Worthing Flash

by Ron James We had been married for five years, but no signs of any children. All the usual tests had been made and everything seemed to be working properly, but still no luck. We sat down one night to discuss it and decided that it was time to explore the possibility of adoption. Should we go for a youngster, or maybe a little older? We agreed on a youngster. After quite a while and thorough investigations we were offered an eight week old, one of triplets. There was some doubt as to who the father was, and they couldn’t stay with the mother. We thought he was beautiful and adored him from the moment he arrived. Everyone said how cute he was, and what lovely eyes he had. As he grew I would take him out for little walks, and as he got older he and I would go on walks into the countryside, something that was one of the highlights of his life, and mine as well. Just like a true father and son relationship should be. When he was nine years old he started to get h...

Adam stopped digging and looked up at the sky. The weatherman had got it wrong again. It was far warmer than forecast, although the predicted storm clouds were now gathering out towards the horizon. He brushed the perspiration from his forehead and removed his tattered pullover. It didn’t feel like the fifteenth year on his allotment. Each new spring bought its own excitement as if he had only just begun. He noticed a robin on his piece of dug earth. The tiny bird looked up at him expectantly. ‘ Hello young chap,’ Adam said, ‘looking for worms I’ll be bound.’ He imagined this was the same robin of the last few years but couldn’t know for sure. Still, it did have a similar white spot on its breast. Adam resumed digging out the apple root, a tree which now bore little fruit. It had been hard work chopping it down for a man already in his seventies. It was nearly lunchtime and he needed to get home to prepare a meal for Mary. Not that she understood the meaning of time now. He bu...

  The box appeared on the doorstep just before Christmas. Joe was puzzled; he hadn’t ordered anything and it was ages since they’d received a parcel. ‘What is it Joe?’ Brenda asked. ‘Let’s open it and see.’ He took the box to the dining room, ripped off the tape, lifted the flaps, removed the bubble-wrap and delved into the tightly packed straw. He pulled out a very fine statuette of a cat, eighteen inches high, fixed to a marble base. ‘Whoever sent it, Joe? It looks expensive.’ ‘It’s bronze, Bren.’ Joe examined the box labels; his address was correct; the sender’s address read:  Christmas Lottery,  Reindeer   Park , ME2 U4X.    ‘That’s not a postcode.’ Brenda exclaimed, ‘Perhaps there’s an address inside.’ Joe found a card under the straw; there was no address, just a rhyme.    Don’t sell, don’t tell, remember well.                    ...

   Ella Richardson placed the ad in the local paper and waited. Two weeks later she received the first response 27 Station Road Burley Dear Mrs Richardson, I saw your advert in the paper and thought that you might be just the sort of person to help me. I'm not good with words and all that and would like some help over a matter that has been causing me concern for some time. Jane Vickers Dear Jane Vickers, Thank you for your recent correspondence. I would be pleased to assist in any way I can. As stated in the advertisement, the format is that you send me your draft letter along with any other information which may be of use concerning the person or persons to whom the letter will be sent, and I would attempt to put into words the subject matter you would like conveyed. Look forward to hearing from you Ella Richardson. Dear Mrs Richardson, This is Jane Vickers who wrote asking for your help a few weeks ago. Please find enclosed a draft of the letter...

He again looked at the face, that aquiline nose on the hollowed cheeks now seemed more prominent in sleep. He was somehow holding on to life with a failing heart, which needed an immediate transplant. Fortuitously, the hospital had even managed to get a donor's heart, but the hitch was his high temperature. Should he show ‘Normal’ in the records? He knew time was running out. He decided not to. He remembered the rule. “Ensure the patient’s parameters are all normal. Never rush with an operation,” Dr Vincent would tell his class. Next day Dr Vincent, his affable teacher, passed away.. V ijay Pant is  a freelance writer living in India.

It was the morning after the party. My head hurt and the kitchen and living room looked like a mediaeval battlefield without the bodies. The kitchen was particularly badly hit with glasses everywhere; some were empty but most had the dregs of unfinished drinks. And every surface was liberally adorned with plates most of which had the remains of food. The living room was not much better but a cursory examination suggested that the hordes had at least neglected to spill their drink on the carpet. Then I heard movement; it was Sue. “See you later John.” “OK have a good day.” And with that, she was gone. She was unlucky or possibly lucky enough to need to go to work; given the state of the place, I might have chosen the same option. But my task was to clear up and restore normality. In a way, it was good that she was out. Things had not been good between us for some time. She seemed to think I spent too much time with the drama group in general and with Jill in particular. Jil...

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 ...