Worthing Flash

He dragged the collar of his jacket as tightly round his neck as he could and then thrust his hands deep into his pockets. He had checked on the internet the time that the sun was due to rise and had left the hotel early, not knowing if the cold January weather would hamper his journey. Black ice was always a problem in this part of Scotland, but luckily the night had been cold and dry, making his drive trouble free. He had arrived at the car park by the loch with enough spare time to set up his equipment at his leisure and now he stood in the cold pre-dawn air waiting and thinking. In his mind’s eye he saw again the photos of the loch that had intrigued and inspired him for so many years. Images taken during every month of the year, showing the changes in the seasons and the weather, the light and the shadows. There were lurid shots of the Northern Lights, reflecting garish tones of blues, greens, purples and reds in the still waters; yellows, oranges and reds of sunsets and s...

Being a medieval reenactor is a fantastic hobby. You can dress up in armour, fight your mates and have a feast afterwards. Well, that’s the theory at least but it doesn’t always work in practice. Sometimes you end up in A &E with broken bones, struggling to explain to a harassed doctor that: yes. someone hit you with a sword; yes they meant to do it; no, they’re not a psychopath and no, you don’t want to call the police. All you need is patching up and a chance to attend the feast to show off your hard-earned war wounds! Josie Gilbert

They sat at the kitchen table, listening to the storm raging. She flinched whenever a gust rattled the windows. He gently laid his gnarled hand on hers, enfolding her trembling fingers. “Everything will be fine,” he said. “If that oak had fallen ten feet closer in the Great Storm, we’d have been crushed,” she replied. He caressed the wooden table with his free hand and smiled. “But it didn’t, we weren’t and now we have this lovely table. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.” An hour later the wind died down. “You were right,” she said.    

The paintbrush slipped from Greg’s fingers onto the laminate flooring, spraying gobbets of cadmium red paint across the boards. “It looks like arterial spatter,” he thought, promptly followed by, “I’ve been binge-watching too many true crime programmes. I’ve become a couch potato.” It was a phrase he had always hated, but now he had to admit it described him perfectly. Since lockdown started, he had spent less time actually working on his paintings and more time watching programmes that had never interested him before and would lose their attraction if and when life ever returned to normal. True he had also stood before his easel for hours on end, but his muse had deserted him. More paint had congealed on his palette than on his canvas. He retrieved the brush and gazed again at the half-finished painting: a commission of a poppy field that had come via a local gallery. As if on cue he heard the strains of the Stars Way theme reaching a crescendo – another of his lockdown obsessio...

“Do you think we’ll be able to celebrate Christmas this year,” Carol asked. “Depends on the Government’s virus regulations,” Chris replied. “Why?” “I’ll need to make the pudding soon. Twelve portions, to feed all the family.” “Can’t you make individual ones? If we can get together, we’ll cook all of them. If not, you and I can eat them two at a time!” Chris suggested. “Or we could send them to the kids as presents. That way even though we can’t meet, we’ll still be eating the same thing.” “Lovely idea. Let’s do that!” Carol started writing her shopping list.   by Josie Gilbert

“Hi, Mum. I’m at A & E, but it’s nothing serious,” Amber blurted out, as soon as her mother answered the phone. “Did something go wrong with that extraction?” her mother, Kim, interrupted. “I wish you’d let me go to the dentist with you this morning!” “No. That was fine – well it was ok. I felt a bit sick when I left the surgery, so I decided to take a taxi home. We were waiting at a red light in the high street, when a van hit us from behind. The taxi driver called the police and an ambulance – just to be on the safe side.”  “But are you ok?” Kim demanded hurriedly. “A few bruises and a stiff neck, but that’s it.” “Right, I’ll tell my boss what’s happened and then I’ll come and get you. I’ll be about fifteen minutes.” There was a slight pause at the other end of the line, and for a moment Kim though that Amber would ask her to stay at work. “That would be great Mum. See you soon. Love you.” “Love you too.” Amber hung up and...

For once the weather forecast had been correct. A fierce storm was blowing onto the shore, sending trails of spume across the sand dunes and speckling the marram grass with froth.  Behind the dunes lay a low bungalow, surrounded by a garden stunted by the sea laden air. Inside a couple sat on either side of the kitchen table, nervously watching the clock. “What time is high tide?” he asked. “Noon. In twenty minutes time,” she replied. They both stared across the garden towards the shore, searching for any sign that the sea was about to breach the dunes.  If it did, it would only take minutes to cross the short distance to their home, lying only a few feet above the high tide mark. As a precaution, they had already packed all their most valuable possessions into suitcases and loaded into their cars. Anything else that could be stacked above floor level was in position, just in case. Their neighbours had left a few hours earlier, saying they were h...

Becky’s finger began to throb again, pulsing rhythmically with her heart, but becoming more painful with each beat.   She glanced at the clock yet again and recalculated all her timings.   It was nearly four hours since she had trapped her right index finger in her ironing board and three and a half hours since her next-door neighbour, Ali, had driven her to hospital. Becky had decided not to ring her husband, Mike, as he was working the late shift at the factory, so would not return home until nine that night.   She thought she would have returned by then, especially as there were so few patients waiting when they arrived at A & E.   Admittedly, it was only a quarter of an hour before the triage nurse inspected her hand, took Becky’s details and told her she would be seen as soon as possible. Holding her arm upright to stem the bleeding, was making it ache even more, but she had no option. She and Ali had fidgeted on the hard, plastic seats for another h...

By Josie Gilbert Alison stood on a rocky outcrop, gazing fixedly at the waterfall. The autumn rains had swollen the river and now the torrent tumbled over the edge and fell the fifty or so feet to the pool below, sending up a dense spray. From there, it twisted and lurched over and between the rocks, before disappearing around a corner. A few yellowing leaves spiralled down from the birch trees and glinted like flecks of gold dust as the current carried them away. Alison had been deep in thought for some minutes, impervious to the drizzle that was seeping through her jacket. Suddenly she felt that something was pulling her irresistibly downwards into the abyss and the waiting water. She shook her head to dispel that idea and concentrated once more on the purpose that had drawn her to this spot. Five years had now passed since Rob had died here. A couple of hikers had found his body several miles downstream and when the authorities tracked back along the river, they ...