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PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are inHIM AND HER
Vesna Main. He had upset her. It was about time she told him, she said, that his attitude was hurting her. She was undermined as a woman. Her confidence was seeping away. He said he didn’t want to lose her. He was prepared to do what was necessary. He was prepared tochange.
THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
3 OUT OF 5 LEE HAMBLIN Three Out Of Five. Lee Hamblin . THE FIRST is smell. A heightened awareness of something most foul. Noxious fumes itching my nose, prickling my stomach.PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are inHIM AND HER
Vesna Main. He had upset her. It was about time she told him, she said, that his attitude was hurting her. She was undermined as a woman. Her confidence was seeping away. He said he didn’t want to lose her. He was prepared to do what was necessary. He was prepared tochange.
THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
3 OUT OF 5 LEE HAMBLIN Three Out Of Five. Lee Hamblin . THE FIRST is smell. A heightened awareness of something most foul. Noxious fumes itching my nose, prickling my stomach.TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. LEFTOVERS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE On the second day, proper Christmas Eve, the lodged excitement erupts. We three rise to a fizzy feeling of joy, that sort of childish glee which although becomes fleeting after your teenage years, never quite fades under the right circumstances. Despite this sense of anticipation, the eve is not the real event. APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are in THE SUMMER BREEZE IS HERE! The Summer Breeze is here! Whilst the weather has become distinctly non-summer like, today is the day we launch the first of our summer edits 'The Summer Breeze'. Three thought-provoking pieces that consist of a short story, a piece of flash fiction and a poem. We hope you enjoy them as much as we did. RENDEZ-VOUS VESNA MAIN Rendez-vous Vesna Main . Today, unusually for her, she was at a loose end. Perhaps, that wasn’t the right phrase. She had plenty to do but in the past few days, weeks even, she has felt directionless. THE CAT S STEPHENSON The Cat. Samuel Stephenson I am getting rid of my cat. The decision has been made, the cat must go, and it’s fallen to me to negotiateher disposal.
BLUE SKY SCREAMING
Blue Sky Screaming. EM Martin . I’ll start with the most important part of the story, which is the day I screamed at the sky. It was so clear and so wide, and my scream was so loud that I hit blue.DELAYED SHOCK
In old age, this childish passion becomes a cherished memory, a bright star in our evening sky - shining because it was and is The Secret, shining only for ourselves. Childhood friendships acquire a similar warm patina. So when Alan got in touch through the wonders of the internet, after an absence of nearly sixty years, I was delighted. WE'RE A LONG TIME GONE...(BUT WE'RE BACK) but we're back! Finally out of hibernation but staying at home of course. Our hiatus only started out as a ‘small break’..and then six months later.. It wasn’t planned, nor was it intentional. Life just, well you know, got in the way. You could say we were distracted. Small matters like demanding jobs and trying to move house - those things that tend to consume you whilst you ONE EVENING JOHN WHITE ONE EVENING. JOHN WHITE. . It was a lot to take in. Six weeks ago, the last place Michael thought he’d be was the mid-West of the USA, a country he’d never visited. But here he was. He’d now got over the jet-lag, given the lecture, survived the reception at the Professor of Economics’ house, and was guest of honour at a restaurant in town.PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are inHIM AND HER
Vesna Main. He had upset her. It was about time she told him, she said, that his attitude was hurting her. She was undermined as a woman. Her confidence was seeping away. He said he didn’t want to lose her. He was prepared to do what was necessary. He was prepared tochange.
THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
3 OUT OF 5 LEE HAMBLIN Three Out Of Five. Lee Hamblin . THE FIRST is smell. A heightened awareness of something most foul. Noxious fumes itching my nose, prickling my stomach.PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are inHIM AND HER
Vesna Main. He had upset her. It was about time she told him, she said, that his attitude was hurting her. She was undermined as a woman. Her confidence was seeping away. He said he didn’t want to lose her. He was prepared to do what was necessary. He was prepared tochange.
THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
3 OUT OF 5 LEE HAMBLIN Three Out Of Five. Lee Hamblin . THE FIRST is smell. A heightened awareness of something most foul. Noxious fumes itching my nose, prickling my stomach.TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. LEFTOVERS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE On the second day, proper Christmas Eve, the lodged excitement erupts. We three rise to a fizzy feeling of joy, that sort of childish glee which although becomes fleeting after your teenage years, never quite fades under the right circumstances. Despite this sense of anticipation, the eve is not the real event. APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are in THE SUMMER BREEZE IS HERE! The Summer Breeze is here! Whilst the weather has become distinctly non-summer like, today is the day we launch the first of our summer edits 'The Summer Breeze'. Three thought-provoking pieces that consist of a short story, a piece of flash fiction and a poem. We hope you enjoy them as much as we did. RENDEZ-VOUS VESNA MAIN Rendez-vous Vesna Main . Today, unusually for her, she was at a loose end. Perhaps, that wasn’t the right phrase. She had plenty to do but in the past few days, weeks even, she has felt directionless. THE CAT S STEPHENSON The Cat. Samuel Stephenson I am getting rid of my cat. The decision has been made, the cat must go, and it’s fallen to me to negotiateher disposal.
BLUE SKY SCREAMING
Blue Sky Screaming. EM Martin . I’ll start with the most important part of the story, which is the day I screamed at the sky. It was so clear and so wide, and my scream was so loud that I hit blue.DELAYED SHOCK
In old age, this childish passion becomes a cherished memory, a bright star in our evening sky - shining because it was and is The Secret, shining only for ourselves. Childhood friendships acquire a similar warm patina. So when Alan got in touch through the wonders of the internet, after an absence of nearly sixty years, I was delighted. WE'RE A LONG TIME GONE...(BUT WE'RE BACK) but we're back! Finally out of hibernation but staying at home of course. Our hiatus only started out as a ‘small break’..and then six months later.. It wasn’t planned, nor was it intentional. Life just, well you know, got in the way. You could say we were distracted. Small matters like demanding jobs and trying to move house - those things that tend to consume you whilst you ONE EVENING JOHN WHITE ONE EVENING. JOHN WHITE. . It was a lot to take in. Six weeks ago, the last place Michael thought he’d be was the mid-West of the USA, a country he’d never visited. But here he was. He’d now got over the jet-lag, given the lecture, survived the reception at the Professor of Economics’ house, and was guest of honour at a restaurant in town.PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
By using our website you are consenting to the use of cookies. See privacy policy for more.ALL THE WAYS
I often think about the concept of Chekov’s gun, the storytelling device that, “if there’s a gun in the first act it has to go off by the second act.”HIM AND HER
Vesna Main lives in London. Her stories have appeared in journals and two have been selected for the anthology Best British Short Stories (Salt 2017 and 2019). THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift.THE OTHER WOMAN
Hannah Glickstein has written for the Camden New Journal, Catholic Herald, Huffington Post and Spectator Schools and was shortlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2016. APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Steve Melia has just returned to writing fiction after a gap of 19 years. His novel, Sins of the Fathers, was published by Vanguard in 2002. In the meantime, he has been SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE When I was three, I fell on a craggy ground and cut my chin on the sharp edge of a protruding stone. An older friend took me home, where my father, a newly qualified doctor, ran a surgery for everything and everyone living in that small provincial town and the largesurrounding area.
TRAIL’S END
Having completed a MSc Historic Conservation at Oxford Brookes, Joel James has again turned his hand to creative writing, an interest he misplaced while writing his masters dissertation. 3 OUT OF 5 LEE HAMBLIN Three Out Of Five. Lee Hamblin . THE FIRST is smell. A heightened awareness of something most foul. Noxious fumes itching my nose, prickling my stomach.PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
By using our website you are consenting to the use of cookies. See privacy policy for more.ALL THE WAYS
I often think about the concept of Chekov’s gun, the storytelling device that, “if there’s a gun in the first act it has to go off by the second act.”HIM AND HER
Vesna Main lives in London. Her stories have appeared in journals and two have been selected for the anthology Best British Short Stories (Salt 2017 and 2019). THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift.THE OTHER WOMAN
Hannah Glickstein has written for the Camden New Journal, Catholic Herald, Huffington Post and Spectator Schools and was shortlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2016. APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Steve Melia has just returned to writing fiction after a gap of 19 years. His novel, Sins of the Fathers, was published by Vanguard in 2002. In the meantime, he has been SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE When I was three, I fell on a craggy ground and cut my chin on the sharp edge of a protruding stone. An older friend took me home, where my father, a newly qualified doctor, ran a surgery for everything and everyone living in that small provincial town and the largesurrounding area.
TRAIL’S END
Having completed a MSc Historic Conservation at Oxford Brookes, Joel James has again turned his hand to creative writing, an interest he misplaced while writing his masters dissertation. 3 OUT OF 5 LEE HAMBLIN Three Out Of Five. Lee Hamblin . THE FIRST is smell. A heightened awareness of something most foul. Noxious fumes itching my nose, prickling my stomach. LEFTOVERS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE It was the chalk cliffs coming into view from the window seat that let me know I was coming home. When I was waiting in line for my ticket at the station, when I had called my sister to ask for a lift – those plans had formed the seed of a homecoming. APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Steve Melia has just returned to writing fiction after a gap of 19 years. His novel, Sins of the Fathers, was published by Vanguard in 2002. In the meantime, he has been THE SUMMER BREEZE IS HERE! Whilst the weather has become distinctly non-summer like, today is the day we launch the first of our summer edits 'The Summer Breeze'. Three thought-provoking pieces that consist of a short story, a piece of flash fiction and a poem. We hope you enjoy them as much as we did. Our next edit will be ready in August when we'll feature a bumper collection of fiction, right on time for the summer RENDEZ-VOUS VESNA MAIN Rendez-vous Vesna Main . Today, unusually for her, she was at a loose end. Perhaps, that wasn’t the right phrase. She had plenty to do but in the past few days, weeks even, she has felt directionless.DELAYED SHOCK
When I was a small child in the 1950s, the passion you conceived for another child was utterly secret: you contemplated the loved one from afar; you never spoke of love even to yourself; silent blushes were your only communication. A BILLION MILES AWAY GARY DUNCAN A Billion Miles Away. Gary Duncan . He stands at the water’s edge and screams. “What about me!” The waves don’t listen, they just come and go, come and go, as waves do. THE CAT S STEPHENSON The Cat. Samuel Stephenson I am getting rid of my cat. The decision has been made, the cat must go, and it’s fallen to me to negotiateher disposal.
A BUG'S LIFE JOHN D ASHTON A Bug's Life. John D. Ashton Another bill dropped through Andrew Gibson's letterbox alongside the annoyingly familiar local junk mailthat he loathed.
ONE EVENING JOHN WHITE It was a lot to take in. Six weeks ago, the last place Michael thought he’d be was the mid-West of the USA, a country he’d never visited.But here he was.
THE CARPET CIRCULAR AFFAIR For want of reading matter (other than the label on the sauce bottle), I was reading the story in my gran’s magazine. It seemed that Madeleine, a nurse with a mass of dark curls and a pretty retroussé nose, had been initially drawn to Jimmy, the gynaecologist, who was alot of fun.
PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
LEFTOVERS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE On the second day, proper Christmas Eve, the lodged excitement erupts. We three rise to a fizzy feeling of joy, that sort of childish glee which although becomes fleeting after your teenage years, never quite fades under the right circumstances. Despite this sense of anticipation, the eve is not the real event.THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are in THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
THE SUMMER BREEZE IS HERE! The Summer Breeze is here! Whilst the weather has become distinctly non-summer like, today is the day we launch the first of our summer edits 'The Summer Breeze'. Three thought-provoking pieces that consist of a short story, a piece of flash fiction and a poem. We hope you enjoy them as much as we did. SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
LEFTOVERS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE On the second day, proper Christmas Eve, the lodged excitement erupts. We three rise to a fizzy feeling of joy, that sort of childish glee which although becomes fleeting after your teenage years, never quite fades under the right circumstances. Despite this sense of anticipation, the eve is not the real event.THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are in THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
THE SUMMER BREEZE IS HERE! The Summer Breeze is here! Whilst the weather has become distinctly non-summer like, today is the day we launch the first of our summer edits 'The Summer Breeze'. Three thought-provoking pieces that consist of a short story, a piece of flash fiction and a poem. We hope you enjoy them as much as we did. SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE When I was three, I fell on a craggy ground and cut my chin on the sharp edge of a protruding stone. An older friend took me home, where my father, a newly qualified doctor, ran a surgery for everything and everyone living in that small provincial town and the largesurrounding area.
TIMES THEY ARE A'CHANGING ( AREN'T THEY JUST...) With that in mind, and with some of the time that has been afforded to us, we've been thinking about how we might improve Platform. If you have visited the site recently you will have noticed some changes. IT’S OUR 4TH ANNIVERSARY! Platform has reached its fourth year! Big thanks to our writers, readers, Twitter followers and Facebook page likers! In whichever way you have supported us we appreciate it. We value the support! When Platform started out, it did so off the back of our penchant for the short form. In our opinion there’s nothing better than indulging the mind in a burst of quality fiction that whilst shortHAPPY NEW YEAR
Along with everyone else in the world tonight we will be raising a glass or two and saying good riddance to 2020. A big, fat goodbye to a year that started off with such promise and ended with life like none of us could have imagined. And so on the midnight hour it’ll be with open-arms that we’ll be saying hello to 2021, hoping for a more prosperous year for us all. IN THE LANDSCAPE R.BICKERSTAFF In the Landscape. Russ Bickerstaff . WE HAD BEEN TRAVELLING through the landscape for a long time. It might well have been millennia. I was willing to accept the fact that time was behaving a little weird.DELAYED SHOCK
In old age, this childish passion becomes a cherished memory, a bright star in our evening sky - shining because it was and is The Secret, shining only for ourselves. Childhood friendships acquire a similar warm patina. So when Alan got in touch through the wonders of the internet, after an absence of nearly sixty years, I was delighted. A BILLION MILES AWAY GARY DUNCAN A Billion Miles Away. Gary Duncan . He stands at the water’s edge and screams. “What about me!” The waves don’t listen, they just come and go, come and go, as waves do. WE'RE A LONG TIME GONE...(BUT WE'RE BACK) but we're back! Finally out of hibernation but staying at home of course. Our hiatus only started out as a ‘small break’..and then six months later.. It wasn’t planned, nor was it intentional. Life just, well you know, got in the way. You could say we were distracted. Small matters like demanding jobs and trying to move house - those things that tend to consume you whilst you THE EMPTY NESTER L STEVENS Empty Nester. Lauryn Stevens Sitting in her kitchen, I’m waiting for the interrogation to begin. She is busy making green tea and snack, but it is coming, it always does.PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
HIM AND HER
Vesna Main. He had upset her. It was about time she told him, she said, that his attitude was hurting her. She was undermined as a woman. Her confidence was seeping away. He said he didn’t want to lose her. He was prepared to do what was necessary. He was prepared tochange.
THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
3 OUT OF 5 LEE HAMBLIN Three Out Of Five. Lee Hamblin . THE FIRST is smell. A heightened awareness of something most foul. Noxious fumes itching my nose, prickling my stomach. THE MAY QUEEN RICHARD LAKIN THE MAY QUEEN Richard Lakin Every May, the floral bonnet would appear at the foot of the tree. Hawthorn blossom, buttercups and daisies would be glued to tissue paper and taped to a small, drum-shaped coilof white card.
PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
HIM AND HER
Vesna Main. He had upset her. It was about time she told him, she said, that his attitude was hurting her. She was undermined as a woman. Her confidence was seeping away. He said he didn’t want to lose her. He was prepared to do what was necessary. He was prepared tochange.
THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
3 OUT OF 5 LEE HAMBLIN Three Out Of Five. Lee Hamblin . THE FIRST is smell. A heightened awareness of something most foul. Noxious fumes itching my nose, prickling my stomach. THE MAY QUEEN RICHARD LAKIN THE MAY QUEEN Richard Lakin Every May, the floral bonnet would appear at the foot of the tree. Hawthorn blossom, buttercups and daisies would be glued to tissue paper and taped to a small, drum-shaped coilof white card.
LEFTOVERS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE On the second day, proper Christmas Eve, the lodged excitement erupts. We three rise to a fizzy feeling of joy, that sort of childish glee which although becomes fleeting after your teenage years, never quite fades under the right circumstances. Despite this sense of anticipation, the eve is not the real event. APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are in THE SUMMER BREEZE IS HERE! The Summer Breeze is here! Whilst the weather has become distinctly non-summer like, today is the day we launch the first of our summer edits 'The Summer Breeze'. Three thought-provoking pieces that consist of a short story, a piece of flash fiction and a poem. We hope you enjoy them as much as we did. RENDEZ-VOUS VESNA MAIN Rendez-vous Vesna Main . Today, unusually for her, she was at a loose end. Perhaps, that wasn’t the right phrase. She had plenty to do but in the past few days, weeks even, she has felt directionless.DELAYED SHOCK
In old age, this childish passion becomes a cherished memory, a bright star in our evening sky - shining because it was and is The Secret, shining only for ourselves. Childhood friendships acquire a similar warm patina. So when Alan got in touch through the wonders of the internet, after an absence of nearly sixty years, I was delighted. THE CAT S STEPHENSON The Cat. Samuel Stephenson I am getting rid of my cat. The decision has been made, the cat must go, and it’s fallen to me to negotiateher disposal.
A BILLION MILES AWAY GARY DUNCAN A Billion Miles Away. Gary Duncan . He stands at the water’s edge and screams. “What about me!” The waves don’t listen, they just come and go, come and go, as waves do. A BUG'S LIFE JOHN D ASHTON A Bug's Life. John D. Ashton Another bill dropped through Andrew Gibson's letterbox alongside the annoyingly familiar local junk mailthat he loathed.
ONE EVENING JOHN WHITE ONE EVENING. JOHN WHITE. . It was a lot to take in. Six weeks ago, the last place Michael thought he’d be was the mid-West of the USA, a country he’d never visited. But here he was. He’d now got over the jet-lag, given the lecture, survived the reception at the Professor of Economics’ house, and was guest of honour at a restaurant in town. THE CARPET CIRCULAR AFFAIR For want of reading matter (other than the label on the sauce bottle), I was reading the story in my gran’s magazine. It seemed that Madeleine, a nurse with a mass of dark curls and a pretty retroussé nose, had been initially drawn to Jimmy, the gynaecologist, who was alot of fun.
PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are in THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.HIM AND HER
Vesna Main. He had upset her. It was about time she told him, she said, that his attitude was hurting her. She was undermined as a woman. Her confidence was seeping away. He said he didn’t want to lose her. He was prepared to do what was necessary. He was prepared tochange.
SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. A BILLION MILES AWAY GARY DUNCAN A Billion Miles Away. Gary Duncan . He stands at the water’s edge and screams. “What about me!” The waves don’t listen, they just come and go, come and go, as waves do.PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are in THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.HIM AND HER
Vesna Main. He had upset her. It was about time she told him, she said, that his attitude was hurting her. She was undermined as a woman. Her confidence was seeping away. He said he didn’t want to lose her. He was prepared to do what was necessary. He was prepared tochange.
SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. A BILLION MILES AWAY GARY DUNCAN A Billion Miles Away. Gary Duncan . He stands at the water’s edge and screams. “What about me!” The waves don’t listen, they just come and go, come and go, as waves do. LEFTOVERS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE On the second day, proper Christmas Eve, the lodged excitement erupts. We three rise to a fizzy feeling of joy, that sort of childish glee which although becomes fleeting after your teenage years, never quite fades under the right circumstances. Despite this sense of anticipation, the eve is not the real event. THE SUMMER BREEZE IS HERE! The Summer Breeze is here! Whilst the weather has become distinctly non-summer like, today is the day we launch the first of our summer edits 'The Summer Breeze'. Three thought-provoking pieces that consist of a short story, a piece of flash fiction and a poem. We hope you enjoy them as much as we did. TIMES THEY ARE A'CHANGING ( AREN'T THEY JUST...) With that in mind, and with some of the time that has been afforded to us, we've been thinking about how we might improve Platform. If you have visited the site recently you will have noticed some changes. 3 OUT OF 5 LEE HAMBLIN Three Out Of Five. Lee Hamblin . THE FIRST is smell. A heightened awareness of something most foul. Noxious fumes itching my nose, prickling my stomach. A BILLION MILES AWAY GARY DUNCAN A Billion Miles Away. Gary Duncan . He stands at the water’s edge and screams. “What about me!” The waves don’t listen, they just come and go, come and go, as waves do.DELAYED SHOCK
In old age, this childish passion becomes a cherished memory, a bright star in our evening sky - shining because it was and is The Secret, shining only for ourselves. Childhood friendships acquire a similar warm patina. So when Alan got in touch through the wonders of the internet, after an absence of nearly sixty years, I was delighted. A BUG'S LIFE JOHN D ASHTON A Bug's Life. John D. Ashton Another bill dropped through Andrew Gibson's letterbox alongside the annoyingly familiar local junk mailthat he loathed.
THE CARPET CIRCULAR AFFAIR For want of reading matter (other than the label on the sauce bottle), I was reading the story in my gran’s magazine. It seemed that Madeleine, a nurse with a mass of dark curls and a pretty retroussé nose, had been initially drawn to Jimmy, the gynaecologist, who was alot of fun.
THE MAY QUEEN RICHARD LAKIN THE MAY QUEEN Richard Lakin Every May, the floral bonnet would appear at the foot of the tree. Hawthorn blossom, buttercups and daisies would be glued to tissue paper and taped to a small, drum-shaped coilof white card.
ONE EVENING JOHN WHITE ONE EVENING. JOHN WHITE. . It was a lot to take in. Six weeks ago, the last place Michael thought he’d be was the mid-West of the USA, a country he’d never visited. But here he was. He’d now got over the jet-lag, given the lecture, survived the reception at the Professor of Economics’ house, and was guest of honour at a restaurant in town.PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are in THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.HIM AND HER
Vesna Main. He had upset her. It was about time she told him, she said, that his attitude was hurting her. She was undermined as a woman. Her confidence was seeping away. He said he didn’t want to lose her. He was prepared to do what was necessary. He was prepared tochange.
SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. A BILLION MILES AWAY GARY DUNCAN A Billion Miles Away. Gary Duncan . He stands at the water’s edge and screams. “What about me!” The waves don’t listen, they just come and go, come and go, as waves do.PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are in THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.HIM AND HER
Vesna Main. He had upset her. It was about time she told him, she said, that his attitude was hurting her. She was undermined as a woman. Her confidence was seeping away. He said he didn’t want to lose her. He was prepared to do what was necessary. He was prepared tochange.
SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. A BILLION MILES AWAY GARY DUNCAN A Billion Miles Away. Gary Duncan . He stands at the water’s edge and screams. “What about me!” The waves don’t listen, they just come and go, come and go, as waves do. LEFTOVERS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE On the second day, proper Christmas Eve, the lodged excitement erupts. We three rise to a fizzy feeling of joy, that sort of childish glee which although becomes fleeting after your teenage years, never quite fades under the right circumstances. Despite this sense of anticipation, the eve is not the real event. THE SUMMER BREEZE IS HERE! The Summer Breeze is here! Whilst the weather has become distinctly non-summer like, today is the day we launch the first of our summer edits 'The Summer Breeze'. Three thought-provoking pieces that consist of a short story, a piece of flash fiction and a poem. We hope you enjoy them as much as we did. TIMES THEY ARE A'CHANGING ( AREN'T THEY JUST...) With that in mind, and with some of the time that has been afforded to us, we've been thinking about how we might improve Platform. If you have visited the site recently you will have noticed some changes. 3 OUT OF 5 LEE HAMBLIN Three Out Of Five. Lee Hamblin . THE FIRST is smell. A heightened awareness of something most foul. Noxious fumes itching my nose, prickling my stomach. A BILLION MILES AWAY GARY DUNCAN A Billion Miles Away. Gary Duncan . He stands at the water’s edge and screams. “What about me!” The waves don’t listen, they just come and go, come and go, as waves do.DELAYED SHOCK
In old age, this childish passion becomes a cherished memory, a bright star in our evening sky - shining because it was and is The Secret, shining only for ourselves. Childhood friendships acquire a similar warm patina. So when Alan got in touch through the wonders of the internet, after an absence of nearly sixty years, I was delighted. A BUG'S LIFE JOHN D ASHTON A Bug's Life. John D. Ashton Another bill dropped through Andrew Gibson's letterbox alongside the annoyingly familiar local junk mailthat he loathed.
THE CARPET CIRCULAR AFFAIR For want of reading matter (other than the label on the sauce bottle), I was reading the story in my gran’s magazine. It seemed that Madeleine, a nurse with a mass of dark curls and a pretty retroussé nose, had been initially drawn to Jimmy, the gynaecologist, who was alot of fun.
THE MAY QUEEN RICHARD LAKIN THE MAY QUEEN Richard Lakin Every May, the floral bonnet would appear at the foot of the tree. Hawthorn blossom, buttercups and daisies would be glued to tissue paper and taped to a small, drum-shaped coilof white card.
ONE EVENING JOHN WHITE ONE EVENING. JOHN WHITE. . It was a lot to take in. Six weeks ago, the last place Michael thought he’d be was the mid-West of the USA, a country he’d never visited. But here he was. He’d now got over the jet-lag, given the lecture, survived the reception at the Professor of Economics’ house, and was guest of honour at a restaurant in town.PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are in THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.HIM AND HER
Vesna Main. He had upset her. It was about time she told him, she said, that his attitude was hurting her. She was undermined as a woman. Her confidence was seeping away. He said he didn’t want to lose her. He was prepared to do what was necessary. He was prepared tochange.
SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. A BILLION MILES AWAY GARY DUNCAN A Billion Miles Away. Gary Duncan . He stands at the water’s edge and screams. “What about me!” The waves don’t listen, they just come and go, come and go, as waves do.PLATFORM FOR PROSE
T his messageboard is monitored. We would respectfully ask that all comments are of a constructive nature in keeping with the spirit of the Platform community.. Once there is a maximum of 10 comments, each will be transferred to the relevant story as accessed through the Writing page above. Both these and comments that have been previously left by readers can be viewed at the bottom of eachWRITING | PLATFORM
Our collections of short stories, flash fiction and poetry from current and past editions. Appeal to the Ancestors. Steve Melia. SHORT STORY. 2021. The HOPE Collection. The Other Woman. Hannah Glickstein.SHORT STORY.
ALL THE WAYS
Lauren Busser is a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her flash fiction "How to Unravel a Shawl" is among the selections for Best Small Fictions 2020 and her nonfiction work has received several honors from the Connecticut Press Club's Annual Communications Contest. Her writing has also appeared on StarTrek.com, Cease, Cows, PopshotQuarterly
APPEAL TO THE ANCESTORS Boredom is gradually replacing anxiety, listening to the muffled lap of the waves, looking into emptiness with the past and the present spinning loops through my mind. My father will be with the elders now, preparing for the ceremony, planning their appeal to the ancestors. I would never say this to him but I’m not sure the ancestors are in THEMANGROVERSTONEHILL Mangrove. Rebecca Stonehill. . . I am the marvel that is mangrove: torn by a hurricane from the shore and carried deep into the ocean where I find myself, adrift. By rights, I shouldn’t be here, for everything is against me. But over millennia, I have learnt how to survive and even more: thrive. Look at me, upright and homeless andproud as
THE OTHER WOMAN
In the morning, waking to feed the baby with Sebastian sprawled in my bed: pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, grey chest hairs, quietly snoring. Ronan goose-stepping up and down the hall in just a nappy leaning on our hands, laughing and changing direction, for him to step is a glorious thing - where you end up unimportant.HIM AND HER
Vesna Main. He had upset her. It was about time she told him, she said, that his attitude was hurting her. She was undermined as a woman. Her confidence was seeping away. He said he didn’t want to lose her. He was prepared to do what was necessary. He was prepared tochange.
SCARS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE Seeing me lying on the operating table, my mother almost fainted. When I was fourteen, I fell into snow while throwing snowballs with my friends during a lunch break at school. I cut my knee on some broken glass. The school nurse stuck a plaster on the wound. At home, my father said the cut was too dip to heal neatly and it was bad for awoman
TRAIL’S END
A shiver creeps through her body. Her eyes turn to me; they are wide, alarmed. The sunset bestows a crown between her pointed ears. I speak to her in hushed tones, gentle utterances that always calmed her. She turns away. Another shiver. I press my spurs to her flank; she remains motionless. I sigh, pulling the coarse blanket closer. A BILLION MILES AWAY GARY DUNCAN A Billion Miles Away. Gary Duncan . He stands at the water’s edge and screams. “What about me!” The waves don’t listen, they just come and go, come and go, as waves do. LEFTOVERS - PLATFORM FOR PROSE On the second day, proper Christmas Eve, the lodged excitement erupts. We three rise to a fizzy feeling of joy, that sort of childish glee which although becomes fleeting after your teenage years, never quite fades under the right circumstances. Despite this sense of anticipation, the eve is not the real event. THE SUMMER BREEZE IS HERE! The Summer Breeze is here! Whilst the weather has become distinctly non-summer like, today is the day we launch the first of our summer edits 'The Summer Breeze'. Three thought-provoking pieces that consist of a short story, a piece of flash fiction and a poem. We hope you enjoy them as much as we did. TIMES THEY ARE A'CHANGING ( AREN'T THEY JUST...) With that in mind, and with some of the time that has been afforded to us, we've been thinking about how we might improve Platform. If you have visited the site recently you will have noticed some changes. 3 OUT OF 5 LEE HAMBLIN Three Out Of Five. Lee Hamblin . THE FIRST is smell. A heightened awareness of something most foul. Noxious fumes itching my nose, prickling my stomach. A BILLION MILES AWAY GARY DUNCAN A Billion Miles Away. Gary Duncan . He stands at the water’s edge and screams. “What about me!” The waves don’t listen, they just come and go, come and go, as waves do.DELAYED SHOCK
In old age, this childish passion becomes a cherished memory, a bright star in our evening sky - shining because it was and is The Secret, shining only for ourselves. Childhood friendships acquire a similar warm patina. So when Alan got in touch through the wonders of the internet, after an absence of nearly sixty years, I was delighted. A BUG'S LIFE JOHN D ASHTON A Bug's Life. John D. Ashton Another bill dropped through Andrew Gibson's letterbox alongside the annoyingly familiar local junk mailthat he loathed.
THE CARPET CIRCULAR AFFAIR For want of reading matter (other than the label on the sauce bottle), I was reading the story in my gran’s magazine. It seemed that Madeleine, a nurse with a mass of dark curls and a pretty retroussé nose, had been initially drawn to Jimmy, the gynaecologist, who was alot of fun.
THE MAY QUEEN RICHARD LAKIN THE MAY QUEEN Richard Lakin Every May, the floral bonnet would appear at the foot of the tree. Hawthorn blossom, buttercups and daisies would be glued to tissue paper and taped to a small, drum-shaped coilof white card.
ONE EVENING JOHN WHITE ONE EVENING. JOHN WHITE. . It was a lot to take in. Six weeks ago, the last place Michael thought he’d be was the mid-West of the USA, a country he’d never visited. But here he was. He’d now got over the jet-lag, given the lecture, survived the reception at the Professor of Economics’ house, and was guest of honour at a restaurant in town.PLATFORM
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THE EQUINOX EDITION - SEPTEMBER 2019BLOGPOST
FROM AN OLDER WOMAN
NIGEL JARRETT
A BILLION MILES AWAYGARY DUNCAN
THE MAY QUEEN
RICHARD LAKIN
WHAT LIES WITHIN
FABRICE POUSSIN
NEWS
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'WRITING HAS LAWS OF PERSPECTIVE, OF LIGHT AND SHADE JUST AS PAINTING DOES, OR MUSIC. IF YOU ARE BORN KNOWING THEM, FINE. IF NOT, LEARN THEM. THEN REARRANGE THE RULES TO SUIT YOURSELF.'TRUMAN CAPOTE
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