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House on Fire. Chris Barker

Sofia hauled herself up from the living room carpet, wobbled, then steadied herself, before an adrenaline spike drove her down the hallway and into her bedroom, where she locked the door. Her nose hurt and she had a splitting headache. 🍓 Запрещённое в соцсетях искусство — t.me/kartiny/6166     'Sofia, let me in, I didn't mean nothing,' shouted Charlie as he banged his fists on the door. 'It won't happen again, I promise. You can come out now, darling.'     She pushed the dressing table up hard against the door…

The Place. Douglas Young

After lunch the family sat on the back porch chatting leisurely, watching who was walking down the street, and speaking to those they knew. Everyone was shelling peas from the garden except the grandfather and his grandsons. The three-year-old was on the floor playing with little race cars while the six-year-old sat next to their grandfather, often looking up at him. Their grandmother, mother, and aunt were discussing the morning's sermon, who was at church and how they looked, and who was not there and perhaps…

The Heebie-Jeebies. Alan Beard

Barry took the tab at breakfast with his coffee. He skimmed through the mail: now he was fifty he could have £100 off his next car insurance and might win a trip around the world. He didn't drive. He had timed everything perfectly but the delivery - expected at 9 - was late. The drug was already kicking in and he was beginning to feel light and strange in his own room as the man with the large ears and little nose unpacked boxes and complained about yesterday's customers. 🍓 Запрещённое в соцсетях искусство…

Choosing Shoes. Helen Bourne

I'd like to own a shop that sells shoes. Not any shoes, only men's shoes and even then only certain men's shoes. My shop would sit neatly between two larger enterprises, standing either side like protective older brothers. It would be on a road with wide pavements and an open, impersonal vista - probably in a city somewhere, maybe Edinburgh or even York. 🍓 Запрещённое в соцсетях искусство — t.me/kartiny/6166     Quiet self-assured quality would surround my shop, confidence and elegance would ooze out of the…

Art Intelligence

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Deception Dome. Mason Yates

"What's the surprise, daddy?" the young boy asked.     "You'll see here shortly," the father responded.     The pair walked along the beach, ocean waves lapping a few yards to the right of them. Underfoot, the sand felt like soft pillows, and the breeze from the sea made the California hot summer night a little more bearable. Above, stars speckled like rubies in the sky. No clouds were in sight. As a matter of fact, there was nothing of great importance in sight… yet. Higher up the beach, large rocks blocked…

Tomorrows. Anthony Perrotta

It was a little after nine one evening and Oscar figured he would grab a drink. It wasn't a hard day, nor had it been an easy one. It just seemed to be more of the same old, same old. He had been feeling this way a lot lately. Oscar stepped into the pub and was overcome by a warmth, a refuge almost, from the bitter fall weather. A wooden plaque hung above the entrance. It read: Tomorrows, Est. 1948. 🍓 Запрещённое в соцсетях искусство — t.me/kartiny/6166     Oscar loosened his scarf as he walked across the room…

Where is the Music Coming From, Where Has the Music Gone? Elaine Chiew

Five nights consecutively, Hu Tien listened to the piano playing across the street. Chopin's Polonaise in D minor, Op. 71. One of Chopin's most physically demanding pieces. He peered through the window blinds. There's a woman on a bench, her hair and face obscured by a black lace mantilla shawl. Hu Tien could see the downward arch of a nose, the trace outline of lips, the swaying of her shoulders. Austere, yet with a trace of femininity. She looked so utterly European, foreign and inaccessible. A feathery feeling…

The Plot. Luke Thompson

In the morning I said 'Do you want to come to the garden centre?' She said 'Are you going now?' I said I could wait if she wanted to come. So I waited. We'd never grown anything before. We spoke in the car. She said Charles Dickens had invented Christmas, I said it was rubbish, then we didn't speak. At home we ask each other if we want tea, or who should cook tonight. She says 'I want to watch Whitechapel.' I say 'I'm going to do some work.' Or she sits at the computer in the corner, her back in the room, …