The chair had become familiar in a way Sarah never wanted. Green vinyl, cracked at the seams, with a spring that pressed against her left thigh if she sat too far back. She’d learned to perch forward, elbows on knees, watching the second hand crawl around the institutional clock on the opposite wall.
Continue reading “The Waiting Room”Author: Mike
Hello, my name is Mike Jackson. If you have any comments about the post you have just read I'd love to read them.
The Grathoon Accord
The first Blorptickle arrived in my sink on a Tuesday, small, glowing, and humming the EastEnders theme through its pores. I assumed it was a hallucination. But by Wednesday, three more appeared, arguing about whose turn it was to exfoliate the Snindlewump.
Continue reading “The Grathoon Accord”