The Abstract Art Gallery
A writing gallery created by writers from around the world. From poetry to song lyrics, from essays to entire novels and short stories.
It was early evening when Will joined his friend in the pub. While all his friends were gathering to watch the football on the big screen televisions, Will was more interested in the catch-up rather than the sport. He was there for …
By Chris Platt
Read MoreI’ve been writing stories since he was a kid. Being a writer was all I ever wanted to be. It was a childhood hobby that I never quite grew out of. All my family and friends would read my stories. As soon as I finished typing up my story, I would…
By Chris Platt
Read MoreLisa had no idea how she got there. She sat up and took in her surroundings. She was bed, in a bedroom, with morning sunlight spilling in through the gaps in the curtains. A man in his thirties entered the …
By Chris Platt
Read MoreTom followed the directions on his Sat Nav, peering through the windscreen, trying to tie up the road up ahead, with the lines on the small screen on the dashboard. He repeated the name of the old place to himself, as though that …
By Chris Platt
Read MoreLiam has always known he was adopted. His adoptive parents had always been honest about that. He did see Alan and Josie, who raised him, as his parents, but now, in his late twenties, he started to wonder about his biological parents. The idea niggled at…
By Chris Platt
Read More‘Oliver,’ Kevin called up the stairs, ‘dinner’s ready.’
Kevin paused a moment waiting for a response, any response, any sign of life …
By Chris Platt
Read MoreIn the summer of 2025, for one magical moment, it felt as though we were back in the 1990s. In my mind, I was no longer in my mid-forties; with a beer-gut, a mortgage and an office job I hated, I was a skinny teenage student once more. For one night only, we could…
By Chris Platt
Read MoreDaniel Fury was spending Saturday afternoon as he often did, sitting alone at the bar, nursing a pint of bitter and reading his book. There was something almost magical about reading a good book over a nice pint of beer, in a cosy …
By Chris Platt
Read More… didn’t speak to his brother Carl that often. They were very different people, living different lives. They saw each other very occasionally if they happened to be visiting their parents at the same…
By Chris Platt
Read MoreDavid was sitting at the writing desk in his study as he did most Sunday mornings. He sipped his Earl Grey tea from his cup and saucer, and stared out of the window over-looking the large garden. A bird, a robin perhaps, perched on the branch of a nearby…
By Chris Platt
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