Ten words, one tale. Ten tales, a hundred words.

She looked at me with wonderful blue eyes.

I know it's risky attempting to steer a liminal conversation but that's me...

Sometimes a scarecrow is just what's needed.

Very short story.

A short piece of lyrical prose.

It wasn’t fury that vitalised Hannah, it was loss, grief even – though heaven knows she shouldn’t be the one grieving. But she couldn’t bear him just carrying on without her.

“Jonah, are you with us?” Ms. Turner calls, her voice strained despite herself. She knows how hard it is for me. I know she’s trying. I know I’ve disappointed her. Again.

As I turned the page the edge cut my finger

"That tree," he says. "It's looking at me."

A long way overhead a jet soared, like a gull on currents of air.

What dark resentments stir in the primitive brain of Frankenstein?

It was Christmas the first time they made love; he said it felt like coming home

For seven years, dead girls came to my office.

We are there, we are ready...And then we sing.