a metaphor on social death — Make the jump. These words did not so much flash across Rita’s mind, as course through her body, as she teetered on the cold stone ledge. …

a metaphor for my life lately — She stepped out ill prepared for the worst. After all, the mute-grey blanket of the sky threatened nothing more than a bland muggy stillness — as that had been the weather’s state all day. …

your essence makes my pip whole

When the dish tried to run away with the spoon. — It was cleaning day at Fossil’s Mansion, and this was never a simple or easy affair. Everything, and I mean absolutely everything, got scrubbed, polished, washed, swept, rinsed, soaked and generally cleansed — to the last inch of its natural existence — by the Mansion’s battery of domestic staff. Cleaning…

when fiction tells reality’s story of woe much better — It had been so long since Lucille had been paid and she could not work out how she had gotten herself into such a 21st century predicament. …

A “Wise World Without End” tale for our times — It was foretold by the Oracle that the dark days would come, when we — the Abassa sentinels — would have to lay down our glorious wings in sacrificial exchange for freedom. And of course, when the day came, it was much like any other ending: sudden, sharp and laden…

A Mystical Tale of Our Kind Dimelda stood over the now tepid Aga cooker, staring blindly at the kitchen wall — while the bottom-end of her ladle rose effortlessly in the thick potion. Neglected, it had no option but to rise and float in the concoction simmering on the stove. …

a brief account of the mediocre en dos lenguas — No puedo describir como era aquella mañana cuando me desperté con rapidez porque pensaba que mi vida no andaba como yo quería. …