“You need a hand?” he said looking down at her with that smile on his face, arm out-stretched. She panted and took it. The climb was getting more and more difficult. The mountainside grew greener and greener and, if it wasn’t for the drizzly weather, would have made her footing more sure. He clasped her hand just on the acceptable side of firm-but-tender and helped her ascend
he day of the party came. All the children sat in a circle on their mobile phones taking pictures of one another, uploading them to Facebook. They then criticised each other in the comments section until it was time for the cake that no-one apart from JXL wanted to eat because they didn’t want to get fat. “My mum said she’d take my Fitness Centre membership away from me if I eat it,” the children said to JL’s mum. She just smiled and carried on filming Johnny on her mobile phone.
She’s chatting now to the people next to her. Laughing. They’re all laughing. He concentrates harder. Mousepad, click, mousepad, click.
However, all we could do is look in wonder as the procession passed. Try as we might we could never become them. They smiled at us; loving, genuine smiles that disarmed and distracted leaving with them a wake of warmth. But we couldn’t smile back. Not in the same way.
Mrs. Davis’ students were very special. They were told they were special on a daily basis. Their parents told them. The other teachers told them (as they should). Television presenters […]
“I checked Twitter – no RTs, follows, PMs or DMs. I stared blankly at the scroll of 140 characters giving me snippets of, and ideas about, what’s going on in the world. I never click the links though – never read the articles. Headlines. As easily digestible and completely misleading as a TV dinner. You also throw up after eating too many of those.”
I could already see that her door was ajar after having reached floor. I trod carefully with my arm stretched out for the handle, hoping to open it slowly and maybe get a feel for things before making my presence known. It flung open.