Tag Archives: parenting

Sally-Anne Wilkinson’s New Short Story – The Birdhouse

My latest story on the Storgy website, with the stunning photography of Tomek Dzido as inspiration.

THE BIRDHOUSE

by

Sally-Anne Wilkinson

Stepping from the bus onto the estate, I smell bacon frying.  It’s years since I left, but nothing’s changed: the houses, clean and neat, overlook characterless gardens, and the street itself is airless; stagnant with marriage, kids, invisibility.   The bus drives away, and I’m abandoned with my rucksack, heavy on my back.

I look at the house.  Karen’s car is parked in the shared driveway.  She offered to pick me up from the station, but I said no.

‘Suit yourself.’

I see a bike, flung carelessly, to the right of Karen’s car, and I laugh, a small, indiscernible sound.

‘Seems to me, Charlie, you think the world owes you a favour.’

‘What -?’

‘Your bike. On the drive.’

‘Dad – I wasn’t…’

‘Money Charlie.  Hard-earned cash.  Bike’s aren’t free, you know?’

‘I -‘

‘You can’t look after anything – ’

‘Dad – I…

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Sally-Anne Wilkinson’s New Short Story – ‘A Forgotten Colour’

Another light-hearted romp from the Wilkinson imagination! Hope you enjoy, and please, tell me if you do. And if you don’t, please tell me why…! I only get better if I know how to improve…

A FORGOTTEN COLOUR

paint tins banner

by

Sally-Anne Wilkinson

*

Judith draws back the curtains, securing them with tie-backs; gently fingering the black beaded ends.  David chose them.  She glances around the room.  It could do with a polish, and a hoover.  Instead, she settles for smoothing the duvet with the palm of her hand.  Aubergine.  David’s favourite.

It’s purple, Mum, he said, snorting. 

 

That’s not what they call it on those design shows.

 

Well, exactly.

The conversation she remembers verbatim, but it’s a while since she’s seen him, and lately, she finds it hard to recall his features, such as the line of his nose, and the natural hue of his hair.

She likes to keep his room tidy. That way, it feels like he’ll turn up any minute, though the bedcovers are rumpled from when Frank stops in here.  Why can’t he clean up after himself?  It…

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Sally-Anne Wilkinson’s New Short Story – Amazing Grace

AMAZING GRACE

Amazing-Grace - steven michael

by

Sally-Anne Wilkinson

Photo by Steven Michael

Seth sat on the bench trying to think of the right words.  In actual fact, there were no words for what he had to say; for what he was about to do.  He looked at the paper again, which he’d stared at for the last thirty minutes.  Dear Grace.  It was as far as he got.

His hand was unsteady, and the words uneven, and though his fingers were unused to writing, it was not this that made the pencil quiver.  Outside, the wind cried mournfully, and frigid air crept into his thin clothing, but it was not the cold that made his body shake.

He only hoped she could forgive him.   His hand finally allowed him to scribe.

It was not a decision easily made.

He sat at this bench when he first saw her, not yet seven years old. …

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Sally-Anne Wilkinson’s New Short Story – Colin

My new story on the Storgy website.

COLIN

Shopping trolley in supermarket

by

Sally-Anne Wilkinson

The front door clicks gently, and as I step into the cool stillness, it reminds me of how the day used to start when I was a boy – with the electric whirr and clinking bottles of the milk-float.  The sound was friendly, like the milkman himself.  He’d come around, every Friday night and stand in our doorway, asking about Gran’s health, and about Eileen who’d moved to Australia three years before.   Sometimes he’d tell jokes, or pull a sweet out from behind my ear, while Mum counted coins from her purse.  His barrel-chested bonhomie filtered through to everyone he met.  Many mornings, you’d collect your pint from the doorstep, to be greeted with a cheery hello from a neighbour or a passerby.  You don’t get that now.

These days, people choose to wander supermarket aisles like zombies instead, barely able to glance up from their…

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