Friends of the heroes back issues

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STORIES :

They don't give medals
Schooldays
Son
The long lost diary of
Miss S L Gleaden

Rebecca's Birthday
A Summer As Imaginary Local Heroes
Other short stories

POEMS
GUIDES
LETTERS

 

Fiction

They don't give medals - Part 1
I am beginning to regret asking him to tell me everything, from the beginning. I had hoped the beginning would be briefer than this. I suppose, after all this time in this job, I should know better. Beginnings are seldom so easily dismissed.
By Ian Anscombe

They don't give medals - Part 2
'You know that song? It's called 'They don't give medals to yesterday's heroes'.' A smile, with no warmth: 'Burt Bacharach wrote it. He didn't know the half of it'.
By Ian Anscombe

They don't give medals - Part 3
'You smile. Don't forget I can see you smiling, even though you can't see me. And I think I know why.'
By Ian Anscombe

They don't give medals - Part 4
"Remind them that every one of their experiments is a person. And any person that...volunteers...for this is a hero. A real hero. Whether they end up a fighting machine or a gibbering wreck".
By Ian Anscombe

They Don't give medals - Part 5
He must be at least thirty metres away. Between us, there should be three pairs of double doors, all bolted and guarded. I have not heard a single door open. All I can hear is his humming, growing quieter as his footsteps recede.
By Ian Anscombe

They don't give medals, part 6 - Part 6
"When was I to vanish? And how would it happen? I am interested to know. How do you kill a man whose strength and regenerative power is so legendary, he is named after a Biblical prophet?"
By Ian Anscombe

They don't give medals - Part 7 (and the end)
This is not going to work. She can hardly keep the amusement from her voice: "So you were a HERO? Just like me?"
By Ian Anscombe

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Schooldays - Part 1
We catch up with Cooney a day or so later. He is not embarrassed at all, which makes us think that he MUST be mad. No one dares mention what he did, because we figure that if he is mad, then there is no telling what else he could do
Paul Williamson

School Days - Part 2
He felt that he would achieve nothing, that killing me would never destroy me, if you know what I mean, that no amount of guns or bombs could kill ideas... ideas and beliefs, they would remain long after the last trigger on the last gun
Paul Williamson

Schooldays - Part 3
My sister has a boyfriend, and he is always at our house, and she locks her bedroom door and turns the volume up on her stupid stereo playing stupid music... she can do what she likes, but I wish she did not make so much noise.
By Paul Williamson

Schooldays at Christmas - Part 4
At least I can fall back on the comforting fact that I do not believe in another God or baby Jesus or whatever, so whether I sing or I do not sing, it makes no difference to me...
By Paul Williamson

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Son
there was this twisted knot in the pit of my stomach as I picked up the receiver and listened...
By Paul Williamson

Son
...whatever you do, do not stop living for something that can not be changed or be bought back, but what does he know?
By Paul Williamson

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The Long Lost Diary of Miss S L Gleaden (Part 11) - This girl is so dippy! Ten times worse than you I'm telling you! She's already got on the wrong plane and ended up in Burma of all places. Now she's hooked up with an odd pair, and they are on a mission to smuggle a small white flower with anti-ageing pro
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 17) - Its funny how unimportant difficulties can seem when you are amongst friends. For once it was Molly who decided to break the silence.
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 20) - "You can't expect to put springs on a donkey and expect it to walk in a straight line."
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 21) - "He'd spend 5 minutes with her and turn from a sensible English gentleman into a crazy daydreamer." Rosemary had smiled and secretly thought that maybe the transformation was for the better.
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 22) - Instead they told magnificent stories filled with colour and life. They told stories that sparkled and jumped and shone like the coloured glass in the upper rooms of the house.
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 23) - We were to tell the receptionist that we were guests of Doctor Yellow Hat and that he would be paying for two nights accommodation for the three of us.
By Rachel Queen

The Long Lost Diary Of Miss S L Gleaden (part 24) - The first time I saw Miss S L Gleaden she was 11 and she was sent to my office. She was a scruffy child, the kind of girl who always seemed to have a ladder in her tights and her shoelace undone.
By Rachel Queen

The Long Lost Diary Of Miss S L Gleaden - She discovered that by rolling them up and stuffing them in her shoes she was able to save valuable space in her rucksack. In her euphoric state she failed to notice a small book which lay forgotten underneath her bed. Her diary
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 2) - His change of career has not only proved that is never too late to change your mind, but has also made the ocean a more peaceful place to live.
By Rachel Queen

The Long Lost Diary Of Miss S L Gleaden - part 3 - The boy, who had such romantic notions of messages in bottles washing up onto beaches, was exceedingly disappointed to learn that the diary did not contain any treasure maps or promises of rewards.
Rachel Queen

The Long Lost Diary of S L Gleaden (part four) - Without a second thought Ralph swapped the tickets then marched straight out of the building, stopping only to tie his right shoe and place the diary into his knapsack.
Rachel Queen

The Long Lost Diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 5) - It was his beloved S L Gleaden who had caused all this trouble in the first place. The poor diary knew that he was not safe with this kind, head- in-the-air, dreamy boy.
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (PART 6) - Its strange what dreams can do to a person. They are powerful enough to make a person lose their inhibitions, to gain a certain determination verging on insanity. They are powerful enough to drive a person, an innocent horse and a girl with a white coat i
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (Part 7) - While this was incredibly good fortune as far as they were concerned, it was not for the poor heroic diary, who had more than enough of life changing experiences . It would have given anything to settle down on a quite book shelf somewhere in the house of
By Rachel Queen

The Long Lost Diasy of Miss S L Gleaden (part 8) - Its reward for being a faithful travelling companion, not once complaining about the use of inferior quality biros or its cramped living quarters in the left side pocket of her rucksack, was to be absent mindedly forgotten.
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (Part 9) - Her youthfulness can be attributed to the powerful emotion known as excitement. An emotion that if it could be bottled and sold would probably do the world more good than the small white flower ever could.
By Rachel Queen

The Lost Diary of Miss S L Gleaden - Part 10 - It's a little known fact that when a fish swallows a book it becomes one of the fastest creatures on earth. Scientists have been puzzled by this mystery for many years but owing to the question of whether it is really ethically correct to feed innocent fi
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 12) - The girl she was looking for, came from England, could be in Burma, or Bangladesh or somewhere else entirely. She had slight criminal tendencys and a peculiar abilty to pack random, but entirely useful objects.
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 13) - The hedge, who it has to be said was not normally of a grumpy disposition, had good reason to be displeased. Weeks earlier it had been given an incredibly gruesome haircut by a well meaning but incompetent hedge-trimmer.
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 14) - "I remember the time I taught a goat to dance," Remarked I and E casually.
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 15) - Her heart raced and she filled her lungs with the polluted London air. She could do anything she wanted to do.
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 16) - Each item was placed with the up-most care in a specific location that only it could occupy. For example the bright green hair clip with the butterfly on it belonged with the refined thin gold slide
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 18) - A curt goodbye and a click of a phone going dead and Rosemary returned to her rightful age. Questions raced in her head, why 2.47? how would she deal with the headmaster? And were they talking about the same S L Gleaden?
By Rachel Queen

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (part 19) - "Don't worry about a thing. Everyone loves Great Aunt Jennifer!" But the diary did worry. As far as it was concerned, Great Aunt Jennifer no matter how lovely she was could not compare to the comfort of the oak bookcase.
By Rachel Queen

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Rebecca's Birthday (part one) - At that magical, half-forgotten time when her grandmother was still alive and spent her evenings sat in the dark listening to her radio Rebecca was small enough to fit between the windowsill and the ground.
By Dimitra Daisy

Rebecca's Birthday (part two) - When he managed to contain himself, he said in an amused voice: "I know who you are. You are Rebecca, the girl who wants to build sandcastles."
By Dimitra Daisy

Rebecca's Birthday (part three) - Odin only ever told the truth when it was absolutely necessary. And in his opinion, that wasn't very often.
By Dimitra Daisy

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A Summer As Imaginary Local Heroes - You need love to be an imaginary local hero. It is not enough to burst your best-kept-hidden ego up by playing the guitar in a rockíníroll band. Kind of playing. Kind of guitar. Kind of band. Kind of Summer infatuation.
By Stefano Santabarbara

A Summer As Imaginary Local Heroes (part two) - It would have been fine for a seaside holiday park. But not for a small town, not for the countryside, not for the dusty memories of a lake resort once fashionable in the nineteenth century or so.
By Stefano Santabarbara

A Summer As Imaginary Local Heroes (part three) - The day was passed slowly broken by escape pauses, the length of a cigarette, in the courtyard. The walk beneath the pines marked the border between where we were living and an outer world.
By Stefano Santabarbara

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Friends of the Heroes memories, instalment two: FotH Forever!
I had felt very 'girl-reporter' coming home from the gig and sitting down to write some notes, then sitting down a few days later to write my article.

Alf, on a bleak December day
Dave perceives it as a bleak December day. Really, it is just a December day. Although, if we’re honest, what is December but a human construct for compartmentalizing existence? Not that Dave cares about that right now.
By Ashling Lynch

Alf, on a bleak December day
Dave perceives it as a bleak December day. Really, it is just a December day. Although, if we’re honest, what is December but a human construct for compartmentalizing existence? Not that Dave cares about that right now.
By Ashling Lynch

The boy as tall as a tree and the journey to the land in the middle of the sea.
I decided to have a look out of the window to see what was going on and I couldn't believe my eyes! The room that we were sat in was in the middle of the sea!
By Belle

The boy as tall as a tree and the journey to the land in the middle of the sea.
I was glad we had the boy as tall as a tree with us because he said: "it's ok Belle I'll save you". All the girl said was "Belle don't be daft it its just a plastic bag".
By Belle

The Pat on the Shallow Back
A cat screamed. I hoped for my little one. Knowing that he, my friend, Andy Williams and that last book I read didn't have a chance in hell of winning.
By Bob Young

THE LAST NIGHT BEFORE WE FLEW TOGHETHER
I turned off the TV. The radio was better. Nights like these needed the radio. I dressed for bed, another drink and fag.
By Bob Young

Strawberry Fields
He was tiny; I towered over him. I would have fancied him to be an elderly leprechaun except that when he spoke to me, he had a thick German accent. He walked up to me and said, in a very courtly manner, "Excuse me, young lady, but would you mind taking a
By Cerridwen

What days are for
The postcard is one of a painting of the sky. The poem says that days are to be happy in. It is nice - it is strong and catchy. (Now that you are gone, I can say a poem is catchy without your condescending looks or your charmed smiles.) It is written in y
By Dimitra Daisy

Guess How Much I Love You
She smiled when she opened the door for him, while singing along to records, while staring out of the window, and he had just discovered he could smile down at books.
By Dimitra Daisy

Guess How Much I Love You (part two)
- But you have nowhere to go anyway! You're on holiday, who cares if you get there later!!
By Dimitra Daisy

The Sweetness Lies Within
And I wouldn't know anyway, as we only ever talked about records. I don't say that. We're the sort of boys that talk about things through talking about records, and he was pretty great at it.
By Dimitra Daisy

Writing of you
...a southern town that summer hadn't left yet, her room, her yellow curtains, her blue sheets, falling asleep next to her with a record playing, the way she looked at the coffee maker while waiting for coffee to be ready...
By Dimitra Daisy

The bits in between the bits in between
I looked at the book. It didn't look like it was for me - the cover looked all wrong and so did the title and the names of the characters on the random page I looked at. I looked at myself. I look young, and my, do I swing between wonderful and hopeless.
By Dimitra Daisy

Friends of the Heroes memories, instalment one: I get so sentimental
The simple beauty of turning a text document into a webpage. Discovering we have still have new ideas after all this time. The sheer fact that we've kept going for two years, despite everything. Despite ourselves.
By Dimitra Daisy

Junk Food
The remains of a large doner with chilli sauce lies disembowelled in the market place where as a child I fell on the cobbled stones fracturing my knee and hobbling me for life.
By D J Cargill

Mr. Baldwin
The mother finally makes it clear she needs someone to call her a cab. "Does anyone know the number?" floats around the line up like a plastic bag in a windstorm.
By Daniel Reid

The Nightmare Before Christmas
Even though when I was a youngster I watched a lot of kids cartoons and things, all saying that Santa was great and the nice guy we all know and love, for some reason I did not buy it. And every year, even though I knew I would receive gifts, I used to th
By David Strange

Cantaloupe and Granola Day
Gram and Grandad both wear plaid polyester pants. I have never understood it. Are they more comfortable that way? Does it match their white shoes better? Does it help them play golf better?
By Emily Ann Potter

The Dreadlock Substitute
Somehow, as I have discovered, among the cosmic, extraterrestrial forces of our planet a substitute teacher with dreads is automatically "cool".
By Emily Ann Potter

I am not the moons only lover
I was delighted. I knew the wind could sing. I knew that the trees could hold an amazing harmony. But never had I known that my precious moon had such a voice.
By Emily Ann Potter

Black Beret
He reeked of familiar spices and body odor. I could not get close enough. We were both there to hear the live music. I was there to support my roommate, a singer in local coffee shops. Mr. Beret is one of her groupies.
By Emily Ann Potter

Virginia's Magic Therapy Potion
Such a soul as drowned as mine in the god-kissed and the mused, draped in dreams of gemmed divine, now awakened, wet and bruised.
By Emily Ann Potter

Hallelujah for You
When mortals began to exist, angels felt sorry for our indifference and graced us by allowing hallelujahs to fall to earth like a meteor shower. We curiously picked up the little bits.

Emily Ann Potter

Melt Me
Someday you'll go on vacation. Someday you'll get married. You can throw all your somedays out in the street to get hit by that someday car. In such a perfect sunset, they are useless. You need a chair instead.
By Emily Ann Potter

Naked Living
Listening to the river, all of a sudden clothes are nothing but a rash. All of a sudden I have more in common with the wind than with any boyfriend.
By Emily Ann Potter

The Funeral
"Other boyfriends would ask me what they could do for me, and I would always say, 'Roses! I want to be surrounded by beautiful red roses!' But they wouldn't listen. They would give me a book.
By Emily Ann Potter

Truth Shopping
The sun shone through the trees on the sacred area where we danced. We were a dazzling sight. A man danced with a tambourine to keep the rhythm, but we seemed to be making our own music with our blend of lights and colors.
By Emily Ann Potter

A Childhood
'Then Vicky came round the corner and banged into me' We always took turns to blame each other. Now there's team work if I've ever seen it.
By Four Minute Myle

Ward 5
That night I remember. I remember the sweets he kept in the cupboard behind his chair. I remember helping him plant seeds in the greenhouse. When they grow up they will go into the garden, he has the most beautiful garden. I remember everything.
By Gayle E. Anderson

Excerpt from a teenage opera
That's it - if I could take all the balloons from the street balloon-sellers and set them free above the heads of the startled passers-by, I would do it with great pleasure.
By George B.

Be Your Own Boss
When I get paid for a job that I've worked on from start to finish, that money feels like it's worth more than money I've earned from temping jobs where I've felt bored and utterly replaceable.
By Grainne Lynch

Visitors
Most people find it easier not to see the whole picture. The events that were transpiring below were meant to change all that. They did not, of course, but nobody knew that yet.
By Ian Anscombe

O for Orange, P for Pink
Either of these could be true. Nobody knows where they go after dark. That is their secret, and it would not do to follow them.
By Ian Anscombe

Jacobs Ladder
Some, less kind, commentators say that Jacob never existed, and the whole thing was a metaphor. A way of spreading knowledge about the little white flowers, and telling a pretty story into the bargain.
By Ian Anscombe

Blind Man's Bluff
It wasn't the most suitable job, for a blind man
There were so many things he could have done.... he was clever, resourceful, cute -
By Ian Anscombe

The Best Looking Boys Are Taken
Such dreams. She often thought it was those that marked her out - a Strange One, the mothers said. What the kids said was less kind, but she was learning not to expect kindness from people. Or, not from these people anyway. Perhaps someone, somewhere, far
By Ian Anscombe

Her web diary
But then I don't talk like I write, I write to say all those things I cannot say in real life. And maybe you do that too, maybe you are just like me.
By Ian Cowen

Stay, Hit, Split
I've decided to wait three more hands and then head outside, not only to flee the casino, but also to flee Harold and Al, both of whom, riding their respective waves of probability, are heading toward a painful crash, most likely into each other.
By James Benetiz

Realisation of what was wrong - chapter 1
He took out one of his keys and into the trains plastic window he carved "Saver Returns are less than useful, they only save you £2 and you have to go back home on a set date".
By James Danson-Hatcher

The Journeyman
He shuddered involuntarily, not for the first time that afternoon, as he felt, more than saw, the great airy chasm with the sharp, jagged rocks far below.
By Jack De Vries

Far From Me
it was peaceful there too, in its depths, away from the day-trippers, and it had an almost tangible air of loneliness, which suited his mood to the ground.
By Matilda Mother

Love And War
"Don’t do it..." Annie touched the back of Terry’s arm. "For me, please, leave it." She could tell without looking that he wore a fierce expression, eyes trained like a hawk on the crowd at the bar. Just one word and she feared that she would
By Matti

Archiving the History of Loneliness
We would feed the ducks and geese. And I would find tiny treasures buried under the sand. A toy car. A feather. A pretty leaf. A shiny stone. I would always ask questions.
By Joseph

Archiving the history of the loneliness - Part 2: the Diner Monologues
Perhaps it was all the coffee and cigarettes that made me stay there in that booth until 7.30 in the morning. But I know it wasn't. It was her eyes.
By Joseph

The System of Failures
Locks on your door to that bed where you carve those words into the wall. To keep you from going insane. Strangely, you find the greatest comfort in them. The soft lines glowing white in the few scattered rays of sun that somehow found their way in.
By Joseph

Swansong for Mon
Across the borderlands at night they came, exhausted to the soul and dragging trails of blood behind them. The omens had not been good and the people, blank-eyed or weeping, expected bad news.
By Matilda Mother

Daddy buy me a pony
The clouds didn't hesitate for a second, and clubbed together behind old man sun's weary back as he hobbled off far away. Till tomorrow then? The girl was always thinking about things that way.
By JohaN Hugo

Meandering
A glimpse of elegance - a character - caught for a helpless moment from a floating car, on a rainy autumn Saturday in Stellenbosch - and clutched at for the lifetime that I sense drifting away from me, today.
By Johan Hugo

My Shadow
It's always like this I see her, in a crowded place, running, but no-one ever talks about it. No, it goes further, they don't admit it happens.
By Johan Hugo

Blue Beret
If I could meet just one girl who wore a blue beret, somehow it would all turn out okay.

By JohaN Hugo

Birds
There's a pigeon on my windowsill this morning. Dash it, the noise it makes! Early on, with the break of day, it hatched from my dreams, shattering them into brittle baby-blue spotted fragments, and free it flew.
By JohaN Hugo

Impressions of Matthew (part 2)
Matthew stood there, not retreating, and - as I remember - smiling, though that might be a trick of memory. He knew what was coming though. It is the single clearest guiding image I have of what it means to be a man.
By JohaN Hugo

The tale of the hero's friend
Did you ever hear the story about John and Paul just before the Beatles imploded? On late night in the studio, with the tension crushing all creative collaboration, John Lennon suddenly took off his glasses and said, "Paul, it's only me, it's only John."
Jo Harrigton

The lover of cats
Cats, to me, are like closed books in a foreign language in a library far away to a blind man. It is exactly that bad. Except that they aren't far away and I'm not blind.
By JohaN Hugo

Be a Hero- wear a hat
the use of a hat is both the recognition and the interpretation of one's relation to those around you - and as such requires a constant weighing-up of what goes on around you and constant attention to those around you: the hat as instrument of ethics!
ByJoHan Hugo

A dying horse
No-one moves, no-one is brave - or foolish - enough to venture onto the field and try to lead the horse away, into shelter where he would be safe, where he could be treated, cared for and saved. The horse must die - we donít want it, but it is inevitable.
By JohaN Hugo

In so many words
No, of course, one night is just enough, really, for this town. In fact, most of our customers stay for one night only, did you know that? Learn something new everyday, doesnít one though?
By JohaN Hugo

Under the Mistletoe
Christmas is a complete waste of time, if you ask me (but then, I'm only 14 aren't I, so do you think anyone ever asks me anything ever? Hah, think again!).
By JohaN Hugo

The shopping-mall Santa
Think - again - but what else could it have come to? Know for certain you arenít up to this; know just as surely that it will not be so bad. Know that this too shall pass.
By JohaN Hugo

The way (first) dates never go
"Personally I blame the Mexicans and their damned cacti. You must have seen him knock back the tequila?"
By Johan Hugo

Noonday
The town is drowsy, asleep, the only movement the interminable flying of the birds, the straining of the trees away from the stoveplate clay towards a hotter sky, and the trembling of buildings down the silver streets and up the hill. Cicada's whine out a
By Johan Hugo

Strawberry Field... Forever?
Finally the lawn was completely taken over by strawberries. No-one really knows where they had come from, but come spring - there they were!
By Johan Hugo

There is no why
Sleep lifted suddenly. I think it must have been around 4 o'clock. I'm not sure.
By Johan Hugo

The Mystery of Love:Sherlock Holmes and Valentine's day (Part 2)
"Love? I quite fail to see how this parcel could be related to that mystery, and even should the connection be proved upon me, wherein the mystery could reside, and even then, how it is to be solved!"
By Hugo Johan

The Mystery of Love: Sherlock Holmes and Valentine's day (Part 3)
the author is probably not one to concern himself with trifles. He tends to rush over small details out of a concern for the larger picture.
By JohaN Hugo

A Walk in the woods
Mostly itís a pretty day, thereís a scintillating autumn chill in the sky thatís turning palest baby-blue and we donít fancy being in town. So, tea in flasks, flasks in bags, bags in car and on out to the hills.
By JohaN Hugo

The Federal Food Reserve
So I said, sure, I'd take it, even though at that stage I couldn't hardly boil an egg. I mean, you take a guy a like me, and if he's willing to put his mind to it, I bet he could do just 'bout anything.
By JohaN Hugo

The Federal Food Reserve (part two)
By now you probably think you got me all figured out: you've listened to all these handy jobs I been doing in society and everything, and you probably think I'm more of a practical-minded man and probably not much of the thinking type, but if that's so, t
By JohaN Hugo

The Wake
She is sorting through her drawers, remembering the way she had been. She strokes tenderly over soft lace and silky smooth secret things that have not felt any other fingers for too many years now.
By Johan Hugo

The child is the father of the man
By the age of two, chances are you'd already taken your first steps, said your first words, perhaps even made your first friend. You'd made lots of people smile.
By Johan Hugo

Red flowers
I'm not a pervert, or a stalker, like that. In fact, I hardly look at it at all. Just twice a day, briefly - when I leave in the mornings, and when I come back in the afternoon. Sometimes late at night too, if I can't sleep or I'm feeling down.
By Johan Hugo

Cocoons and Caterpillars
If you were like me, then you had them too, shoe-boxes and mulberry-leaves and beetroot-leaves and little cardboard cut-outs. If your school was like mine, then everyone else had them too, once.
By Johan Hugo

Jesus and a Shotgun
I wake up sweating, shaking, needing dope to keep my heart from beating itself to death.
By Jonathan Sanders

Sap Runs In My Veins
I never knew to be sad of the rain because thatís all there really was for me to play in, and so rain was just another playmate for me to chase through the yard, or help me build forts in the sandbox.
By James Wright

The man without a face
I cry on my disfigured face/ Just as the rain drops on an ugly old place/ Only, the people living in there are not so ugly/ They are kind, loving and have faith.
By Janan Zaitoun

Statistic
When my 25 year-old cousin had died in his sleep three days before my wedding, I asked my dad for an explanation I knew he didn't have. All he said was that Cherokee tears run deep.
By Kena Sosa

Me And My Pillow
By 24 I had become bored of living the multi-pillow lifestyle, and I decided to settle down with just one.
By Mark Casarotto

Before the Fall
I reckon he'll call me 'baby' till the day he dies, and I'm fine with that, especially when he gives me his irreverent smile and asks me if I traded my husband in for a newer model.
By Melissa S. Hill

It is not good to travel alone
The central processing unit. Center of the universe. Memory flourishes and chokes here. Reality is skewn and discovered here. The mind is a holy place.
Matt Groesbeck

The Voice from the Past and the White City
I am motivated by inertia. It is always easier to keep going when you have the momentum and, of course, the gasoline.
By Matt Groesburg

The Great Lake Powell Escape
I didn't really have a reason to go except to momentarily break away from my own life. I had just gotten out of a relationship a few weeks before. True, I was running away from something, but I didn't know what.
By Matt Groesburg

Cayenne Pepper
It is truly nice when there is good stuff to look forward to, like the appearance of your arriving shadow against a bright and alarming background. You told me, firstly, that Iwould never believe you, but that you had honestly misplaced your home.
By Mandee Wright

Juxtaposition
He knew I was scared, scared of being hooked again or losing others so he put a yellow Band-Aid over it. We had the same thing in mind.
By Mandee Wright

Blue hat for a blue day
I must be the unluckiest kid in the world. I only wanted to make Helen laugh so I gave her that small piece of paper where I had written "look at her stupid hat". But Mrs. Green saw it and now I'm here sitting at my desk trying to write that stupid senten
By Nick Paschalis

Athens2004 (or, jump to a different tune)
Then I saw a nice English girl wearing an English flag as a skirt. It would have made a perfect photo. I got the mobile phone out of my pocket and took a picture of her secretly. I wished I had asked her "hey can I take a picture of you?".
By Nick P

From Athens with love
My first impression of Athens was that of a seaside town, blown out of proportions; or maybe some gardener had been taking good care of it and that's why it grew so, so much that you see it everywhere around you...
By Ola Szkudlapska

Sound Turnaround
It spurred the talk of the town, and was the uber-cool topic at diner tables of sociologists and psychologists throughout India. It was an event blessed during that years lighting celebrations.
By Partha Pratim Majumder

What The Pillar Of Salt Held Up
I'm told by my mother (who's a kind of nurse) that she was told by people in white coats (who are kind of doctors) that if the clot had moved or built up anymore then I would have been dead.
By Paul Williamson

Winning Battles, Losing Wars
He got up, walked over to the window, and saw the moon sink low, sillouhetting the battlefield and the wars between the sexes.
By Paul Williamson

Chance
Then something within himself changed. He didn't find God or anything remotely close to that, but he did find a way of living through the hell he felt day in, day out.
By Paul Williamson

Calluna Vulgaris
You would make sure she didn't see you, winking at Niall as you crept up behind her and grabbed her around her waist, flinging her up in the air, her excitable shrill echoing through the drowsy amber sky.
By Paul Williamson

The Years
But we can't stay kids forever. One by one begins the exodus from the home; some, fuelled by love, to make homes of their own; others, fuelled by inherent possibilities of prose, of sound and vision, to view the whole world as their home and to duly wande
By Paul Williamson

The Years (part two)
You can only do so much for people. It doesn't matter who they are. If they can't help themselves, if they don't want to help themselves, then you may as well watch the sun come up and let them figure it out for themselves
By Paul Williamson

Shaking Hands
"Let me take that for you, love" he'd said. "But you don't know where I'm going" she'd replied with that glimmer of a smile, a chance, that these days crushed him. "Ah, we'll find it" he'd grinned.
By Paul Williamson

Home is Where the Heart is
... they can take all that because tonight he is falling through your window on a nondescript February evening in a nondescript nothern town and he is telling you that he loves you.
By Paul Williamson

Lessons In Love
I should have known. I should have known after she signed off the first e-mail she ever sent me with the words ALL MY LOVE ALWAYS (yes, the capitals were her emphasis, not mine.
By Paul Williamson

And for my next trick
Money didn't bore her but what you could buy with money invariably did. In the end anyway. Boredom. That's what it was.
By Paul Williamson

Notes From a Man on the Production Line
That's it! I've quit the job! The ecstasy of my burden being removed. The weight off my shoulders is almost physical. I'm drained of it all. Now, to know that one can concentrate his life on doing what he wants to do is the most fortunate and precious fee
By Paul Williamson

The Sea
...sometimes I would turn to her and make to speak but she would be sleeping and there was nothing nearer to heaven than the sight of her sleeping, so I would smile and leave her to it.
By Paul Williamson

'Momento Mori'
There is always a way of undoing all of the calamity in the same way that the fool has undone all of the good in life, all of the life, all of his life. It's just a question of the revealing, and if this tale ends abruptly then what then what then what?
By Paul Williamson

Tales from the Front Line - Part 4
The second half became a dizzy salvo of Ďwhiskey nowt in ití as Bob and I hurtled into the past-caring stage of inebriation. Thereís a point between, letís say, your third and your sixth drink, when the sober realms of logic and common sense remain like t
By Paul Williamson

'The Honourable Profession'
Professional football was deformed at birth. The game was never honourable, never decent, never rational or just.
By Paul Williamson

Doused
He felt an inward surge of conceit, pride at still being able to fit into said blazer (vanity ought not to be the preserve of the young, he thought) after, what, thirty-three years?
By Paul Williamson

Thank You, Baby
Gary and Carmichael surveyed the wreckage of last night. A leather boot still wedged itself amidst the shattered glass of the coffee table. nother leather boot sat at an angle on top of the television, with a bouquet of carnations hanging out of the top o
By Paul williamson

Walking
The end of the day was best. Buoyed by life and our ascent into the hills, we'd collapse into each other on the sofa, slurp on ice cold beers and laugh at Fools and Horses re-runs. Life made sense then.
By Paul Williamson

Gravity
Alas, Kieran is Kieran, and they didn't quite see the funny side when he stood on their toes, breathed meths in their face, and whispered "Tai-chi make you feel no pain, bitch-boy."
By Paul Williamson

Revolving doors
On Thursday she told me that my brother was pregnant and that my cousin, who actually is pregnant, was six MONTHS overdue. She then accused another cousin who, having contrived to marry a solicitor and, as such, wasn't short of a few bob, of stealing off
By Paul Williamson

Time on our Hands
There's plenty more fish in the sea, Mike. Dozens of beautiful women that do not desire to be covered in urine.
By Paul Williamson

For Someone That Knows It
Once, we had high hopes- Once, we had such very high hopes.
By Paul Williamson

The mechanism of the push bike
I don't know how many times I crashed my bike but, at a push, I'd say seven or eight. I maimed startled pedestrians, fell headlong into piles of bin bags, head first into steel bins, smelt the abyss and just kept on pedalling, scraping the sides of parked
By Paul Williamson

The Not-Knowing
Whatever the reason, one thing seems clear to me; so-called 'ordinary' members of Japanese society would rather the problem didn't exist, and their way of dealing with it is to pretend that the problem doesn't exist.
By Paul Williamson

Ancient Rituals and Belly Flops: Welcome to the World Of Sport
British wrestlers - with a few exceptions - lacked the flair and athletic energy of their American counterparts. However, they created a pantomime-style world filled with bizarre characters who captivated the grandmothers who traditionally sat in the aud
By Paul Williamson

Mystic Dick The Barmy Salami
He was always cast as a sheep in the Christmas nativity play and always messed up his lines by grunting instead of the making the customary bleating noise (sometimes you can't help going back to your roots)
By Ricky MacFarlane

Mystic Dick The Barmy Salami : We Found...
The sun is heading straight for Uranus and man is it going to hurt. My advise to you is to stay in and prepare get a big bag of ice and one of them rubber ring's to sit on and don't be surprised if you walk funny for a few days afterwards... try to look o
By Ricky MacFarlane

White Trash Christmas
He told me to go and wake up Ma, Pappy, Jolene, Zeke, the twins, uncle Jeff and little Joey and bring them all into the main room. When we was all there he announced that he had a great night's hunting and we was going to have a humdinger of a shin dig.
By Ricky Macfarlane

Third Time Lucky
"I think I had a dream about you the other night. We were walking through a wood by a stream. Barely even looking at each other. You were telling me about an idea you had for a song about a guy who falls in love with twins..."
By Rachel Queen

A soggy, muddy, spaghetti adventure
As we headed to the familiar stream near our house we pretended that we were trekking into the wilds of a tropical rainforest. Lost in our fantasy, and undeterred my the fact we could see the white lion pub if we turned to the right
By Rachel Queen

Why are love stories only about falling in love?
I said to her 'ahhh come on! Ok you want mystery! but you canít spend you life with reactionary bastards! When some when opens their heart to you that's a great thing you know?'
By Rachel Queen

A Real Diamond...
Picture this: an isolated road in the middle of the Yorkshire countryside, a seagull circling the dark purple sky, glowing with life in an almost deserted part of the country. I say almost because stood by the side if the road are three hitchhikers.
By Rachel Queen

The case of the missing smile
The girl had studied this couple on more than one occasion. She had spotted them last week in the local supermarket buying a loaf of bread, some rich tea biscuits and 3 bananas.
By Rachel Queen

Walking In The Silence
That is beside the point. I am telling you about falling in love. I fell in love with a tall man with dark green eyes which smiled when he talked. His nose was very straight. (You notice these things when you fall in love.)
By Rachel Queen

Come To Norway. It will be fun!
Breathless we reached the top of the hill and found our hostel. It had rained that day and everywhere smelt fresh and new. A mist hung over one mountain and the sky was turning apricot. The horizon was punctuated by brightly coloured houses and I was imme
By Rachel Queen

The Stolen Day
Or maybe they weren't quite turning yellow yet. Maybe we just imagined it because autumn was your favourite time of year and you had told me you wanted to share it with me.
By Rachel Queen

And the cars drove too fast...
Things did not happen like this on the 4th of November 2004. Instead at the very moment that Mrs Gibson passed Mr Richardson, and Stephanie stood waiting to cross the road, and Simon remerged from the newsagents, things changed with a bang.
By Rachel

And the cars drove too fast...
Things did not happen like this on the 4th of November 2004. Instead at the very moment that Mrs Gibson passed Mr Richardson, and Stephanie stood waiting to cross the road, and Simon remerged from the newsagents, things changed with a bang.
By Rachel Queen

Summer Nights in April and Queen Jane
Thereís war on the radio and, no, itís spring, and now I remember reading about tulips and flu and Iraq-was it on the same page? or the same newspaper, perhaps.
By Sonia Luthold

The adventures of wak, as told by Robert the Useless
"It is good that you have a job" said wak. "Because you will need a job if you are going to buy food for me".
By Sonia Luthold

The adventures of Wak, part two: Wak On Rain
<<that is why it rains>>, said wak. <<you must think about all the things you have lost. without that, they would never become a part of you. >>
Sonia Luthold

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts
...having nothing much to do, explore the ceiling. It doesnít really matter where you are or where youíll be. It doesnít. And the half tone of grey or white of the ceiling you will be looking at tomorrow, for there will be spiders on the corner.
By Stefano Santabarbara

Something Close To It
You smile at the memories, the good ones, caught in the light like the room that day, close your eyes, close your eyes, let them ooze into you, like bike rides to beaches and nights under canvas, daft on cheap vodka and no one can touch you, just you and
Tom Bickell

The Boat
By the river you could see a model sailing boat, motionless. Who did it belong to? You? It didnít look like it belonged to anybody. Maybe all parks and rivers had these boats for children to play with.
By Tom Bickell

The Birthday
Where did all the time go? Buried again, this time under layers and layers of Christmas cake and birthday cards, Sundays and holidays, the days inbetween filled with turning sheets of metal into bicycle frames.
By Tom Bickell

Swimming
I meandered my way along the deserted road, watching streetlights flicker off and on, off and on, from clear to amber to clear again, unsure, indecisive, not yet sure if the new day had begun.

By Tom Bickell

War is over
You can feel him tight in the sheets beside you, 4am, Christmas morning, and you bolt-upright, wide-awake as you always are on this one day out of three hundred and sixty five.
By Tom Bickel

Shelters
But isn't this what you always wanted? No ties, the total freedom, the liberty and autonomy to do as you please?
By Tom Bickell

The See Word
You first caught my eye when you refused to move for the bullies. You stood on the corner, fists clenched through fear or exhilaration, and, when they asked you to get out of their way, you looked them square in the eye, and simply said "no."
By Tom Bickell

Potential
I am twenty-eight years old and nothing much has changed since the doctor hacked at the umbilical cord and told me, "here, here is your world."
By Tom Bickell

Telephones
I tried to call you but I didn't. I trawled along stairways, walkways, and the like, daft on rye whiskey and falling into everything...
By Tom Bickell

Chasers
You can turn around, put your shoes back on, open the door with the same stealth that you showed when you first entered, crawl back down the stairs, and pretend none of this happened.
By Tom Bickell

The eyes
...and so I say to her "why do you like me?" and she says "you have soul and living life", and I think I get what she means, and I think back to Clapham and Golders Green and no one there ever told me I have soul and living life.
By Tom Bickell

Boxes
We had twenty-four boxes in all. One for each year of our lives. One day I joked to you that I wanted to collect one hundred boxes. I wasn't joking.
By Tom Bickell

Turning corners
Petra comes over and asks me if I'm ok, that I have been staring at the river a lot tonight, and I tell her I'm fine, just fascinated by reflections, by its colours and by its tones.
By Tom Bickel

How To Fight Loneliness
The sun twists and pulls and makes shadows on the pavement. Dew sticks to the grass, hinting at purity, a purity long gone from this bitter soul
By Tom Bickell

Mother of three
"...You move people with your words, you write through your heart." It all made me think. Wouldnít it be great to earn a living being able to do what you love to do!
By Tanya Tidmore

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Poems

Good Times/Assuage
I picture vapid mountains as/we've trekked towards our sun,/and remind myself, through a lump/in the throat,/that this is just another one
By Paul Williamson

Heavenly Bodies
Once more I found myself, in that glorious illusion/
By Michelle Y Kim

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Guides

A GUIDE TO TRAINS
Trains should be treated with extreme caution. If, for whatever reason, you do find yourself confronted with one of these monsters, try to relax and make the best of the situation.
Belle

A guide to the beach
The sea is shiny and smooth and I was quite surprised to discover it was wet. Very wet. In fact the sea is made entirely out of water which stays quite still while the sea moves.
By Belle the Travelling Dog

A guide to kitchens...
Every dog deserves a place like this to sit and mull over the the puzzles of this crazy world and what better room could it be, than in than in the best room of the house?
By Belle

A guide to snow
Snow is a magical substance which glitters and floats down from the sky and only appears when it wants to appear.
By Belle

A guide to training your person
The first time my girl moved from the front room to the kitchen and then to the fridge door was one of the proudest moments in my life.
By Belle

A guide to training your person
I am quite sure that if I was not with her she would have got completely lost!
By Belle

A quide to food
There was no going back now. I could not give the girl the mushroom back again... and I certainly could not eat the thing... and it seemed it was going to keep singing and singing.
By Belle

A quide to Christmas
"Hey, Christmas is going to be here soon, Belle!"
I waited around for what must have been at least 5 minutes and Christmas did not arrive, but that cat did.
By Belle

A guide to fashion!
The girl and me have very different opinions of what looks good on a dog.
By Belle

A guide to Cats

I didn't see him again for a couple of days and was beginning to think I was going a bit mad. Perhaps I had imagined him? Even cats can't just disappear can they?
By Belle

A guide to sheep
Unwilling to get disheartened by such a small setback I decided to ask them a few questions
By Belle

The Job Application
You state that you require a reliable person to be in charge of the quality control of the chocolate you produce. Although I'm not actually a person (and don't you think you could be being a little doggist by only advertising for one species), I would be
By Belle

The Party
I watched the girl as she coloured her face in and laughed. She was wearing her funny black shoes that make her limp a little bit. The woman was wearing bright shiny things from her ears. The man had put on his trousers which are allergic to me
By Belle

A Close Encounter Of The Bird Kind
I walked slowly and carefully toward the nearest one and with out warning it flapped its arms and whoosh! It was up in the air again.
By Belle

A guide to people
They are all so different and just as you think you finally understand one of them, another person comes along with a whole new set of rules and you are back to square one. It is enough to make your head spin!
By Belle

A guide to being alone
Its quite lonely when I'm on my own and there is a temptation to sit around moping and feeling sorry for myself but that would get me nowhere fast!
By Belle

Some Strange Behaviour
instead of eating her own food she started to eat small oval shaped sweets. Not many of them either. Just two every now and again. They didn't look like a very good replacement for some nice toast or a bowel of cornflakes.
By Belle

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Letters

Sister Janice Comes Home
Okay, so it wasn't all that popular in intensive care, but they LOVED it on the psychiatric wards. God, they PAY some people to do this. Occupational THERAPY, they call it.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice Saves The Universe
I can not lie to you. It probably IS pointless and empty, but perhaps you should come off the pills before you attempt the next chapter.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and the talking dog
Finally, someone with a real problem. No, I am not referring to the weather. I am referring to the fact that she LICKS her own hair.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice Saves The World!
Anyway, as I was saying, my name is Sister Janice, and I am very happy these days. Being a cosmic adventurer. Up in space. With no problems. I am not bored at all, I just want to help, which is why I wrote to the editors and asked them if they needed an a
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice Saves The Universe
Write to Sister Janice Slejj care of Friends of the Heroes. She will answer your problems and questions with the insight unique to a disco-loving alternative-gardening defrocked clergy member and cosmic adventurer.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and the Empty Mailbox
Back in the convent, Valentine's Day was a bit of a no-no. The Pope, in full-on killjoy fashion, decided way back in 1969 that the whole thing was way too Pagan.

By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and the Cabbage Conundrum
I have had rather an odd week. Yesterday a man knocked on the door of The Space Shed. He shouted something about my shed posing a threat, and wanting to inspect me.

By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and the Void
The silence, and the darkness, and the loneliness connect with a part of me, deep within. Just for a moment, I can sense what it really means to be Without, to become part of the void, to let go...
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and The Disappearing Nun
They'd be sitting in the middle of Burger King, munching on onion rings and sipping holy water and suddenly the Fountains Of The Lord would pour, and they'd be chucked out of there faster than you can say 'Hail Mary, Mother of The Big Guy'
By Sister Janice Slejj

The Loneliness of Sister Janice
People are often odd like that: when they know you want to talk to them, they don't want to listen.
Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and the Earthlings
And some creepy clown with red hair and nasty yellow dungarees keeps gawping at me through the window. God, even The Sisterhood Of The Perpetually Sartorially-Challenged could colour co-ordinate better than THAT.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and the Law
Be merry, my children, and remember.. no matter how inept you feel, there's always someone more boring, uninspiring and socially disadvantaged out there than you.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and the Poet
THIS is what you get for trying to save the world. For trying to improve the sorry lives of those who are unversed in the Healing Powers Of Retrospective Dance Music.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and the Big White Boot
She didn't look altogether pleased when I went to visit though and started shouting about how irresponsible it was to leave a bone lying in the middle of a hall full of dancing people in need of salvation.
By Belle

How I fell in love with April Rains
Rain wasn't an indispensable April ingredient until last year, when north-eastern greek weather decided to be poetic and presented us with a series of almost perfect days. Most of these days followed a pattern.
By Dimitra Daisy

Sister Janice and The Boundlessness of Eternity
I might be away from the Space Shed for a week, but that doesn't mean you can take advantage. Keep the police out. Keep your nose out of my herb garden. Stay away from my problem page.
By Roger Of Cheshire

Sister Janice leaves the planet
I didn't spend all those years married to Jesus to drop my habit for the first spotty youth that came along. Admittedly, I don't know why I DID spend all those years married to Jesus, but that is a different matter.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice gets replaced
Someone told me the women in Carluke pubs all wear leopard-skin to dissuade me but it only encouraged me. However on arriving at the Kirkton I found there was not one woman attired in this way.
By Belle

Sister Janice Please Come Home!
the editorial board of this half-baked rag try to convince you all that they had somehow concocted to not only make a dog talk but to have it solving problems too. Well I'm not having it. And neither, dear readers, are you. It's time to take action.
Aristotle

Sister Janice gets Defrocked
I wonder how long I have been here? I think we left Earth a couple of days ago, but time in space is malleable. You don't have to believe in it, if you don't want to believe in it.
By Sister Janice

Sister Janice and the Search for Peace
There's no shame in that. There's no shame in wanting happiness. Its just best not to look for it in a glass containing ANYTHING that happens to be made from distilled rocket fuel. Take it from me.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Reality, and Sister Janice
For a moment, just be here. no sound, no light, no feelings except those which occupy your inner self.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Roger does Janice
One day, you'll step out of whatever ship you're in - mental or physical - and you'll realise how beautiful it was outside all this time. Once you've opened up the door, you'll never want to close it again.
By Roger of Chesire

The disappearence of Sister Janice
I felt waves of distress emanating across the void. It was the Friends of the Heroes editors: sad, lonely creatures who inhabit a small planet of their own, many light years from civilisation,
By Aunt Muriel

Sister Janice And The Alien Plot
If anyone has a SENSIBLE problem, like being in love with a rubber glove, having a yearning to shave parts of their body into the shape of the face of God, or waking up with a spatula and a collection of soft fruit stuck in unfortunate orifices, you can
By Sister Janice

Some slow afternoon and what keeps me going
Music keeps me going because it makes my heart beat faster, poetry because it brings tears to my eyes, love, because it makes me melt inside. Cute boys because they seem like the promise of all happiness.
By Dimitra Daisy

Dear Children
I believe in magic because you are magical. Iím practicing spells all the time. Iím learning to play. If I donít, how will I speak your language?
By Emily Ann Potter

Cool Hand Janice
I have been able to write uncensored mail. I have a new abode. It doesn't suit, quite frankly. They don't like loud retrospective dance music, the food is crap and they make me wear this god-awful stupid uniform. Its nearly as bad as that bloody convent,
Sister Janice Slejj

Roger's struggle with self-deception
Eventually, you will have no need of such escapes, and will be happy with the simplicity of reality.
By Roger Cunlip

Sister Janice gets forgiven
'She's not a bad woman, she just makes mistakes she didn't mean to hurt you and...anyway... you're not supposed to be alive... I mean, its great that you are, but she said...-'
By Roger

Sister Janice And The Rays Of Hope
Perhaps the memory of that beauty, the moment of quietness it inspired within, will remain, and though the drabness returns it is always a little different - a slight quality of otherness lingers, or perhaps just a knowledge of potential. A reminder that
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice And The Miracle
Outside, in the silence, and the wind, a car with its engine running and the radio tuned to an old disco station, one I've never found before or thought of switching off since. I have it running, quietly, even when I sleep. It's as if turning it off would
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice And The Many Happy Returns
Nobody wrote this week, but that feels fine. This isn't a time to dwell on problems. This is a time to celebrate what we can all do, when we come together, and forget the past. To the future, my little lasers of love.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice Sulks
"well if you really want to waste your time on a bunch of nobody's that's your business! just don't expect me to answer any problems from a bunch of cardie-wearing fools
By Belle

Sister Janice-Cosmic Adventuring Advice Dispenser
Your must learn to see your problems as merely opportunities, my dears. Opportunities to change the way you live, into something more pleasing and productive
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and the man who lost himself
Janice, on the other hand, faces everything, and learns...... well, she must have learned something, although whatever it might be isn't immediately apparent right now.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice to the Rescue
The creatures all appreciated the True Healing Potential inherent in disco music, and by the end of it they were all joining me, flinging themselves around The Space Shed in abandon, and performing some bizarre ritual...
By Sister Janice Slejj

Lost with Sister Janice
Hell, it aint the musical era I'd choose, but it'll do. A hundred thousand gyrating bodies all around me, the air is thick with the smell of aromatic oils - the sort they burn here specially, that give energy, that keep you dancing all night, and that sto
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and the Guv'nor
'I know... isn't it strange? They made me boss, Janice. They told me I could run the planet...cigar?'
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice, the Planetary Priestess
The Space Shed drifts out of the solar system, engines turned down as low as possible, all guiding lights switched off. Even the internal lights, utterly invisible from the planet below, are dimmed so that we can barely see the control panel.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and The Ceremony
'You make sun come close, across space. You make us warm, make things grow, change the air.'
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and the Virgin
But then, these things often do take you by surprise.
By Sister Janice Slejj

A Week Without Janice
She smiled, and said 'you never told me you were a wizard'.
By Roger

Sister Janice is saved
That said, when she offers me a blanket, I accept. Suddenly, in that shed, in a swamp, with an old woman I barely know and the only light coming from a spluttering flame, I feel a sense of gratitude flooding over me.
By Sister Janice Slejj

Sister Janice and God
It is enough to change course, heading for a busy blue and green planet that many of you will find familiar, and to consider staying there for a time. I have travelled the galaxies to find Sister Janice, but she never left me.
By Sister Janice Slejj

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