Truth, Lies, Dreams
The party for high school girls and boys was up some stairs in a hall on the island but when we arrived there we were already late; somebody had hung a wooden sign from the lintel ‘No Boys’ with an ‘X’ underneath. Presumably girls were still allowed and they were trying to stick to a quota.
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The Elephant and Castle flat was an unusual place.
It was situated in the middle of the Rockhart Estate and was one of many flats that were subsidized to students of Guy’s Hospital in an effort to improve the standards—the estate itself having featured on the BBC as the center for crackheads and dope dealers the previous year.
Continue reading “French Trilogy: A Boy Called Paris”
The audience sat cross legged along one wall of the main room and watched the university students from the arts department perform their improv. I sat the other side of the audience behind the students who stood posing in the middle of the room, and from my vantage point I could see into an adjacent bare white walled bedroom which was no larger than a child’s.
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“Are you a sane person?” she asked.
We walked up the dirt path away from the lecture hall. She had straight blonde hair, a cute pug nose and an open smile. To the right of her was a tall bamboo forest.
“Only on Sundays,” I replied and then uncertainly, “Do you want me to be?”
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The story is not available as it has been submitted to a magazine for publication.
Photo by ClaraDon sourced from Thomas Tolkien via Flickr.
