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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
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THE EQUINOX EDITION - SEPTEMBER 2019BLOGPOST
FROM AN OLDER WOMAN
NIGEL JARRETT
A BILLION MILES AWAYGARY DUNCAN
THE MAYÂ QUEEN
RICHARD LAKIN
WHAT LIES WITHIN
FABRICE POUSSIN
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Mark Greene
Lee Hamblin
Sharon Bennett
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Kristy Watson - AblesVesna Main
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EM Martin
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Gary Duncan
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Fabrice Poussin
'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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