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Short story category: 15 Minutes

The mourners were not plentiful on the day of the funeral. Charvik Sharma had not been a popular man in this life, having dedicated very little time to cultivating and maintaining relationships. Sahil, his eldest, watched the people move about in respectful silence, occasionally stopping with one of

'Why do we have to sit on the hill?’ Zach said. ‘Why can’t we go in like everyone else?’ He’d asked this question every year for three years running, and he always got the same response. ‘Because we can't afford it,’ his father said. Zach had heard these five words more times than h

The blood pressure cuff gripped my upper arm so hard I nearly squealed. Then a macabre thought came over me. I imagined that my sainted father was reaching out from the grave and seizing my arm, as if to say: See, I was right. Life is one crisis after another. The nurse taking my B.P., innocent o

'Clumsy Bitch.’ Struggling with her defeated umbrella, Anita had rounded the corner of Quay Street and collided with a similarly encumbered commuter, his face hardened into a discontent not solely the result of this encounter. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Sorry I couldn’t…’ she offered to hi

It wasn’t until she found the arm on the kitchen table, wrapped in a length of muslin up to the wrist, the hand exposed and the index finger pointing at her usual seat at the kitchen table, that Lucy started to have suspicions. Joe came down for breakfast five minutes later, groggy with sleep and

This is the place: four fields in the shape of a rough parallelogram. On her left, one part of the closest field is enclosed behind wire mesh. A path runs through long, wet grass towards a gate in the fence. Ahead of her is an open-fronted barn with a caravan parked inside it, a chimney rising from

I swayed in rhythm, holding her head against my shoulder. One hand stroked the long black hair, the other held a wine glass steady. The song coming out of my brand-new vintage-style record player was slow, sappy, somewhat crooning. A song pulled from her music library that, if I was being honest, sh

Annie swore at him, and pressed hard on the doorbell. ‘You’re a difficult man to love,’ she said. He took a step backwards and exhaled, glancing up at the star-pocked sky. The night was colder out here and he resented its damp weight upon him. He could not argue with her. He was a diffic