Worthing Flash

Heaven’s Gate I’m never drinking with Seraphim again. Bastards. Getting into a theological debate was a bad idea. Taking the bet was worse. It’s not that I don’t support the Watcher’s strike. But, closing the gate, forever? My species can’t have got that bad. Raziel just laughed. “Alright,” he said. “You try. I’ll grant one last place. Just one. And I’ll bet you can’t even fill that.” So here I am. Scouring humanity. And I’ve probably lost my own slot, what with the coat stealing. But, those gilt-winged gits dropped me here buck naked. I’ll plead entrapment, Pete’s a good guy, he’ll understand. And I’m losing. Raziel was right, things have changed. The city is a cold sea of scowls and selfish aspirations, drowning kindness in its tide. The crowd may move as one, but they live apart. A man slumps beside me on the bench, cloaked in dirt and body odour. “ You look like shit,” he says. “When’d you last eat?” I shrug. I don’t think “fifty years ago” would go down well. “...

By N J Crosskey I’m wearing a cream blouse. The air smells of lavender and bleach. The woman beside me kisses my cheek. “Bye Mum,” she says, and I realise it’s Meghan. Silly of me, must be the new ‘do. She looks so different. I forget things sometimes. That’s why I’m here, I think it’s… a word flies across my mind so quickly I can’t hold onto it. I chase it, but it’s gone. So has Meghan. I walk down the corridor to the lounge. The fraying, floral chairs are occupied by people much older than I. The woman beside me must be ninety if she’s a day. I’m only… well, I’m not sure exactly, but I’m much younger. She smiles at me, I smile back. “I’m new,” I say. “ That’s nice,” she replies. “Have you ever been to Storrington? I’m from Storrington. Course there wasn’t much to do there. I always caught the number thirty-seven into town-” She talks, a lot. I listen politely as she tells me every nuance of her life. It’s not until she says, “I must telephone my father, he’ll be drea...

By N J Crosskey (Originally published by The Teacup Trail) Someone had stolen Aurora’s thunder. She had kept it in a jar under her bed precisely to prevent that sort of thing. She’d heard tell of the thunder thieves, the grown-ups talked of them sometimes when they thought she wasn’t listening. It had somehow happened to Aunt Lucy at her engagement party, perhaps she had been distracted by all the merriment and the robbers had taken advantage. Mrs Dante down the road had fallen prey to the crime whilst giving a speech at the country club, but for some reason her parents had been pleased to hear of her misfortune. Aurora had no idea why thunder was such a valuable commodity, but she had reasoned that if it was worth stealing then it must be treasure. She had no other treasures, apart from Heidi, who she had to admit was not ageing very well. Despite seven cosmetic surgery procedures she was still greying at the edges and leaking stuffing. So she had carefully removed an old jam...