
Read by Ben Crystal
He does not know, but He is the centre of the Universe.
Everything everyone else does, they do solely for the effect it has on Him. This is their only purpose, whether they are aware of it or not.
Continue reading "He Does Not Know by Liam Hogan" »

Read by Daisy Whyte
She took the baby to bathe her. It was nearly six p.m. and Steve wasn’t home yet. A church council meeting. Always something. He would be late. The only fact that mattered. She put her hand on her belly, going still for a moment as the baby kicked. This one, the inside one, could take her breath away with his punches and kicks. A boy, she thinks – already looking for a playground.
Continue reading "Preacherwife by Helen Silverstein" »

Read by Steve Wedd
Pete peeled and chopped the garlic, tossed it in with the frying chicken. A lot of garlic; he had come to understand that she liked it that way.
The kitchen was a stove on which two of the four burners worked, a fridge that was older than he was and a sink cluttered with days of dishes. As Pete stood station at the stove Julie moved around the appliances. She was not a girl to whom stillness often occurred. Small, fair-skinned, nose splashed with freckles, blonde hair cut short, she was dressed in knock-off DKNY jeans and a No Fool tee-shirt. The radio was playing Eric Clapton, Anything For Love.
Continue reading "Cooking with Chicken by David Gill" »

Read by Jo Widdowson
If she doesn’t find the right cheese, her marriage will be over.
Claire is on a pilgrimage, a shopping trip to win back her husband with a taste that will prove to him that she loves him and persuade him to stay. It is twenty-seven years since she last slept alone, and she has no idea what colour she would decorate her bedroom, or whether she would sleep with the light on.
Continue reading "Monsieur Fromage by Rosalind Stopps" »

Read by Martin Lamb
The man with the musical penis sat in the café, a newspaper folded over his lap as he absently stirred a cup of coffee that had long since grown cold. Even a casual observer would have been struck by the weariness evident in the slump of his shoulders. For he was tired: tired of his organ’s propensity to announce even its faintest stirrings with a note, a whistle or even, if the excitement proved more sustained, a flurry of drums.
Continue reading "The Man with the Musical Penis by Sumit Dam" »