‘Don’t step in the mud!’ her mother shrieked, and her father yanked her clear.  Grown, she became a potter, slathered up to her elbows in sticky clay, making up for lost time.

His fish were thin and his chips were soggy but he’d a lovely line in sauce.

Nanosecond.Really.  She was there, burbling at some worm on the pavement, doing that little dance.  Then the future hit.  Black Audi, forty-five miles an hour.  She knew not to go on the road.  The coffin was tiny.  I don’t let the others out now.  Street’s just not safe anymore.

*Originally published by www.the-phone-book.com (now archived)

He’dtrieditonseveraloccasionsbutitalwaysgavehimanawfulmigraine*

*Originally published by www.the-phone-book.com (now archived)