Prose choice
Previous prose
Arlene Jackson
I Can but Try
Hello Tamara, it’s lovely to hear your voice stretching out across the Atlantic, from your eco pod of wellness into my quiet space, where things are not so well today. But it is today. New and fresh. I have made it through from yesterday, when I had said goodnight to you and had promised myself a stab at sleep.
You are my first contact with each new day, a determined act as I push away the weight of my phone and every voice contained within. Its disruptive beeps, pings and sparkles which herald a new notification remain encased under the black glass, because I’m going to give myself these ten minutes.
But what if something has happened? Something is wrong?
Breathe and exhale.
Why is it difficult to lay still, even when prone in bed? I shift and twitch, sensing each bump formed within my pillow by a head which tosses and turns, worries and cares. Too much.
Expand the chest, then the abdomen.
Where is the Buddhist bell today to call me back? Are you hitting a bell, Tamara, or is it a digitised sound effect?
Refocus. Centre the spine.
A car toots its horn, a plane rushes overhead, a child whines, a door slams, a Ring doorbell sirens, an engine revolts and an exhaust backfires.
A dog barks. Have next door bought a puppy?
Tamara calls this “monkey mind”, and here I am – swinging once again through the urban jungle, as her voice fades softly away.
Arlene Jackson is a PhD researcher concerned with amplifying lived experiences of illness/disability. She has published both critically and creatively and may be found here @arlenejackson.bsky.social
Hattie Logan
. . . There I was alone in the porters lodge, halfway through my morning coffee, black no sugar, when my walkie-talkie crackled into life.
It’s Bruce, the gardener “Mike, are you there? Stella’s just left her hideaway and is heading towards you” . . .
Cheryl Snell
Follow your room-mate and her boyfriend, but not so close that either one notices. Think shadow. Think Pink Panther. Plop down in the middle seat of three in the theater. Pretend you don’t hear your room-mate say “Do you mind?” Back at the apartment tell her you want to switch bedrooms. “I need the room with the door.” Because migraines.
Tom Ball
I, Shelly, said to Amos, “We live in a nightmare amusement park World, here on Moon Miranda!” He replied, “How did we ever come to this?” I said, “In my case, I was lured by the potential thrills of continuous action.” He said, “Me, too. And it’s a new World, so there were no ratings to go by.” I said, “There must be some way we can escape!” He said
Noel King
In the photo-booth Eva gets self conscious, blinking when the flash pops. “It’s not me,” she screams out loud as the photo pops out.
George Vincent
The boy was lost and he went to the beach on his own.
He walked along the beach and he was scared of everything: of himself, of the sand and the sun and sea. He walked with his head down.
Sophie Thompson
There are few sounds sadder than the plinky-plonk of Greensleeves from a passing ice cream van. Mickey Mouse’s face plastered on its arse, rainwater rivulets streaking down his grimy cheeks.
Ervin Brown for Day three of our Invisible and Visible Disabilities feature and for the last day of Autism Acceptance month
I ran to the gym instructor, a tall man. He had a bumpkin’s voice and wore a jersey like he played football. He leaned against the school wall with his buddies. I tugged at his arm and pointed at the boy who wouldn’t leave me alone, but he waved me off. This was not the first time I had been bullied for my autism.
I walked past the playground into a wooded area, trekking along the fence line until I reached the opposite end of the schoolyard. This spot is where the yard spilled into the main road. I took one step off the grass and felt a rainbow of delight explode from my chest. I was no longer on school property.
Alison Wassell
Evelyn Battersby was a difficult woman to please, an easy one to disappoint. When her children brought their gifts on silver salvers she would sniff, wrinkle her nose, send them back to the kitchen.
Kayleigh Kitt
Henry leafed through the applications on his desk, sighed, picking up the first one.
Application no. 56/438/b
Activity/Description: Cheese rolling. A large rinded cheese placed at the top of a hill. . .