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.
…drove along, making the routine, daily drive home from the office. He was mulling over what to have for tea. It would be something sent in, that was for sure. He had earned a takeaway after a rubbish day at work. It was a toss up between a curry with all the sides and garlic naan, or a kebab the size of a roll of carpet. He turned the car-radio volume up and sang along with the rock radio…
By Chris Platt
Read MoreTrigger warning: includes scenes of captivity and violence
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…and she had been broken repeatedly. The scars a testament to her time here, being held by this thing. She would rather not think of him as a man. It was a thing, horrid and scared just like her. He came in the night and she could see the sun starting to fade through the small glazed over…
By Wil R.P. McCarthy
Read More…this is Tom Dillan.’
Tom turned in his chair to greet the new member of staff.
‘Tom,’ his manager said. ‘this is Dave Barrett.’
Tom stood and shook his…
By Chris Platt
Read More…left shiny streaks as nine-year-old Gracie Price read the data sheet. The type-written page attached to the cage with duct tape, told the life story of Ziggy, the brown puppy curled up and shaking in the corner. Ziggy was from a puppy mill and when he was not adopted as were all of his litter mates, he was left at the…
By Dresdin Fear
Read More…rain was falling heavily. It was like driving through a thick curtain of water. He eased off the accelerator a little. Had to be careful driving on wild nights like these. The las thing you’d want is to have an accident or breakdown. You just want to be at home on these stormy nights. The thwack-thwack of the windscreen wipers was hypnotic. He stared out into the glow of the headlights. The rain sounded like white noise…
By Chris Platt
Read More…my mother sent me to school, her only child, before the age of 7 years like other children in South Africa, it was if in a hurry to re-collect herself as a childless woman. She said I was smart boy and ahead of my age, and in her words, ‘You’re wasting time at crèche,’ which meant money. But I was frail and little. And I walked like I was wet. In a genuine sense of this expression: my school uniform wore…
By Tshepo S. Molebatsi
Read MoreThe end of the road for a desperate man
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…body began to slump and he had to push himself up to a sitting position once again. "One more taste of vodka. For courage. Ah, the French use this same word for having the balls to do what you have to…
By Steven Jakobi
Read More…told me he climbed to the top of a tree one day to see over the forest at the edge of the farm. He said what he saw was quite strange. Everything was reversed. People were dragged by their shadows, books vocalized their stories; you didn’t have to read them, pets took the human they owned for strolls. and…
By Dresden Fear
Read More…stretched in bed. He looked at the woman smiling down at him. He glanced around the bedroom. It was an ordinary couple’s room. Framed pictures of the two of them hung on the walls and stood proudly on bedside cabinets. Toiletries and perfume bottles littered the dressing…
By Chris Platt
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