Creative Writing

by Charlie Hislop. ON WESTON SHORE “Stand.” A strong word and the hooves quieted on the tarmac. The horse’s head rears up and dips, shaking out a thick mane and rattling its bridle irons, then stills as it looks out across the shore to where the low tide has left exposed the orangey brown stones

by Tom Husband. If the spirit of adventure had led me into my unfortunate meeting with Randall, I might have handled it better. I’d strayed off the beaten path down a gloomy alleyway that ran between the back of the science block and the perimeter of our lavish school grounds. I could have been carelessly