Collection of Short Stories and Poetry

  As a child, I loved to eat Mars bar eagley: having small bites and using both fingers to shove the little crumbs of chocolate in my profusely watering mouth. I grew fat because of this, ‘Little chubby Dexter’ I was called whilst growing up in Dagenham. I was always picked on and my mother used to try to calm me down by saying ‘Dear Dexter’. I would get bad grades in class, I am sure you can relate to the bullying readers, I sometimes would lose concentration in the class like a bull losing its horns from his head due to the name calling ‘fatty’, ‘chubby’ or ‘roly poly’. But I am Dexter I wanted to say Dexter Pearson, but I didn’t have the guts to stick up for myself at that time, nor today for that matter.    I did try to lose the weight, I joined the Essex group ‘little runners’ who ran through Barking Park as I was around eight at that time, but I looked like a ball bouncing up and down the park lanes and the children would laugh at me as I used to drudge past them. I tried t

 ‘I hate you, you old bag’ she screamed as she threw the bowl across the room. I had made her favourite dish soup, which I had spent ages cooking in the kitchen. Her father had told me that it was going to be hard to be accepted as her new mother, but this was much harder than I had imaged. ‘Mum we have tried, I offered to give her my new dress’ said Gemma. ‘I said that I would take her to the ball with us’ said Louisa. ‘What can we do? She calls us UGLY sisters, it’s so cruel cried Pamela.    I hugged my three daughters closely, I wanted Cinderalla to accept us as we had with her. But she hated us, calling me a ‘wicked stepmother’ and slamming doors. She would cry and portray us as ogres. With the arrival of the Prince inviting us to go to the ball, I even tried to invite her but she was spoilt and rude. ‘I don’t want to go, you old bag, GET LOST’ she shouted. ‘I will get there myself’ she stormed off as usual to her room. ‘I miss my mum, you married my father for his

‘The first prize goes to Charlotte O’Neill, for the best newcomer novel writer of 2017’, Mrs Summerton shouted wearing a tartan skirt, as she heaved the cup towards her slowly and trying not to keel over and handed it to her with her knees shaking. Charlotte looked around at the clapping and faces gleaming towards her full of admiration of her success and of the novel ‘Heart of Stone’, which had won her acclaim as a writer. ‘What was your inspiration?’ shouted a lanky man wearing glasses in the audience. ‘It just came to me in a dream’ Charlotte said back in an eloquent manner and confidently. ‘Wow’ muttered the audience.    Charlotte held the trophy tightly and firmly as she stood proud and thought to herself, what a bunch of idiots, such gullible people. She wanted to laugh at them, but she didn’t, she looked demure and said ‘ I don’t deserve this’ as she knew that this was what they expected from her, and the show that she put on from their

‘Really do I have to eat more pies?’ ‘Yes you need to be fatter dear, remember it’s that time of the year again’. My belly was big, but she was always right it wasn’t big enough and I had to be huge. ‘It is washed and ready to wear for the day?’ ‘Dear everything is OK, I have also fed your kids!’ She referred to them as my children, I did love them: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer,  Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen.    We couldn’t have our own, yet I was responsible for making so many other parents children happy. I could feel my eyes filling up but I didn’t want Jessica to know.    The fire was warming up, the room shone with a glow like a candle burning from the wood. My arms were resting over the laptop keyboard. I could hear Jessica working away in the kitchen doing dishes as I heard the door knocking and ushered him in. It was Bernard like clockwork ready to complain.     ‘Kris do you REALISE that the children are believing in you less in