Number 13
Number 13 is the house next to mine. They’re gutting it again, I see. It’s owned by a banker who works in the pyramid glass building you can see from the top floor of any of the houses on our terraced street. He never comes
Tag Archives: 27/04/2008
The Quest of the One-Way Door
He tumbled through the doorway and everything went dark. When he awoke, the first thing he saw was the sun. One sun – yellow – and a blue sky. Standing up, he felt his muscles pop and his bones complain. This was new. Or, rather,
A Time Past Goodbye
Something about the way she said it. A broken window, the fractured geometry of shattered glass. She said I was to leave. I was to be gone by the time that she returned. To take my shit and leave. Those were her words. She didn’t
The Bus Stop to Damascus
The bus had parked at Tim Willice’s stop, outside of the weird little cave he called a house. There was a cone on the walkway, warning people away from the pile of weird shit Tim’s parents had put out for some poor garbage man. Tim
I Blame Rod Serling
It was Rod Serling that did it. Teri bought me those old Twilight Zones on DVD for Christmas, and I can’t… I find them almost too painful to watch. Because the first time I saw them, I was someone else entirely. I was eighteen, living
What We Found When We Cleared The House
An overgrown path To a debris blocked door. And inbetween the terraces Waist high weeds to be cut down. In the garden, a forest. Not a few weeds, Or beds left to pasture; An actual damn forest, Crammed into a rectangle ten yards deep. (An
27/04/2008 Image – The Morning After
Photo by David Baillie. Tweet