Postcards from Kronk - the second collection of daily stories. (2025)

 The open plan office was quiet, everyone in their little boxes, talking and typing, thinking and waiting. Jemima hesitated at the door, wondering if she’d go through with it. Wednesday afternoon, half-day once upon a time. She pushed her hands down her skirt, momentarily flattening it to her body like she used to do on stage, and walked in. Moments like this grow over time, certain details come to the fore, others vanish entirely, editing our own memories to explain how we find ourselves. After a while, it’s hard to remember what actually happened, and plenty of times that’s for the best. Daniel Rotherhay, the most famous magician ever to come from Newcastle had just announced his comeback, back where it all started which was causing great excitement for the country, specifically those in the local area, but dread to those who’d had the misfortune to actually spend time in his company away from the cameras. Jemima was one of those people, and even though she’d had prior warn...

“Wake up, I think we’ve overslept and missed it.”  We see an elegant Elizabethan courtier, prodding a pile of rags next to him, in reply something underneath snorts and coughs before the cloth bundles back into itself, resembling a fabric armadillo. On the left-hand side as we look, there is a large stained glass, a broken pane where a peasant’s face would be is about halfway up, in the middle, and through that we can see bright sunshine, and a hint of rolling hills. The courtier is slim and as he moves towards the window, he seems almost liquid, it’s hard to tell if he’s overly concerned despite his outburst. The cloth meanwhile unravels into a man, folded into himself, a head full of features and clearly wealthy by the look of the jewels that fall from the folds.   “What time is it?” The second man takes his place in front of a smaller window on the other side of the room, each of them now are in silhouette, blocking out much of the light, empathising the human ele...

 Martha saw a giraffe for the first time and tipped backwards into her sister, causing her to fall to the ground, which at least, provided a soft landing. The accident was the result of this particular giraffe’s neck being far longer than she’d seen in the movies, at least 30 foot, and as her eyes had followed it up, further and further, she kept looking ever upwards until gravity drew her back down, with a cushioned bump. The creature looked like someone had attempted to draw a giraffe, got as far as the middle of the neck and passed it onto another person, who had then started drawing the neck beginning again at where it joined the head, and on to third person, who’d widened the base to presumably provide more stability, avoiding the danger of a giant giraffe neck/head collapse which would have looked similar to a cooling tower folding in on itself as those gathered behind a safety cordon cheered. As a by-product of needing to grow the economy faster than anyone believed possible...

Martin stood on the ramp at the back of the queue as they reached land. Saying goodbye had been as difficult as they’d imagined it would be, and what lay ahead was going to be even harder. He watched children run up and leap into parents and uncles and aunties embraces, lots of noise, happy tears and hollering, everything all good with the world again. They skipped and danced through the debris that littered the floor, broken pieces of wood that could have been anything, paint still bright as a button. Warm words of love and relief filling the air, tumbling over each other. Top of Form Bottom of Form He held back, waiting for the crowd to thin. “How are you going to feel?” Yaz had asked him when the all-clear had been confirmed. “When we get there?” She’d nodded, everyone on the ferry was having the same conversation. “I guess I’ll be happy.” He’d answered, unsure what else he could say. Sixty-three days and nights they’d been away, a large number for sure, but still ju...

  “Ok, so how long are we going to do this?” Gerald shook his head slowly and opened his arms, palms upwards, facing Patty as she hung up her coat. “As long as it takes.” She hadn’t been surprised to find him waiting for her again, sat in her husband’s old chair by the window and although she pushed the thought down, relieved he was. Outside amid the bird songs and wind whistles the usual screaming and sirens drifted in and out. “Shall I make us a drink?” She went into the kitchen without waiting for an answer and made two weak teas without milk using the mugs they given the builders in the old days. Coming back into the living room Gerald was keen to resume the discussion of the last few days. “I know you don’t want to leave Patty, I know that,” He sipped his tea and smiled at her, “thanks.” She let him continue, as he was going to anyway. Since the climbdown things had gone from bad to worse, and there wasn’t that many of them left, at least like them. “If we can to the highway.....

 To those who have kindly stared this journey with me, you may well have noticed in the week the stories appear later in the day. I work full time therefore I can’t be certain in advance when I’ll be able to sit down, find a suitable headline and write up the story. I hope you like todays one.

  The day was dawning, pausing for breath Logan did his best to move forwards, making sure he stayed undercover; he was 29 years 362 days old and needed to last another four days. He was still in Channel 6, had a month left before he could move to 7, and for the first time, felt scared. Logan had signed up, desperate and willing to take any risks to win. He was confident in his ability make friends quickly, adept at appearing to listen to others and making his words count and since the lynch mobs are started, Marianne had called to say so long, Jim had called him beautiful, but Wayne had made it obvious he wouldn’t mourn his passing and was likely responsible for those on the streets calling for a change. Something cracked or snapped ahead of him, a branch perhaps. Visually everything was perfect but the audio seemed to go in and out sometimes, breaking the auditory fourth wall, the grass momentarily Dralon. “Who are you?” A woman’s voice, inquisitive, not threatening. Loga...