Writing Wrongs
Short Stories & Flash Fiction

The earth crumbled between his fingers like coarse flour. He worked the ground tenderly with his warm, nurturing hands. The same hands had turned over this soil for many decades… it remained loyal, familiar and full of promise. Life was alive here; memories lingered here.............

Simply Red: I remember the day we went to the Lake, just out of school for summer, ten of us, all with red hair, might have been cousins, same gene pool......

Box: I close my eyes; I try to fade the anger......

I Never Told Anyone: ....that I’d run away. After two decades I'd pretty much forgotten myself......

Good Apples: My Gran loved apples......

Welcome to Australia: Young George laid his forehead against the window and looked out at the huge drops of rain pounding into the mud. He closed his eyes to block out the rain and shut in the tears he didn’t want his mother to see. He felt sick. Sick for his home.......

Why are they a’ sae miserable?  Huddilt roon the auld man on his nag, convinced their world has shattered aroon them.  Hae none of them ony sense o’ excitement, adventure; am ah the only one? Sae the hooses in the glen hae been fired, so the walls hae been cowpit in, but God ah’ve longed a’ ma life tae get oot o’ that hovel.........

Rupert was small for his age. Compact. As a middle child within an extended family, he was surrounded by others to talk to, play with - and annoy. Rupert was very good at these three activities for he was garrulous, mischievous, and exasperating. Despite these irritating foibles, his family were interested bystanders when he became fascinated by numbers.......

The long carriage was sparsely occupied. Yet, the glow of the overhead lighting, the rhythmic ‘de-dah-de-dah, de-dah-de-dah’ of the wheels over the track, and the speed of the train forcing the rain to slide diagonally down the windows all seemed to provide a strange kind of comfort......