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.
…approached the prison gates with trepidation. Was he really about to do this? He was excited to be working on the biggest story of his life, but as the metal gates clanged and slowly slid open, he felt like turning and running back to the station and catching the…
By Chris Platt
Read More…was feeling good on his Friday night drive home. It was the height of summer and the world seemed a wonderful place. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the classical music playing on the car-stereo. It had been a good day in the car…
By Chris Platt
Read MoreThe supernatural represents a…
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…body lies, swathed in white,
its form now still,
its face once soft…
By Sutanuka Mondal
Read More…looked around the function room. His cousin’s 30th birthday party was in full swing. He always found this kind of bash depressing. Everyone always seemed to be coupled off and loved up. And, as usual, he was on his own. His aunt…
By Chris Platt
Read More…and pulled and somehow managed to get free from their grip. He had to run, had to get away. He had to make his escape. He pushed them away from him. As he turned to flee, he felt a scratch on his arm. He swore and turned to see the nurse still smiling, the needle sunk deep into his arm…
By Chris Platt
Read More…was in the pub with his friends. Every Friday night they would flock to the Nag’s Head, their local pub. They would laugh and talk and drink before staggering home to bed to sleep off the booze. They were all in their early twenties and had such busy social lives. There always…
By Chris Platt
Read More…shrugged into his dressing gown and went downstairs to join his wife in the kitchen. He found Debbie hurriedly making herself a cup of tea before she had to dash off to the office. As she took a sip of her tea, she gave…
By Chris Platt
Read More…logged onto his laptop computer and opened up the video-call app. His wife, Claire, joined him, as they waited for the weekly call. Charlie’s father, Michael, would call from his prison cell…
By Chris Platt
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