self) published on Blurb and has sold a few copies. See link below. [Read more...]
(Catch up with part 1 here – link to episode 1)
Boy am I pissed off. Of all the stupid stupid things to do – handing us into the police on a, a hunch? a whim? What a frigging plonker. I’m going to start writing everything down because I don’t want to lose track. This is a fine damned pickle. [Read more...]
It was last Thursday morning when I woke up a different person. Again. I came out of a dream thinking of a nice bowl of celery soup, my mouth started to water and I knew that it had happened again. The change, I mean. The day before I had hated celery. That’s how I know, you see. Well its the first thing I notice anyway. There are other …differences. [Read more...]
I remember that year as the one when they fished the man out of the river at the back of our house. It had been a rainy summer, not much of a summer at all and then autumn seemed to come early, the fog on the river and the frosts in the morning making getting up for school that much harder. I tried a few fake sore throats, but dad would start to go off so I dropped that caper.
I did get to stay home one day, though, after rubbing my eyes real hard and making them sore and red. That was the day Tommy Hamilton was coming out of jail. Dad was going to meet him off the bus and bring him back home to look after him. Mum had got cranky over that, but she never said anything. I could tell when she was cranky, she banged the pots around and make a snorting noise through her nose. I stayed extra quiet when that happened, it was bad enough when dad went off, but having the both of them angry made it time to lie low. [Read more...]
