Worthing Flash

Eyes Like Mine by Christopher Mattravers-Taylor I open the restaurant door to the bell’s familiar jingle. I sit where I can watch the kitchen entrance for her, and barely notice the lanky youth taking my order. She emerges from the kitchen, laughing over her shoulder. Time has only accentuated the beauty that captivated me for one shining night a lifetime ago. She spots me and pales. “You’re back at last.” Sitting opposite, she blinks back tears. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find you. To tell you.” The youth returns with coffee, and she smiles. “This is my son.” I meet his eyes, a moody green. My eyes.

 “If Winter Comes, Can Spring Be…” By Garry Engkent Once upon a time, 1923, a young immigrant grumbled about the snow, so much of it. Jack Frost overheard and said: “If you don’t like it here, you can go back where you belong.” Once upon a time, 2001, an immigrant’s child complained about the snow, piles and piles of it. Santa Claus overheard and said: “If you don’t like it, just go back where you belong.” Once upon a time, 2030, a senior citizen from an immigrant family moaned about shovelling the mounds of snow. A white neighbour overheard and said: “Go back where you belong!” 

It was particularly bad in summer. When she sat at her window and looked down at the beach, which was only a few meters and too many steps away from her apartment, she thought back to the time when she had also gone windsurfing on the beach with the others. And sometimes the images of the accident came back, she remembered the boat that had appeared next to her so suddenly that she had been unable to react, the slow awakening in the hospital, the doctors’ hesitant explanations. Then she hastily drew the curtains and rolled away from the window. by Andrea Tillmanns,