Linda Hibbin

  Twenty-four hours ago, curled in a gloomy retreat, the colony mindlessly awaited dusk. Suddenly, their world lurched, flipped over to face the sun, and moist muscles hissed as the settlers were picked off and flung into the wasteland. One had been overlooked, and when the sky pivoted and the moon replaced the sun, it […]

In her mock Tudor abode, surrounded by fake antique elegance, Lady Jones-Whambottom entertained her cronies, their conversation rich with innuendo and rumour.   Twelve-year-old Angela-Jane sat beside her aunt. To be seen, not heard.   Scarborough, an overweight Bulldog, dozed on the chaise lounge.   By chance, the long-suffering Omniscience and His/Her adversary, at that

‘ACTION.’ Edmund carefully modulated his voice. ‘Tell viewers how this phobia restricts your life, Janice.’ ‘I-I c-can’t—’ ‘Recall the first time you encountered this fear.’ Janice, cheeks streaked with mascara, lips trembling, whispered, ‘Oh, Edward, I feel …’ she covered her mouth, ‘… sick.’ She stumbled out of the shot, returning a minute later hyperventilating.

The four youths gathered around the Dresden Blue Morris Minor. Rust and dents failed to diminish Bill’s love for his first car. The lad was a cheeky monkey, the elderly man mused. Well brought up, thoughtful, ready to lend a hand. He deserved the car. Heads turned. The clack of stilettoes heralded the approach of

I’m meandering sluggishly across the flood plain of old age, toward the open sea. I am ‘der Formschneider,’ the block cutter, held in high regard by Kaiser Wilhelm. I study the wood block I’ve been carving for decades but cannot finish. My eyes are inadvertently drawn to the field behind the young characters Ernst, Katrin