Stephen Taylor

“Jack” by Stephen Taylor

Submitted to Contest #85

That’s the thing about this city – one day it is the best place on earth, bustling, vibrant and full of colour – the next, it feels drab and dreary; drizzle falling and dark clouds filling the grey sky.  I wander aimlessly through the streets, gazing into the shop fronts that I pass, longing to push open the door and walk in, to browse through the many wondrous things on show. How good would a new suit look on me? New shoes, shiny enough to see my face in them – Italian leather, definitely Italian leather. &nb...

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“Coffee and Reminisce (Excerpt)” by Stephen Taylor

(This story is now part of a longer tale called Flowers for Alice - which I expanded after writing a few chapters - and covers the first meeting of two lovers who were cruelly separated when a crash claimed the life of one of them. It is a story of reincarnated love after twenty years apart. I think it sits well enough as a stand alone - hope you like it).  John woke early, washing and dressing even before the cockerel had time to share its wake up call with the world. Breakfast was a simple one of cereal and t...

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“Whales Eye View” by Stephen Taylor

Submitted to Contest #80

The moonlight, strong and captivating, broke the surface of the ocean and penetrated the gloom of the Atlantic night – giving the water an almost ghost-like quality. The cold waves slid silently over his body to froth gently, before re-joining the trillions of other water molecules that made up this vast body of sea.  He was only young, not even two years old yet, but the sense of adventure and curiosity coursing through him meant he left the safety of the pod often. This night, with the skies above clear and crisp – a bi...

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“Grandad's Cabin” by Stephen Taylor

Submitted to Contest #77

The sky, overcast and grey, looked ominous as the clouds thick with the impending rain floated slowly across the lake towards the cabin – which stood like a beacon against the green canvas of the forest. It had stayed dry for the three days he had been here, not a single drop had fallen, although it had been cold. Jack had checked the temperature on the little thermometer, nailed on the inside of the cabin’s only door – it had read -2 degrees Celsius. Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, his Grandad used to say, when the wi...

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“The Voice in the Room” by Stephen Taylor

Submitted to Contest #75

  It was dark, so very dark – and quiet. The only sound was the faintest whisper of a breeze coming from somewhere, like the wind sighing as it caresses the leaves of a tree. The blackness in wherever he was – a room, a cell, a box – whatever, was total and sensory numbing, no light penetrated the gloom that he could make out. Why was he here? How did he get here? Many different questions started to crowd his mind, askin...

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