Tales from Three Corners

Every time he climbs the stairs, she sees that he looks in. Is it a reflex? Is it curiosity? Is it a little more sinister? The stairs run along her loungeroom windows, so many people walking up to the top flats do peep in, then realise what they’re doing and look away quickly. Embarrassed. Produced by Postie, photo by Niels Hunnersen.

For six months he caught the bus in to work. In those six months only two people returned his greeting. Two. Apart from the bus drivers, who always said hello, shared a joke, commiserated on a sporting team’s loss. Produced by Postie, voiced by the Franklin Frosties, and photo from Pexels.

He liked to think of himself as the Bard of the Backyard. The Shakespeare of the streets, the voice to the voiceless and the antidote to the dope of the wires. Produced by Postie, photo by ShonEjai.

A longing. A longing for sea breezes and misty rain. For green, green grass all year round, for trees that stood tall and grew straight. No more red rust dust. The smell of the smelter, it’s acrid taste so constantly depriving his senses of real aromas, of real flavours. Produced by Postie, photo by Button Pusher @ Pexels.

The offender sat quietly in her cell. She wasn’t a flight risk, the door was open, however it didn’t stop the  disappointment of the police officer who brought her in, nor the sigh of resignation that came from the duty officer. Produced by Postie, voiced by Lizzie, Greg and Jacq. Photo by Irina Iriser.

Swimming gave him the most incredible sense of freedom. He ploughed through the water, spinning, turning, loving, laughing. He moved smoothly, so sign of discomfort. It was his equaliser and he never missed a day. Produced by Postie, voiced by Jacq and Andreas. Photo by Pixabay

Her sisters said it only needed a tiny space to squash into. When it left that space it grew a hundred times bigger. They knew. They’d seen it.
They’d only just gotten away with their lives: But her courage was as big as her imagination. Produced by Postie.

The little tartan shopping trolley had been brand new for four years. It had sat it the corner, collecting dust and detritus while adjusting to its new role, ridiculing its owner with its garish colours.

It was a Queen Anne. A small tea cup with delicate violets painted on the bone china, with a gold rim on the handle and lip.... Produced by Postie

At first he thought it was an apparition…. Then a late night hallucination, brought on by too much work, stress and lack of sleep… But after the third night he realised that what was happening outside was as real as the deadline he was pushing.

Produced by Postie, photo by Pixabay.