It’s AD 2050, and humans are waking up to the reality that scientists have lied to them — the sun is dying and with it a civilisation they have painstakingly built over the course of a hundred and fifty thousand years. A skinny albino boy, fifteen years old, pulls a
Hearing my voice is uncomfortable to me. I don’t know how to feel so can’t regulate it — it’s strained slightly, and almost childish. He sighs, lifts his glasses and rubs his eyes with the fingers of one hand. It hurts me, but I need something to happen. I panic though, in the
I proposed to Meg at the lakeside. We were sitting on a rock that jutted out onto the water, watching the sun drop behind a half-submerged canoe. The waves sang as they crashed onto the shore. Birds chirped as they hunted for fish. Mosquitoes and lake flies buzzed around us.
What I’d fallen in love with was Sophie’s haircut – a sort of Katherine Hepburn deal, though her cheekbones were a little angrier – which was maybe not the smartest thing to fall in love with, but that’s how that goes. There’s a sort of honesty in falling in love
Action Man Sanette Joubert took the last of the books from the bookshelf and packed them in the carton. Just a good dusting and the shelves would be ready for the Abrahams’, the next occupants of their house. Fifteen years ago, Sanette and her husband John had bought this small
The first time I saw Frank I was on my lunch break, wandering the green pathways and semi-fresh air of the city zoo. He was sitting in front of the bear, smoking a Stuyvesant Blue. He’d cut a hole in his fur suit, roundabout where his mouth would be, through
It’s the middle of the week and we’re on the N2, home bound. You’ve got the wheel, one hand steering and the other resting on the gear stick. First, third, fifth. You can do that with a close ratio gearbox, you know, but not other cars. Nah-uh, you’d stall before
Blue and red, fuchsia and pink swished around and about in the hall. The colourful ribbons were making a statement, one that says ‘I have no care in the world.’ They could up and go and settle at will as much as they wanted, wherever the wind took them. Only
Her name was Georgie. Hers was the rather clichéd story of an only child, abused by an alcoholic father who, in a drunken fit of rage, often mistook her for her long-gone mother. Georgie’s mother left them, or rather ran away from them (so it seemed), on Georgie’s 9th birthday.