Steve Cripwell

“The View” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #97

            Josh couldn’t sleep. He’d not been able to sleep for some months now, he went to bed tired but as soon as his head hit the pillow he was wide awake. So, to quell the boredom of the endless night, he watched. He watched the sky, awaiting that first faint lightening before the sun came over the horizon. He watched neighbourhood cats and urban foxes follow their nocturnal quest with interest. Mainly, however, he watched the windows of the block opposite. His bedroom, sited ...

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“The Job” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #95

Should he or shouldn’t he? It was the question that tore him apart every time the situation arose and that was every time he set out on a new job. Clive always came down on the yes-he-should side of the decision but it still remained a dilemma. He’d been doing ‘the job’ for a long time and at seventy years of age, he should now be retired. He should be pruning roses or growing tomatoes; the things that old people, like him, talked about when he spent time with them. A lot of his work involved doing just that; talking and listening to elderly...

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“Tree Line” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #90

I stood under its branches as they reached heavenward, the thick canopy of leaves soaking up the sun. I looked at my son standing opposite me, the limited light showing his face, dappled like leopard skin. This was our birthday ritual, to visit the oak tree as a family.  My grandfather had brought my father here every birthday morning for the whole of his life, as had his father. Then up until his accident, my father brought me too. Here I was, continuing the tradition with my son. Why the tree was held in such high esteem by my ancesto...

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“Fairy Tales” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #88

‘We love your stories, Uncle Zak, please tell us another one.’The three youngsters were sitting cross-legged in a semicircle around his chair. They were in his sitting room and the sun was shining through the open french windows. He’d been on his own for almost five years, ever since his wife had died, and the visits from his family were precious to him. Closing the book he’d been reading from, he said. ‘Sorry kids but I have to finish a story I’m writing and I have a deadline to meet.’ There was a murmur of dissent from the children but the...

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“Gravity” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #87

He read the email and a big smile appeared on his face. ‘Now that’s a great idea,’ said James Enfield, the station manager. ‘That will certainly put us ahead of the competition. Show those other radio stations who the top broadcaster is.’ The two men sat at the conference table in his office. Jim spun his laptop around so the other could read the content of the mail.  ‘Will it work though?’ his colleague, Mark, was sceptical. ‘It may make us look stupid if it fails to generate interest and I’m certain there are other things being planne...

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“The Library” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #85

‘This building was designed, built and loved by my father,’ Hector tried to keep the adoration from his voice but didn’t quite make it. ‘Lionel Brent built half of this city but this is the building he was most proud of.’ He paused for effect, something he had learned from his late father. ‘Don’t rush what you have to say, son, make them hang on your words.‘ He could hear his father’s voice as he stared at the gathering in the foyer of the old building. Amongst the crowd facing Hector, were faces he recognised, people he had grown up with so...

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“City My City” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #85

  A cold, biting, wind whips through the gaps between the high rise blocks, chilling my face and hands, as I walk towards the sanctuary of my home. This city has grown so tall that now the sun never reaches the pavements and people exist in a semi-dark world; lit by the glow of mobile phones as they shuffle about their business. The once bright street lamps are dimmed and discoloured by years of neglect; most remain useless and dark, unlit for years. The teams of patrols employed in their repair long since finished and redundant, crip...

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“The Room with a View” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #84

'What’s the date today? Is it the anniversary of the day I came home from the hospital? It was the same day as we started this national lockdown.` Looking at the well-thumbed calendar and trying to focus on the squares. Then fiddling in the pocket of my cardigan, I pull out my reading glasses and slip them on the end of my nose. ‘Yes, it is,’ I chuckle, satisfied that I am correct, I lean back in the chair. The world outside my window seems barely to have changed although I know it has. There are so many restrictions now, so many government ...

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“The Island” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #83

They collected the boat, and casting off the mooring ropes, headed the Great White Hope out of the small but bustling harbour. James was an experienced sailor and captain but the two others were not. Clare had only been on a canal boat previously but she was fun, willing and eager to learn. Paul had some knowledge, mainly of larger ships, as he had recently left the merchant navy. His experience was gained on the bridge of supertankers and huge container vessels. They were the only, English speaking, crew available at the time he n...

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“Dinner for Two” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #81

I like cooking, it’s therapeutic. Cooking for another person is particularly healing, especially for someone who appreciates what they have been served. My kitchen holds everything I need to prepare and cook the finest food. I just lack the motivation to do it for just myself. Janice has always loved her food and so, when we decided to have a date-night in, I was excited and keen to show her that I have maintained my culinary skills since we’ve drifted apart. Even though we are still married, we live totally separate lives. She lives upstair...

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“Hobby Bobby” by Steve Cripwell

TW: murder, gore 'Robert, will you come down here, your food is almost ready? Oh, and wash your hands I don't want to smell that glue whilst we're eating.’ He could hear his mother's voice echoing up the stairs and shook his head. Even at thirty-eight years of age she still treated him like a small boy. He placed the bloodied scalpel on the desk and surveyed his progress. It was taking shape, he knew but needed more practice. Suitable, small animals were hard to come by. Pet shops preferred to sell their goods to small boys and girls, f...

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“Never Too Old” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #77

  Never Too Old Jack looked out of the window as the snow began to fall, it’s large flakes suddenly covering the garden in a cold, white carpet.  'Hey Julia, look out of the window. It’s like a scene from a Christmas card out there.’ He was standing in the lounge, still wearing his dressing gown and slippers even though he had been up for hours. He held this morning’s third mug of coffee in his hand. ‘Not sure if the paperboy will deliver this morning though, the snow seems to be settling pretty fast.’ There was no answer from the ...

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“First Date” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #56

‘I love first dates,’ said Tom aloud to himself, as he admired his image in the full-length bathroom mirror. He let the towel slip to the floor and naked, stood combing his wet hair. He padded into his bedroom and sat down on the bed. Blow drying his hair with the Supersonic dryer he’d recently purchased on-line. He ensured that every strand was perfectly placed and then sprayed it with setting lacquer and smiled at himself. His hand mirror showed that the back of his head was perfect too. So many men forgot about the back, he thought. His h...

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“Friends Forever” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #32

Gordon wiped the top of the kitchen work surface and threw the cloth into the sink. He liked things to be clean and tidy before eating so, satisfied, he slid onto the dining chair. He ground some black pepper on his spaghetti and wrapped the pasta around his fork and put it in his mouth.‘Delicious,’ he spoke aloud, although there was nobody else in the room to hear him. It was a practice he’d come to use ever since Shelly, his wife, had died a year before. It helped him to combat the loneliness he felt every day when he came home to this emp...

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“The Rose Garden” by Steve Cripwell

Submitted to Contest #31

The rake snagged on a clump of grass and Geordie had to pull hard to free it. When it did release, he almost fell backwards onto the muddy ground. The rake head had separated from the long, wooden handle and he smiled to himself. “This is going to take a lot longer than I thought’ he said aloud to nobody but the surrounding trees then walked over and picked up the broken tool. His smile continued as he looked around the forsaken piece of land that he had recently inherited. The house also needed some TLC but the garden, in his mind, nee...

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