Folastar has been keeping an eye on locations that might work for the school he dreams of. There are plenty of derelict and disused buildings in his home town and other impoverished areas under the domain of Meithsal authorities. But he has always seen, at a glance, just how many of these buildings are beyond…
Neighbours and friends lined up to congratulate him (1,400-word fiction)
Folastar smiles as he soars above Meithsal and heads towards its hinterlands, his heart lifting, as it always does when he is on his way home. He has adjusted to the jagged skyline and the dizzying spires – the peaks of which he can barely see when he looks up – and the aerial ships…
Hot Buttered Scones (a poem)
My grandmother had her best fare laid out well before she heard our wheels approach – barm brack, soda bread, hot buttered scones – and she’d boil the kettle one last time (before the doors opened and we all poured in, clutching suitcases and crisps and chocolates and blooping, bleeping devices she scarcely understood) so…
Fresh Breeze (an imaginative reflection)
There have been heartaches, yes – and sorrows that ripped away your certainties and slammed the breath from your body. Times when you have felt silenced: voice stoppered, pains weighing down your feet. Set down your loads for a while and allow peace to break through. Sit by the river and, pausing to take a…
Just you and me (340-word fiction)
Mark beamed drunkenly at his wife Sarah. He had, a few moments previously, flourished a hotel voucher in front of her and declared that he had won a bet. “So! We’ll go to Galway this weekend. Be nice to get away. Just you and me.” “Just you and me.” Sarah smiled a little uncertainly, staring…
We Never Made it (800-word fiction)
Freya’s bags are in the hall, lined up in order of size. I don’t know why. Just gave me something to do, I suppose. I while away the hours until she arrives, intermittently working (a quiet afternoon, by IT support standards – I only end up having to ask three people whether they’ve tried turning…
Justice? (250-word fiction)
Goldilocks was our favourite bedtime story when we were kids. In that age of schoolyard bullies, I guess we liked the idea that thieves would ultimately get their comeuppance – that you couldn’t just walk into someone’s home and break their favourite chair and eat all of their porridge without consequences. No: you would be caught out. You would have to answer for your actions. Papa Bear would be stern and enraged, Mama Bear would shout, “for shame!”, Baby Bear would cry his eyes out, and you would be struck by the deepest remorse.
You certainly wouldn’t smirk and whisper some disparaging remark to your lawyer when the victim impact statement was read out, that’s for sure.
The Ballroom Project, Chapter Two (3,600-word fiction)
Alilah must reach her brother. She must. She can’t quite see him – it seems to her that he is standing at the other side of a vast, unfamiliar hallway, his silhouette barely visible – and she is running to reach him, yet the faster she moves, the further he slips from her view. She…
See Yourself / Your Solace 🌼 (spoken word poetry)
Soul healing for those who feel misunderstood, out of place … holding a vision that is yet unsteady on its feet. ❤️ See Yourself Drop your burdens and let dawning light caress your face.You hold a vision that is yet unsteady on its feetamidst rushing lines of traffic,the clicks and taps of impassioned argument. You…
She’ll be out of here as soon as possible (fiction)
Ellen knew that today’s biology class would be a nightmare. She skimmed through the textbook at the end of summer – just to familiarise herself with the syllabus before the term started – and as soon as she saw the chapter about the human reproductive system, her heart sank, because she knew what to expect. There would be audible snorts and giggles and furtively whispered remarks around the room, especially at the back of the class.
Aisling Maria Cronin 