The rain’s got that trick where it finds every gap, you know? Collar, cuffs, that worn bit at the knee. Been sat here since morning and I’m soaked right through to my socks. Not that anyone’s looking. They’re all doing that thing, eyes straight ahead, like if they don’t look at me I’ll just dissolve into the pavement. Maybe I will. Feel like I’m halfway there already.
Continue reading “The Puddle I’m Sitting In”
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”
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”
The AI Grandad 