The front door slams, the house shivers and its inhabitants freeze. “They’re back,” says Daughter, and her face quickly crumples as tears well. “Don’t you dare cry,” hisses Mother. “They’ll hear us.” The family falls silent and listens. A series of thuds and rattles comes from the floor below. Cupboard doors are opened and closed, opened and closed, over and over. Then there’s a short yell, a moment of quiet, and the soft wail of a miserable child. Daughter whimpers. Mother glares at her. Continue reading on Medium >
Round and round goes the hamster in his wheel, sending up giggles from the human faces which peer through the bars of his cage. “Silly Hammy.” “He just keeps going, doesn’t he?” “Why does he run for so long, Mummy?” “I suppose he’s just having sooo much fun!” The hamster lets out an indignant squeak. Fun? Ha! As if, he thinks. His heart hums and his lungs burn with exertion. But look… it might just all be worth it…
Hang In There! says the poster, and just beneath this peppy instruction is a photograph of a sloth hanging languidly from a branch. Its little black eyes gaze out, curious, while a superior half-smile on its mouth shows its true colours. “Oh yeah, you hang in there,” that smug mouth seems to say. “I’ll even provide the noose.” Gordon wants to punch that fucking sloth right between its beady eyes. Continue reading on Medium >
“Help. Help us! My friend’s been knifed. He’s bleeding out.” The little girl eyes the panicked lime that stands before her, along with his injured lemon friend who is oozing juice fast. “Oh. I don’t know what to do.”
Thunder rumbles ominously in the distance. Polly suppresses a yawn. She glares at the night sky which is blanketed in clouds heavy with storm. Rain already, she thinks. Get it over with. Almost as though they are lending an ear, the heavens open. Fat raindrops make their rapid descent down to Earth and Polly quickly pulls up her hood and directs her camera at the Stormy Princess. For decades the Stormy Princess has guarded this short, barren stretch of Yorkshire coastline. From the day she first appeared in 1959 — crafted from clay by an anonymous artist — the sculpture has […]
Hey, how do you do? Do you see all this poo that’s smeared in my lovely hair? It’s a statement, you see, for the silly lady who is in charge of my care.
His heart is pounding. He’s lost in her gaze. His lips are a hair’s breadth away from hers. And then it all disappears. He’s wide awake, staring up at the white ceiling, cursing himself again. Why does it always have to end there, right before the kiss? Why can’t he keep himself asleep for just long enough to feel her soft, full lips against his mouth?
She had to stand on tiptoes — on top of a stack of books, on top of a dining chair — to reach the forbidden cupboard. What might lay inside, she wondered. Chocolate? Sweeties? Chocolate-covered sweeties? She pulled open the door and yelped.
AAAAaaarrggghhhuuuuurrrgggghhhh it burns!