Sheffield
Stories
The following stories were submitted to our sister website, toowrite.com. They were written by people from Sheffield or are about Sheffield itself.
When Will We Be There?
Author:
Michael Simmonite
of Sheffield
The weather is gloomy. Horizontal streaks of rain litter the windows like little pearl necklaces. The coach is bustling with people struggling to put on extra items of clothing: it doesn't seem at all like the south of France.
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On Arrival
Author:
Michael Simmonite
of Sheffield
If Lesley looked at her watch and noticed that she'd got a dental appointment in 20 minutes time she'd be quite calm because she'd be already sitting in the waiting room. She wouldn't have just got there either; her seat would be quite warm.
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To The Beach
Author:
Michael Simmonite
of Sheffield
We always try to get as close to the sea as possible. We find a suitable spot and as soon as Lesley puts the beach bag down, the sun bed vendor is over like a shot. We pay the man and then he bends over and ruffles David's hair in that friendly little way that Spaniards do.
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Full Of Spirit And Karaoke Challenged
Author:
Michael Simmonite
of Sheffield
Unfortunately, I give the white too much bottom, scooping it off the table and it bounces along the floor, out of the bar and on to the terrace where I just manage to grab it before it rolls onto the road. I retire ungracefully and hand my cue to a boy David's age who then takes my place.
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Holiday's End
Author:
Michael Simmonite
of Sheffield
Just out of arm's reach, at the back of the shop, there is a glass shelf stacked up with a fine selection of briefcases in the manner of dominoes prior to being toppled. I'm wobbling about unsteadily on the tips of my toes trying to clutch one off the shelf so I can take a closer look, when a delightfully attractive Spanish assistant rushes over with a step-stool.
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The Strong, Silent Type
Author:
SImon Thorne
of Sheffield
To be depressed is bad enough. To be depressed and isolated is worse. To be depressed, isolated and male... well, let's just say that being a man is great when you think of the pain of childbirth, periods and such like, but not so great when the world and her long lost relatives expect you to be the strong, silent type.
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A Lucky Shot
Author:
Paul Ward
of Sheffield
At the Temple of Hathor we walk the gauntlet of local sellers and marvel at the sights. Images and colours from ancient hands reach out to us, finding us keen and receptive. From the roof of the temple we see more lines of soldiers in the distance. Sellers circle the exits, their arms alive with goods.
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A Victims Tale...
Author:
Rachel Mulrooney
of Sheffield
No one wants to socialise with the outcast for fear of their own identities, anyone found peering through the shallow gap to this dull enclosure, without a nefarious look in their eye, will too become prisoner unless they can prove their loyalties to the leader.
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Mid-Summer In The North Atlantic
Author:
Muriel Norton
of Sheffield
Tom, an ex-navy man, was glued to one porthole and I to the other. Out of the grey murk suddenly appeared a destroyer, then another, followed by a corvette, and more - warships in line astern creaming and pitching high through the swell, their bow waves tossing up sprays of foam to either side.
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The Night We Watched The Fillum
Author:
Margaret Pazdzierski
of Sheffield
Our longed-for pleasure-dome is dark, cold, and reeks of carbolic acid - at least that means no fleas, we reason, but the fact is that a flea would be hard put to find a place to hide anyway, since there is no carpet and no upholstered seats - just a concrete floor and two banks of concrete steps rising almost to the ceiling at the back.
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