David Harland

“A Change of Perspective” by David Harland

Henry swore as a sharp gust of wind whipped at his scarf, blowing it into his face and almost making him collide with a commuter coming the other way. He had left the set in frustration at the director, after the fifteenth (or was it the sixteenth?) take of a pivotal scene, the one where his character gives the monologue around which the whole picture was based. A scene which the famous actor Henry Fleming should have mastered with ease, and normally would have done. Perhaps it was the location; the Inns of Court did provide a spectacular ba...

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“Rendezvous Point” by David Harland

Submitted to Contest #84

Olivia sat on the bench, fighting both her confusion and her growing panic. Something, she thought, had gone very wrong. At least she could rest here for a moment, gather her thoughts. She’d often used the bench as a meeting place; it was on top of a hill and she could see anyone approaching from a long way off. It would give her a chance to plan her next move. At least so far no-one seemed to have noticed her escape. It had been remarkably easy, she thought, to get away from the establishment where they had been holding her, for goodness kn...

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“Chilli” by David Harland

Submitted to Contest #81

The chilli was almost ready. It was time to add what Carl jokingly called his “secret ingredient:” a teaspoonful of chocolate. He was proud of his chilli. He had cooked it for Mary, on one of their first dates; she had been very impressed with his cooking, although he was sure she was suspicious that it was the only thing he could make. Which wasn’t far from the truth. Anyway, tonight was a special occasion; their anniversary, five years of married life. Although a lot of that time had been spent apart, Carl still thought himself very lucky....

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“Landing at Lakehurst” by David Harland

Submitted to Contest #80

Content warning: mention of Nazi ideology   Helga stared out of the window. Below, all she could see was white cloud; above her, a deep blue sky. Occasionally she could see their shadow on the clouds below, a vast torpedo shape which reminded her of a whale, although many times bigger. Around her on the busy viewing deck were the sounds of gentility. A lady stirring her tea delicately, a gentleman rustling the pages of his newspaper; a low murmur of general conversation. White coated attendants waited hand ...

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“Conchie” by David Harland

Submitted to Contest #79

A week’s leave. It was really happening, thought Chas. He’d been dreaming of this for months, of coming home. It had been thoughts of home and family that had kept him going through the many dark times and dangers he had faced while away overseas. He stretched as the train pulled into the station, having managed to get a few hours’ sleep on the four-hour journey. He could do with sleeping for four days. Somewhere on the platform a newspaper seller was shouting. “Evening Standard-latest war news!” The vendor pronounced it “E’ning Stannard.” ...

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“Caterpillar” by David Harland

Submitted to Contest #78

Jeremy found the caterpillar one summer evening when he was foraging in the old tumble-down house at the edge of the town. It was said that a crazy old man had lived there, but he was long gone. All the local kids knew how easy it was to get into the grounds, as there were several parts of the surrounding wall that had collapsed, allowing access to the now overgrown gardens. Jeremy had been trying to free an old grass roller, rusted and trapped by tendrils of weeds, when he had heard the other boys coming. One of the voices made him shudder ...

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“Footprints ” by David Harland

Submitted to Contest #77

It was a bright, clear and very cold day in the Himalayan foothills when we saw the tracks in the snow; tracks that belonged to no animal that any of us was aware of. We stopped dead, our breath clouds of steam in the freezing air, none of us voicing what we were thinking. I was the tour guide; Mike Torrance and Jerry Malcolm my paying customers; Malcolm was the first to speak. “You’re not thinking…what I’m thinking, are you?” he said, his voice whipped away by a sudden icy gust of wind. He looked pale. Torrance had been riding the younger m...

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