There’s no moon. Black waves heave and collapse, frothy foam sighing over a myriad of pebbles, like some gigantic water feature. Peeling our clothes off, it feels like we’re doing something illegal. Shauna is a luminescent blob. “Should we go in?” she asks, her timbre saying ‘Let’s go home.’
(300 words) “Have any of you been to a demonstration of mediumship before?” Most hands in the hotel’s comfortable bar area went up. Miranda's and mine stayed down. A young man, Peter someone, tall and slim with receding hair, smiled. “Well, I’ll be making contact with those who have passed over into spirit.” This should be interesting! Sceptical, I’d come under protest.
(300 words) “Have you thought how many grains of sand are on this beach?” asked Julie, lowering her bright blue rubber bikini top to rub sun cream into puffy white flesh. She let a handful of sand trickle through her fingers. “100, 200, 300...”
(300 words) When he looked it wasn’t there. Thomas Edison Jr., the proprietor of Inventions Я Us, shifted a pile of complex schematics, exasperated. Where on Earth was his cigar cutter? Someone knocked. “Come in.” A young Chinese woman entered. Edison adjusted a red bow tie. “Blossom Chan I presume?”