50 word stories: Morte Derek -- by File

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The outline of the corpse was under the window, cut into broken glass, filled with blood. Sir Derek had been alone but for his young wife. "He was shot by someone outside" she'd said. The Belgian detective had seen glass on top of the body, he sighed "Leaf inzurance, non?"

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50 word stories: Floods -- by Mimitig

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Sunlight rips the cloud scene. Suddenly rays – fingertips of the gods touch us. We’ve waited, so long for warmth. Waters subside, floods recede, but safety is relative – not all survive. Raindrops come inside as tears fall from my eyes. I am here, wondering when warmth will return to my life.

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50 word story -- by Mouth of the Mersey

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I look into his eyes, and I see my own. I watch his walk, and I see my own. I note the successes and the failures, for they are my own. I remember the father, for he was my own. I wonder at the son, for he is my own.

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50 word stories: Clay -- by Nestaquin

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Anam Cara. Interwoven clay. Eternal rhythm of time, life and space. Dogs bark. She is awoken in a dream. Life after reincarnated life the song remains the same. Atomic. Never platonic. Searching for a love who appears only in sleep. “How do I remain?” she asks. “No-one can” is the reply.

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Rainbows -- by Mimitig

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I saw a rainbow once
When very young
In a film
It glowed, bright colours, not reality
There was a pot of gold

I heard a song
Judy - an angel's voice
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
Still unreal

A child searching
Went to the park
Every day
To the Rainbow Bridge
It did not glow
There was no song

I asked my mother
Why Rainbow?
She said: use your mind
There is a shape, a dream
Add your own colours
Remember Iris

So I learned that
Rainbows come in all colours
But only one shape

I see rainbows now
Real across the waters
Dreaming in my mind
Single and fragile
Double luminous glows
Sometimes there are ones that show
The end, the gold

Hope, joy, laughter and tears
In colours
Remembering Richard Of York
Gained Battles In Vain
Tears after rain

Sometimes I see a brightness
Sometimes darkness
Overwhelms

Behind the clouds
There are always
Colours

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From 'The Manager's Poems': People Management -- by File

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I walk back to my office, through the open plan
Feeling the spring of the grey cord carpet
Eyeing metal trim which had once grazed my hand
Lit me up inside for a static split second
Alive for an instant like Shelley’s non-man

Feeding my way through fifty partitions
Banking round the corners on a racing line
Past booths bathed in light from
Flat screen monitors
Giving all living figures a pithy definition

Allowing the door to swing shut, with a click
Throwing myself into the welcoming lap
Of soft loving leather, passively reforming me
My fingers reach instinctively the cradle of paper clips
Where they swim in cool steel, dive, surface and slip

Addressing the smooth brushed birch of my desk
Adjusting the dynamic tension of my tie
Noticing the blinking green light of my secretary
On the nameless black telephone, a nursing breast,
Chrome pads inviting faded fingerprints to rest

So I file, upright cardboard folders, righteous crisp paper tiles
Into orderly rows in congregated aisles
Under a Latin calendar from our pious accountants
Ever on their knees, singing psalms to their insignia
An iconic blue abacus of immaculate piles

And I type, on a cracked mud keyboard, clauses coming to life
As in a database field my dried flowers just might
Wind in my green fingers, I dance with my children
Wind in their hair from the cool zephyr air-con
Shadow hide and seek in the harsh office light

Wall-hung organizational chart
Is as close as I'll get before heading home,
Now location of dependents, out to
My Jaguar, staff jalopies in the tarmac car park
Silence. People management is an art..

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From 'The Manager's Poems': Shirt and Tie -- by File

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I flapped and bulged as a clean white shirt
On a suburban nylon washing line
One of many, line after line, dentures in the wind
Then I hung passively absorbing rain
And eventually also bleeding rust from the spring in the clip
Sepia seeping into me, stained teeth

I pondered lonely as a shroud
Sunken over decayed flesh
The weight of ages is the weight of tissue, I wait for morning
When I will be squeezed around the middle and pulled
While the pegs are removed
And then thrown into a plastic bag to wait
For the next cycle of whites


Silky coils sleeping on the jungle floor
Where I slipped after failing to hold my hanger
That was sometime ago now and dust has settled
In the crease you made from your vicious V
That failed to impress the disciplinary board
And failed to help you explain it to your wife

Wrapped I was, with care, that day
Around a stainless starched white neck
And you had no reason to suspect that my performance
Would be anything less than Spectacular
But it is hard to shine in the dim light from under the wardrobe door
Amongst boxes and crumpled balls of paper, your friend,
That so acutely remind me of the fate of my friend, your shirt,
Damp and creased and soiled in a plastic bag downstairs

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Summer in Scotland -- by Mimitig

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Mid-July, nearly Gala time
It should be hot
Sun shining
Sandcastles and swimming
Soft fruit and picnics in the forest.

Not this year, no
Rain and hail and sleet
More like November.

But we don't care
Because it's summer
So each weekend we plan for barbeques
For barefoot escapades in sodden sand dunes
We wake on Mondays disappointed and wet.

And yet there are still smiles
On all the faces, young and old
The children are on holiday from school
The grown-ups know we cannot change the days.

It is the way of things
And all the summers of our youth
Were not just hot and sultry
Rose-tinted viewing makes it so
And will do for these children now.

And when the sun comes out
We rush to paddle
Wade and get our trousers wet
Thinking - now it's warm
Tomorrow we shall swim!

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50 word stories: Hammersmith Palais -- by Mimitig

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She danced, under the glittering, sparkling ball. The 50s - swing and elegance - so cool and tingling. God, I would have been there - this is my mother's story. Instead I did raw indie sounds - cool for a new generation. I didn't live in London. Home by bus, resonating with the music.

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50 word stories: Letters Count -- by Mimitig

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Tea, she thought. Having read some T-alliteration. Went to Betty's once. In Harrogate. We had tea-cakes, she thought. Then thought about the Tea Dance. Where she fell in love. She shows the photos to her grandchildren now. They laugh and say: "Nan, did you wear those frocks?". Yes. I did.

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50 word stories: A Friend's Return -- by OffsideinAntibes

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He telegraphed. "I'll be here Tuesday." Fifteen years since that last drunken night. Then postcards: Katmandu, Kinshasa, Peru... My tidy life and the 8.45 bus to work.

I called in sick, waited, didn't see him. Neighbours told me. He got off the 8.45, his bag got caught, dragged underwheel. Killed instantly.

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50 word stories: Fifty one -- by OffsideinAntibes

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Words' Convention
By invitation
"Cool"
"Hello"
Limited number
"How many?"
Fifty
"That's all?"
"Shame"
"Hurry"
"Dress code?"
Informal
"Drink?"
"Cocktail, please"
"Treats?"
Beluga
"Fancy!"
"Help yourself"
"Who else?"
Love, Always
"Welcome"
Mix and Mingle
"What a queue!"
"It will never fit."
Sorry
"Make room"
"Impossible"
"Ouch, my foot!"
Squeeze
Done

Gatecrasher

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50 word stories: The Cats -- by Mimitig

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I had two cats - one proper, one more stuffed toy. They grew old - I thought they'd like a friend. We found black kitten, lost, ugly, not fluffy, no-one wanted her. Ah, sweet I thought. How wrong. She rules the roost - no peace for oldies. I brought the very devil home.

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50 word stories: Forever -- by Mimitig

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Eternal lovers met aeons ago. They wooed, they loved. Her father and brothers said no and locked her away. She grew her hair. He bought a horse and rode to rescue her. She let down her tresses, they loved, and now become the lovers of all stories past and future.

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50 word stories: Cajun Song -- by Zephirine

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I am so poor, I have no shoes. I love that blonde girl from across the bayou, but her Mama won’t have me in the house. Hey, pretty dark-haired girl, want to dance with a poor man? See how well we dance together, four bare feet in time.

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50 word stories: Circle -- by Zephirine

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Married by mistake, they stay together sulkily for twenty years. Suddenly he dies. She goes on cruises, has affairs, grows tired; then meets, at last, a man she feels wonderfully comfortable with. Happily, she brings the new husband home… and then realises why she felt like she’d met him before...

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50 word stories: Escape With Your Life -- by DoctorShoot

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“Hey gambling man!?” Pfitzer challenged
The club, and the thick Mt Gembogl tropical storm, fell silent.
Handerson nodded; they tossed.

Pfitzer swaggered up the $1200 cheque, the door swung.

The district commissioner whispered over his wife’s shoulder, twisting his daughter’s ribbons:
“Looks like he’s got his fare home.”
“Good riddance.”

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50 word stories: Dream Territory -- by File

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They took my father's land, which was my grandfather’s land, I have no land. They told me I couldn’t go back there anyway, that I have to stay here and they told me how to tell you this. My grandmother cannot sleep these days because they come into her dreams.

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50 word stories: Patient History -- by File

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“She’s been in a critical condition for a long time now.”
“She’s not yet stable, I can say that.”
“What are you doing to promote her recovery?”
“Not much, to be honest.”
“Well, what are you doing to prevent worsening?”
“We’re crossing our fingers and hoping she’s a tough planet.”

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