Home Sweet Home

You know there’s something seriously wrong when the police arrive at your door past midnight.  I guessed what it was at once.  He had finally done it.

I’d moved out of the family home when I was seventeen, and haven’t put a foot inside it since.  After years of wanting my father’s attention, I finally had it once I reached puberty.  It was the wrong sort of course, “our little secret” he used to call it.

Poor Mum, the things she had to put up with over the years.  She didn’t deserve any of it. She’d never told anybody of the mental and physical abuse she had been subjected to from ‘HIM.’  Even now I can’t call him ‘Dad’, he’s such a despicable human being.  Why she stood by him all these years I will never understand.

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A refuge in the storm

Of course, the forest was dark that night, in these sorts of stories it always is. But, even as I stumbled through the undergrowth, the wind whipping razor-sharp branches into my face like an enraged banshee, I couldn’t allow myself to slow.

There it was, by some miracle, a light up ahead. I almost physically stretched toward it, like a dying man in the desert offered a flask of water or, perhaps, to flip the analogy, a drowning man thrown a rope from a passing ship.

What it was, was hope. Lower case, yes, but hope nonetheless.

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Mam’s comforting hand

dead colliery horse lies in the dust

Dafydd scanned the dirty, black surroundings as he approached the colliery. Clouds of acrid dusty smoke belched from the tall chimney that covered the hillside. The pit head wheel rotated lowering colliers underground at the beginning of each shift. Dada and Dafydd, wearing their worn corduroy trousers and jackets, arrived promptly at the mine entrance.

       They reported to the office where the manager’s voice called out. “Bring him in Dai. Duw Dafydd, you’re starting work today. Are you looking forward to it?” Nervously he replied yes. Dafydd showed his anxiousness. Dada’s firm and comforting hand calmed him. “Steady bach, you’ll be fine”. They entered the cage and the door shutting unnerved Dafydd. The winding wheel clunked into life. His pulse quickened, his stomach churned, his palms and forehead became sweaty. The cage lowered. They were met below by Emlyn, a well-built giant whose face was covered in black dust.  

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Planet Hiraeth

A hologram of Earth with a willow tree on an alien planet viewed by middle aged Welsh women

Silken fingers tickle my face as they fasten the blindfold behind my head, their animated whispers swelling and popping like bubbles.

“Hold still, Ma!”

Beside me, my sister, Emma, is giggling, receiving the same treatment. What are they up to, these great, great, great grandchildren of ours?

The excitement is contagious. “Gently now, or Auntie and I won’t make it past our two hundredth birthdays.”

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Back Home

Young man returns home on the bus with his baby and new bride.

We were cock-a-hoop when our Billy said he was coming home.  His Mam’s been up all hours polishing the copper and she’s scrubbed the front step until it’s gleaming.  She’s busy baking enough to feed Billy, his lass, the bairn, and the entire street I reckon. It’s not as if Billy will even notice, he just wants to see us. 

It seems like yesterday he was a babe in arms.  He was hardly as big as a bag of sugar when he was born.  Wouldn’t have given tuppence for his chances.  His mam gave him sips of milk on her finger until he was strong enough to take a bottle.  He soon got a taste for it, mind. Used to yell blue murder till he was fed.  When she shoved the bottle in Billy’s gob and the yelling stopped, I used to think I’d gone deaf. You wouldn’t think he’d started off like that to look at him now.  He’s grown into a fine lad.

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Festival of fun!!!

Rock festival sufffers downpour - two people - male and female stand in the rain under an unbrella

Putting up the tent, Sam and Evie smiled at each other. They felt like naughty teenagers. It was to be their first music festival. Both in their forties, they had always wanted to go but life had always got in the way. With the twins off on a school trip for a week their time had come. The Hadfield music festival happened to fall at that time.

            They had booked a quiet field that overlooked the stage area and had showers and toilets. The weather looked fine, so excitement was bubbling. Wandering around the main area a cacophony of sound and smells assaulted their senses; so much choice and so many people. Although they did notice that a majority of the crowd were quite young, they were determined to enjoy the experience.

            The bands started playing, they wandered around getting a taste for each brand of music; some they enjoyed, others not so much. One of their favourite bands was due to play the next night, so they settled for a takeaway and returned to their tent for a reasonably early night.

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Shelter

Old house by a river with a big family outside

The house had never been through the local estate agents’ books because it had never been sold. It had been built, over a hundred years ago, by a young couple who gathered local wood and stone and slowly, lovingly made themselves a house of many rooms in which to raise their family. Who knew where the deeds and land registry papers were? Certainly, none of the present occupants who paid the bills and maintained the fruitful gardens.

Many people had called the house home.  Family, friends, and people in need of refuge had shared love and hospitality there as well as some of life’s tragedies. No one ever wanted to leave, but inevitably work, marriage, death, or the desire to travel had torn some away, always with the hope of return.

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Beyond The Home Frontier

a surreal landscape populated by termites, with their mounds appearing as towering cities in the background

“And your point is……?” Weeny, named for his diminutive size, gazed enquiringly from unseeing ocelli at his half-brother.

            “My point is obvious,” Marshal replied, jaws bristling. “We always build sharp sides North South along magnetic lines, broad sides East to West.” He released an acidic cloud of pheromones to indicate his exasperation. “The colony has flourished, expanded, and order has been maintained. That’s reason good enough to stick with traditional architectural plans.”

But with success had come drawbacks. The colony had expanded to its geophysical limit; it was time to either build the city higher, much higher, or explore new frontiers. 

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Cross

The summer city riots had spread to the rural north. The news eventually filtered through to the isolated mining village of Brookover. Its pit had long been closed, a sportswear assembly unit squatting on its corpse. It was the main employer for miles, the owners having brought in scores of Eastern Europeans on the minimum wage to toil there.

            The presence of the ‘foreigners’ was a grievance: Polish shops, strange languages in the market square. Their healthy diet marked out the incomers too. They were thin and fit, not paunchy and panting like some locals.

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Hear me out! Here’s a pitch!

Okay, there’s certain stories you really dig. Sometimes it’s high art that you feel smart for liking. An approving conscience says well done, yada-yada.

Sometimes you like silly fluff for reasons you can’t justify but it was Crimson Camel who said a good paperback is preferable to bad literature.

Think about it, what would you rather eat, a fresh big mac or mouldy caviar?

So, this story, penned by the always entertaining Arizona Davies, takes us to a modest house. It’s during lockdown and two people are fucking.

They’re roleplaying with the guy doing a hearty pirate voice: “Yer be my kidnapped wrench ha-ha” but the gal decides to dial up the romance instead.

“I love you,” she states with puppy eyes “My heart aches for you.”

He frowns somewhat puzzled.

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Prison. Bloody Prison.

On the 23rd of March 2020, the Prime Minister announced the UK’s first national lockdown.

“I tell you, Polly,” Alan glared at the slate plaque above his cooker inscribed with ‘Home Sweet Home’ in decorative text. “It’s more like Prison Bloody Prison.”

Polly the parrot remained mute.

Picking up his cup, he stood, tripped, and fell violently against his large ceramic sink. His hand struck the edge, shattering three carpal bones and dislocating his ulna. Bouncing off, he crumpled heavily, fracturing his fibula as he fell, and dislocating his other leg’s knee. He passed out.

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