Worthing Flash

by J. L. Dean You started as a secretary and worked hard.  Working by day and studying at night, you became a lawyer.  An Associate.  A Partner.   It is a success story to be proud of and you are right to be so.  But what else is known about you?  The team you manager is notorious in the company; think about that word for a minute.  Notorious.  Not admired; not sought-after; notorious.  Your team assistants are known not to stay; your manner is to blame.  You have been spoken to but because it is your team and you know best, you shout them down.   Attention to detail is your god.  A mistake, however minor, you understand as both a personal insult and an opportunity.  No one will echo your rise; you will make sure of that.  You had to fight and you fight still, against your own team; against those who long to follow where you lead.  You could have been an inspiration, yet the desire to humiliate is stronger.  You don’t point out an error when you can trumpet it to the rest of the

My heart thundered in my chest as I reached for the door handle. With my free hand I reached up and wiped away a lake of sweat from my fore head. Bracing myself I opened the door and stepped through. A ferocious beast lurked on the other side of the door waiting for an opportunity to tear me to pieces. “You’re late again Miss Lican.” Hissed Mr Moor, my maths teacher. “Sorry sir”, I mumbled, “I just…” “Don’t give me another excuse young lady…” he interrupted, “you’ve earned yourself a detention after school…” That’s how it all began. It wasn’t even my fault I was late, I couldn’t ignore that text and then I needed to go to my locker..and before I knew it I was 15 minutes late and now I had a detention…on Halloween of all days. I had so many plans that evening I couldn’t afford to waste time at school! So anyway, since the meeting with Mrs Lake, the headmistress, if I’d missed the detention would have been worse than murder I went along. Our school finished quite la

The blood moon hung low in the sky, dressing the moorland in a crimson cloak. The hiker, already regretting choosing the longer path, shrunk into the upturned collar of his coat and shivered. Muted howling could be heard in the distance and he wondered again whether the rumours of wild wolves on the moor were true. “Mind playing tricks”, he muttered to himself as wisps of ground mist obscured his feet.  “Superstitious nonsense…there is no beast! No beast! No slavering jaws in the night” His leather boot sunk into the peaty earth and he felt a shiver of dread roll over him. Instantly stories of walkers straying off the beaten track into treacherous bogs sprung to mind. He himself had seen the discoloured bones of a horse revealed from a bog pit when the waters receded in the height of summer. He retreated rapidly back to firmer ground cursing, “Mustn’t lose the path, mustn’t lose the path.” The hiker looked around, trying desperately to get his bearings in the changing a

 by Meghashri Dalvi The narrow serpentine path charms with the foliage. The colours dazzle. Red, yellow, orange, and brown. One such quiet fall evening Ryan had proposed. Today Jack has. Sheila closes her eyes and leans back. The air is crisp and tender. She savours Jack's gentle touch gliding the wheelchair back to their old-age home. Ryan was anxious and had chased her incessantly. Oh, that age when everything must happen at once.    Jack is patient and can wait.

This is a list of contributors to this blog. Without you giving up your time to write for us, none of this would have been possible. So tell your friends, we would like to have a story from them and if you have time, please write another story for us. Derek McMillan A big thank you to: J. L. Dean Simon Marriott Jo Bruce Meghashri Dalvi Rajan V Kokkuri Maureen Wells Angela Petch Patricia Feinberg Stoner Ron James Sarah Starr Frances Edington Janet Hardacre Vijai Pant Tony Roberts Josie Gilbert Don McBeth Margaret I Holmes Régine Demuynck Ron James Peter Redfarn Julie C Round Paul Beckman BGR Buckley Niles Reddick Laura Solomon Bronwen Griffiths Heather Turnbull Annemarie Musawale John Brantingham Nod Ghosh John Sheirer NJ Crosskey Pace Rainbird Cathy Cade Lesley Truchet anon Twinkletoes

Another story from Rajan V Kokkuri:   I heard a beep from the mobile phone which was on my side table of bed. I was awake and waiting for the alarm.   ‘Papa, can you order these shoes?'   A message from my son Jay. ‘If we are buying one pair it costs Rs. 3900/-, we will get two pairs for Rs. 6800/-' I replied. ‘Jay, why do you want to spend so much money on shoes?' After a while, I sent a message ‘I will order 1 pair for Rs. 3900/.'   ‘Ok. Papa Thanks.' How things have changed? My childhood was totally different and never be compared with the  present life of the younger generation. My uncle was an old devotional person. He generally spends his time in the nearby temple. He  used to wear chappals made from wood.  Whenever he reached our home the sound of his chappals would be heard and  everyone vacated the entrance of the house. On the way back we could see the tribal women carrying wood packs from the forest close to  our village.