Short Stories

The White Room
The room is not mine.
One window frames an ash tree. One window lenses the world.
From the wide lens of your window I can see an album of ordinary life. There's a woman unfolding a music stand with metallic determination. She picks up a flute, begins to play, and soap bubbles of notes break against your glass. The music is floating but the woman is standing very still. The strange thing about her is that she is naked.

Roman short story
I thought you were disappearing - the white snow wrapping you. Your outlines wavered. You sparkled. You had stepped inside an ordinary phenomenon and you had turned into a miracle. You were not disappearing, you were landing. Where you landed was me.

How to Die
Call me TD. I sound like an old fashioned car or a secret agent. I am in the wrong time certainly, in the wrong place perhaps, and already I feel more like a story than a human being; that is, I am the kind of thing that gets written about. I am in print.

The Lion, the Unicorn and Me
Before it happened, an angel lined up all the animals – every one, of every kind, because this angel had the full list left over from the Ark.

Christmas Cracker
A row of miniature angels watched over the dog, fast asleep, nose in his paws, only his ears, one torn, visible above the river of blue and green tissue paper that flowed knee-deep down the factory floor.

The Snow Horse
Christmas Eve. Snow had fallen snow on snow, snow on snow, until the city lay underneath its white pelt like a steaming animal.

The Mistletoe Bride
It's the custom in these parts to play Hide and Seek on Christmas Eve. My new husband wishes to prolong the chase. I am his caught thing, but he has not had me yet. He says that after dinner, when we have eaten our fill, and before supper, when we shall sit round and tell a wintry tale, all the ladies present shall hide, and all the gentlemen present shall seek them.