Five sentence stories

Month: August, 2013

The riverbank

I remember half squatting in black rubber boots, one hand holding my father’s, the other in the river, tracing small circles in cold white clay. I was four.

I said something like “my hand is very very cold”,¬†and then my father tucked the fishing rods under his arm and said something like “here”, then picked my hand out of the river by the wrist and held it in his two warm hands. I stared at him with both my eyes and asked him why his hands were so warm, and whether I could keep them in my pockets.

He laughed and said something like, “but if you had my hands, how could we fish?”


Ferris wheel

nd up and up. Look dear can you see mummy? Wave to mummy. It’s okay dear we’re going down now. Down we go. Down and down a


It was at that point when she realised her friends had changed. That point when the old jokes didn’t carry the same potency. When most of the names in their sentences were the names of strangers.

“I might go home now. The bus comes soon.”


“We’re eating this now I’m taking the meds for my cholesterol. It’s got no gluten, no – no fat. No wheat. No…”

“No flavour?”

The architect

From the top he could see the city.

From the eightieth floor, the windows of his first studio.



From the fifty-fourth, the old apartment block of his dead wife and his tie, flapping violently in the breeze.




From the fourteenth floor, the pavement.

From the pavement, his wife.

Afternoon tea

Two mothers talk over tea about their sons’ recent car accidents.

“God and Ben had someone hit him the other month. Better look out, things come in threes.”

“Well no, not really. People just stop paying attention after three.”

The explosion

“It sounded like everything at once.”

“Can you be more specific sir?”

“It was so loud. And so silent.”

“From which direction sir?”

Dark before dawn

The night is always its darkest the hour before dawn.

Her husband would look out into that darkness before leaving for work. She knew because later in the morning she’d find half-eaten slices of bread on the windowsill.¬†Occasionally she found slices still in the toaster, or the bag left open to the air, or cold, forgotten tea.

Soon he’d retire, and she’d wake up with him to stare into the black.


.was ehs ohw tuo erugif ot elihw a reh koot tI

.erus t’nsaw ehS ?enoynA ?enolc A ?flesreH