Writing
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The writers group
We met weekly, in the Tavistock Hotel. Dark, winter evenings after work. Exhausted, always, as I left my workstation and made my way through the cold streets; yet another day spent dealing with endless complaints. But approaching the hotel, seeing the yellow windows of the bar lit up in the night, a feeling of anticipation,…
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Haunted house
The house accommodates the man, holds his life. And, in the empty rooms, memories, like dust, lie all around. There is time to be happy, the house knows. The house was once happy. Potted plants shone greenly in the slant of the afternoon sun. There was laughter and the echo of laughter and then silence.…
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Nothing happens, but everything changes
In the stillness there are faint clicks, creaks. The house awakes. Outside, a first bird sings. He makes his breakfast, the usual routine. He could do it with his eyes closed. And soon the cold air warms to the aroma of his coffee brewing on the stove. The smell gives colour to the room, density…
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