A stand-alone story.

I was in a hurry. I had to get to the train station. I had to get to University for my viva voce, you see. I've written a thesis on modern folklore and language. A great piece. Anyway, I had to present myself for that damned test.

A stand-alone story.

I woke when they came in from their party - about five in the morning, I think. Same as every other Friday night / Saturday morning wake-up call. But I've never complained. I don't suppose I can. They're nice enough neighbours, otherwise: quiet, keep to themselves, say "hello" and smile when I see them. But they like to start their weekend with a bang. Or a party, at least.

A stand-alone story.

Three days of my life gone, once a month. Well, once every twenty nine point five days, being tied to lunar cycles and all that. I know when the full moon is, when to expect it, so I usually manage to book time off or make sure tat I've left nothing important half-done for when I call in sick. The men, they get squeamish and put it down to "women's problems". The women usually make snide comments about taking a couple of aspirin.

A stand-alone story.

"Pregnant!"

It isn't so much a question as a squeak of terror. She can't be pregnant. There's no way she-

The screen overlay on the bathroom mirror flickers and the voice of the diagnostic program - soothing, motherly and hand-picked years ago for those qualities - says, "The blood test confirms it."

A stand-alone story.

"The last piece of annirwood," said Rann, his voice soft and reverent. The other craftsmen murmured their own respect as he and they all sat cross-legged on the floor of the great, shared workshop.

A stand-alone story.

Johnny met Frankie in the old library. They reached for the same paper-based book, their fingers touched, their eyes met and the rest, as they say, was history. The courtship was slow and sedate, matching their retired status and the old fashioned nature of their meeting.

A stand-alone story.

He poured himself a whiskey as the St James Infirmary Blues started and let the thick, heady scent of the spirit fill him. Upstairs, his wife and son waited. He had the sound low so that they would not be disturbed by his music, just as he did every time he played this cd. Emma called it his "black music" because of how he locked himself in here with it every time he was in a dark mood.

A stand-alone story.

"Once upon a time, a boy and his dog lived in a country a great way off. In those days, there were scientists and engineers. Now this boy and dog were the best of friends and they shared a great many adventures."

A stand-alone story.

Amy almost ran over the slumped form with the pram before she saw it. She stopped with a jerk then apologised to Janey and Snowdrop out of habit. The dog simply looked up at her, offence written all over her aristocratic, Westie face, while Janey pointed and asked, "S'that?"

A stand-alone story.

She basked in the warm comfort of her bed, the duvet pulled around her. The smell of fresh coffee rose from the kitchen, where her mother pottered through the morning routine. With eyes held tightly shut, she held on to the illusion of night and sleep, ignoring the scent tickling her nose and the warm light beginning to filter through the curtains.