Made in Wirral

  Not All Heroes Wear Capes By Susan Lang Savoury aromas of a juicy chicken roasting wafted from the kitchen. The scent filled the house and teased me from my afternoon slumber. I was reminded of the time of day. Not long now and my world was about to be turned upside down. Max was due home from school any minute. I was ill this morning – dodgy guts, and I had missed seeing him today so was excited to do so now. Trying to catch a glimpse of him coming home, I charged up to our room. Leaping up the slippy laminated stairs, I skidded across the floor and crashed into the bedroom door, knocking the wooden ‘Max and Paddy’s Room’ sign. In the full length mirror I caught a glimpse of my reflection and winced. My jet black curls had become all tousled, victims of my siesta. They would need sorting before we went anywhere, and today we were off to the beach. Over time we had realised that by jumping up onto Max’s bed and looking out of the window, we could see each other in the s...

  Grey to Grey By Debra Ollerhead   The year was 2124 and there had been three years of constant rain and grey clouds. The last century had been difficult for the planet with two pandemics and a rising of the ocean by two hundred feet. Governments had tried their best to resolve these problems but to very little effect. Education had changed to accommodate the future including climate change and science development, but it all happened too late. Many children were forced to learn how to swim and how to survive the outdoors. The continual rain came in different strengths, sometimes with strong gusts of wind making huge drumming noises with loud swooshing of the waves against the small areas of higher ground. If the rain was light drizzle it sounded like a pitter patter on the ground and earth. Pools of water gathered everywhere where water would fall offering at times a gentle beat. The water drums gathering water for drinking was the only means of comfort in this awf...

  Survivor By H.M. Roberts-Brown   “Gotcha,” he whispered to himself. He pulled up and watched as she locked the car and let herself into the house. It was a large place; obviously flats in a once grand residence backing on to the park. Over the next few weeks he drove past at differing times of the day and evening just to confirm he had actually found her and each time he did, his hatred of her festered and grew. *** Bruises fade, scars heal and broken bones mend but each one is a memory and they stay longer than anything physical. Learning to handle the memories was always the hardest part; they pushed their way into consciousness randomly and without warning. At the start of what she considered her new life, the flashbacks could leave her crippled, feeling isolated and vulnerable with an overwhelming need to hide from the world but she was learning that this was just a phase in the healing process. When she looked back now, it was with a sense of detachment, as if...

The Sound of Autumn By Erica Peachey   The Hoylake garden was bursting with the colour and scents of late summer.  The grass and flowers, though beginning to look slightly dusty and tired, still retained their wonderful charm of a couple of months ago. The grass was green, the roses were red, the sky was blue.  Everything was as it should be, except for the man. The man was troubled, he gazed without seeing at the garden stretching out in front of him. The time he had lovingly invested in it, the beauty, the perfection, all went unnoticed. He stood still, like a rock; a small, squat, aging rock. He was fond of his wife. They had been together a long time and he could neither imagine nor remember being with anyone else. Till death us do part, he had promised. He didn’t imagine she would die, but she was…in decline.   Failing eyesight was one thing – they had graciously accepted the challenge of varifocals. Forgetting the odd thing was no big deal, he felt ...

  Another Fine Tale By Maureen Grealis   I was ambling along my road on the return from shopping when I bumped into one of my neighbours rooting through the bushes outside her block of flats and looking very perplexed. “Hi Jane,” I called on my approach to her. She looked up and said, “oh dear what am I going to do? I’ve lost them.” I guessed she’d lost her marbles -   please ignore that thought - and I didn’t mean it unkindly but, sadly, she did have a predisposition for getting into strange situations but, who was I to judge? “Oh dear,” I said, “what have you lost?” Guess what she said! “My marbles.” Haha no she didn’t, I digress, she said. “My rings.” Apparently, she’d been tidying around the area, it being such a lovely day and somehow her rings had managed to come off. I offered to help her look for them and popped my shopping on the ground when I noticed a magpie staring at us from a distance away and it seemed to have something in ...

  The Disconnection of Liam Bradbury By Colin Pierce   “Good morning Liam, it’s 7.15.” “Why are you waking me so early, Elana?” “You have a busy day today, Liam. There’s a flood defence meeting at 8.45 and two visits to the Mersey barrage this morning. If you’d like another fifteen minutes in bed, I can call you again at 7.30?” “Not much point, now that I’m awake,” Liam said grumpily. “I’m sorry if you’re annoyed, Liam. But you don’t like to rush your breakfast and it always takes you at least thirty minutes to get ready.” “You know me better than I know myself, Elana.” “I’m just trying to help your life run smoothly, Liam.” Liam Bradbury had always been a creature of habit and in 2047 routines were easy to maintain, especially with Elana managing most aspects of his life. She scheduled his appointments, organised his social contacts, ordered his groceries, reminded him of birthdays and adjusted his environment to optimise Liam’s mood. She kept him updated ...