The story of the taxi

The story of the taxi that takes you where you need to be rather than where you want to be finally came true for Nathan. Finally. “The story is true, it’s true” he shouted. “Please let me in. Please.” Inside the house a light came in. He banged on the door again. “The story’s true!” The door opened. “Hello again Nathan. I thought you would never come.” Nathan turned and tried and tried to run away.

First published on www.paragraphplanet.com on 17 April 2017

I woke up

I woke up from the glue dream and got off the train. Up the emergency stairs to Holborn where the traffic had stopped. Why? Because Bobby had landed his helicopter in the middle of the street. Yes – Bobby, helicopter, Holborn. Again. The rotors blew years of diesel dust from the trees into my eyes. I squinted between my fingers and Bobby was waving to me. That did not surprise me though it should perhaps have done but the helicopter did. It was soft and hazy and billowed and waved, red and pink and spots and stars. Jump in, jump in, called a voice, a spinkly sparkly monkily voice. I jumped in and we flew upside down above the river towards the sea. My hair had grown and curled and flew behind me in ringlets. I closed my eyes and tried to wake up again.

Eating the lamb

They eat the lamb in memory. Bloodied and rare or crushed-almond sweet; both
are their worship. Chocolate eggs, a grinding of salt, lemon zested on the
grater. Rabbits; pictures of rabbits. Those things are theirs.
They shall never be accepted.

We eat the lamb in memory. Bloodied and rare or crushed-almond sweet; both
are our worship. Chocolate eggs, a grinding of salt, lemon zested on the
grater. Rabbits; pictures of rabbits. These things are ours.
They shall never be forgotten.

Your nails dig deep

Your nails dig deep into my hands
We are scared, but trusting, shiver

All is for the best and all will be well
Sirens call the people

The lights of the aurora fade in the sun
and then a sudden darkness

The stone is pushed with silent force
Dirt, torn fingers, scarring

The light again, the screams, the silence
Nobody breathes. No-one says the word.

The light bounces back

My kitchen window looks onto the back of a sheltered accommodation block. Cats prowl on the grass below. In the morning, in spring and summer mornings, in clear spring and summer mornings, the sun shines onto the red-brick walls and bounces back to light my kitchen. 

This morning I waved to the old man whose name I don’t know and he waved back. Today the reflected light shone out from his eyes. He smiled and pulled the curtains shut again.