Coming to the end

By Cath Barton

The storms had not cleared the air. Half-asleep, I walked slowly through the town dragging my feet, my nostrils assailed at street corners by wafts of dampness. The dogs were barking up on the hill but the streets of the town were empty. There was a half-eaten tray of chips in the gutter, the oily paper flapping like a dying bird, ketchup smeared across it like a bloodstain.
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In The Year Of Jubilee

By Liz Hedgecock

Jennifer peeped out carefully through the letterbox. The street looked like a party! There were long tables with white cloths, and red and blue paper plates set out. She had been at the front room window almost all morning, hiding behind the nets and watching the men stringing Union Jack bunting between the lamp-posts. Mummy had switched the telly on in the morning so that they could watch the Silver Jubilee.
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Winter Solstice

By Tracey Westacott

Her feet were beginning to bleed now. Every metatarsal was screaming at her. Just wait, wait a while. It was still only 6.30am, still dark. She had to get ready but wait – where were the shoes? Had they hidden them again? She listened at the door of the room. There was no sound outside, only the faint brushing of branches against the window panes. She looked again at her feet – crimson specks were dotted around the arches. How could she have been so stupid?
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