Author: Lauren Thomas

Fourteen eyes followed her as she walked along the sea path, salt spray making her lick her already chapped lips, her cheeks blushed by a cruel wind. Seven curved beaks. She had heard the folklore, had grown up with the warnings. But with their dwindling numbers she never believed she would see seven of them…

He strolled into the shop on London’s Savile Row with the confidence of someone who belonged there. The tailor looked up and quickly masked his look of surprise. “How may I help you, Sir?” “I should like a new pair of trousers please.” The surprise emerged. “That may be rather difficult, Sir” “May I ask…

“How did humans know they could drink cows’ milk?” “The cows told them. They could talk back then.” “Really?” “Of course. Why else would a human drink their milk?” He nodded uncertainly, stirring his cereal, the milk changing colour. “Wait.” “What?” “How did the cows know it was safe?” “The chickens told them.” “How did…

He liked to collect smiles. Not through jokes or laughter. They sometimes felt too forced, sometimes felt too close to a twisted grimace. He preferred to create them from their constituent parts. He had jars of teeth from people who had been too squeamish to keep them. Retainers that had been outgrown. The crumpled wires…

“I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to bail on tonight. Something’s come up.” She recognised the tone of her friend’s voice, but was struggling to place it. She flipped through the various scenarios in her head. A final episode of a favourite TV show? No, her voice usually sounded more languid when that…

“A picnic? It’s ten degrees outside!” She looked at her daughter and briefly considered putting her in front of her favourite cartoon. But then she thought of her parents. Gone too soon after a hurried childhood. “Go and get your favourite teddies.” She gathered up as many blankets as her arms could carry. Heated soup…

“Fairies exist.” She coughed against her coffee. A latte with a hazelnut shot. The same every day. “Don’t be ridiculous. People would see them.” “People do.” “What people?” “Children.” A memory flickered at the edge of her mind but her eye roll pushed it away. “Why children?” “They haven’t developed cynicism yet. It’s the barrier…

“Would you like a croissant?” “A what?” “A croissant?” “Why are you saying it like that?” “Like what?” “With that weird accent?” “I’m not saying it with an accent. It’s just a French word.” “You have literally put on an accent. You don’t say spaghetti bolognese with an Italian accent.” “Well no, because that would…

He watched them with a beatific smile on his face. The smile that some people thought they saw and that others pretended to see, squinting up with furrowed brows. He didn’t care if they saw him, didn’t care if they believed in him or not. He only cared that they lived good lives, that they…

He never said I love you. He never needed to. He said it in the way he pushed a heart shape into her bread before he toasted it. He said it in the way he posted a photo of their garden at dawn every Monday, tagging her and telling her to have the best week.…