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Short story category: 15 Minutes

It wasn’t until she found the arm on the kitchen table, wrapped in a length of muslin up to the wrist, the hand exposed and the index finger pointing at her usual seat at the kitchen table, that Lucy started to have suspicions. Joe came down for breakfast five minutes later, groggy with sleep and

This is the place: four fields in the shape of a rough parallelogram. On her left, one part of the closest field is enclosed behind wire mesh. A path runs through long, wet grass towards a gate in the fence. Ahead of her is an open-fronted barn with a caravan parked inside it, a chimney rising from

I swayed in rhythm, holding her head against my shoulder. One hand stroked the long black hair, the other held a wine glass steady. The song coming out of my brand-new vintage-style record player was slow, sappy, somewhat crooning. A song pulled from her music library that, if I was being honest, sh

Annie swore at him, and pressed hard on the doorbell. ‘You’re a difficult man to love,’ she said. He took a step backwards and exhaled, glancing up at the star-pocked sky. The night was colder out here and he resented its damp weight upon him. He could not argue with her. He was a diffic

As always, our television is tuned to the all-day news and weather channel. This month is shaping up to be the wettest on record – again. Yesterday was the hottest day this month – also again. Today it is raining – multiple agains. And a storm is blowing in from the Atlantic that is scheduled

Anwar leaves his house looking the coolest I’ve ever seen him, and that’s saying something. He’s in the year above the rest of us. When he got serious about studying after Easter, we had to stop gigging. We’ve been rehearsing with a drum machine app since then, which isn’t nearly as good.

It was common knowledge that Stanley Walsh lived in a zoo. Through the yellowing lace curtains of 17 Church Street, passers-by regularly caught sight of a ferret’s tail or a pheasant’s wing, though few would linger long enough to see the whole picture. Old Stan had long kept to himself, rarely s

He calls me three times before I pick up. He doesn’t know my mobile phone number, so he calls my landline. One evening I’m at work, another out with a friend. I recognise the number, but I don’t call him back. What do I have to say to this man? I hardly know him. When I was a child, I dream

The children’s centre sat at the bottom of rickety steps descending from the end of the cul-de-sac. Dark brown brick set on an uneven weedy lawn – it was begrudgingly funded by the council. Everything was rationed and short-changed to the degree that visitors paid 50p for bitter, gritty coffee a

It didn’t start on social media. No, he couldn’t even blame the bubbly icons of validation on the phone, because it didn’t start there at all. It didn’t start at the pub or at work, and not even at the gym. It didn’t start at any one moment that Ryan could have put his finger on, were he i