Yvonne Clarke

Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2020

Stories (8)

8 Stories

205 karma pts

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“A Thirst for Love” by Yvonne Clarke

Submitted to Contest #158

I live with Dad now, not Mum, but he won’t tell me why. The trouble with Dad’s place is the space. Think Grand Designs - it’s a house, not a home. Minimalism is king, and its emptiness echoes like an art gallery, its concrete floors cold and unyielding. I swear Dad wouldn’t mind if the bathroom was open plan. The reflection in the vast expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows lures unsuspecting birds to thei...

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“Brotherly Love” by Yvonne Clarke

Submitted to Contest #147

Emily didn’t like going to Mass with her Mum every Sunday. It lasted too long – sometimes over an hour – and it was in Latin, which she didn’t understand. So, when her Mum took her to another church with a shorter service, in English, things started to look up, not least because there was a shop at the back of the church. Though she was only nine, she was a sucker for retail therapy, even if the items on sale only consis...

8 comments 8
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“Puppy Love” by Yvonne Clarke

Submitted to Contest #137

I loved him. I went to bed thinking about him and I woke up the next morning thinking about him. No one had ever made me feel like that before. What was that, if not love?His voice, with its Liverpudlian twang which reminded me of my Beatles heartthrob Paul McCartney, his athleticism (he would leap from lab desk to lab desk in an attempt to gain our attention, rather than throw chalk at us like the other teachers), his sense of humour, all sang to the tune of my fourteen-year-old hormones.Sir was the one and only male teache...

13 comments 13
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“The Newbie” by Yvonne Clarke

Submitted to Contest #131

THE NEWBIE (1002 words) It hadn’t been an easy decision, this move to be closer to my daughter. I had left the house that I had lived in when I was married, said goodbye to good neighbours, close friends and familiar shops. But despite my daughter’s assurances that I would soon make new friends, I sensed I was not welcome. The locals appeared clannish, their carapaces as hard to crack as walnuts. Generations of fa...

3 comments 3
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“The 417” by Yvonne Clarke

Submitted to Contest #119

The number 417 is more crowded than usual this morning. I move down the aisle, then flop down as the bus lurches forwards. The raised seat over the rear wheels is a bit lean on legroom but it is good for people watching. I like to guess people’s professions as they board the bus. Actor or accountant? Social worker or salesperson? I will never find out, of course. But that’s not the point. All of a sudden, I am o...

4 comments 4
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“Reconciliation” by Yvonne Clarke

Submitted to Contest #112

The sky today is cerulean blue, the clouds forming a Daliesque surrealism of floating feathers, drooping eyes and melting moons. The intoxicating smell of the sea wafts around me: salt, seaweed, ozone, reminding me of happy childhood memories in our cottage with its deck leading straight down from the cliffs to a little-known sandy cove. Every day after breakfast I and my brother would race down the rudimentary ...

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“Prodigal” by Yvonne Clarke

Submitted to Contest #102

I escaped my birthplace when I was a young man. But in spirit, I escaped much sooner. When I was still a kid I became aware that life for many people did not mean scraping your knuckles red raw as you picked up scraps from around the market stalls, holding your breath and pinching your nose to block out the stench of open sewers, and caking your feet in mud to protect them in the absence of shoes. That you didn’t have to...

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“Fate Accomplit” by Yvonne Clarke

Submitted to Contest #42

Everything depended on it still being there. They walked up the weed-peppered drive to a front door swinging gingerly on rusty, warped hinges. Cobwebs hung like gossamer in the porch, punctuated with flies wrapped up like black pearls, awaiting their fate. Anna and the agent sidestepped the jagged holes in the splintered porch, every step they took creaking mournfully. Empty birds’ nests, their job done for the year, hung precariously from the eaves. An umbilical cord of ivy wound up the sides of the house, creating a tracery of gr...

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Author bio

Hi! I have been an editor, a teacher, and finally a short story writer, which is by far the best of the three! I live in Chichester, a beautiful Roman city near the sea in West Sussex, UK.