The Scarecrow

By Callum Dawson 

There once was an idiot who thought he was a scarecrow.

This was due to his upbringing. He had been born in a cabbage patch, and raised in a field. His clothes were ragged and his head was empty as a carven pumpkin. I am a scarecrow, the idiot would think to himself every morning and every evening, confident of his place in the world.

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Twitter

By Hannah Little

Oh for fuck’s sake. I made this cup of tea three hours ago. I genuinely thought I’d drank it. But I haven’t. It’s stone cold. How annoying. I do this all the time. I bet other people do too. I should tweet about it. And people can reply and say “heh, that happens to me all the time!” Yeah, I’ll tweet that.

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The Bohemian Rhapsody of a bike

By Callum Dawson

It’s hard to remember the past, drowning in mud and monstrous memories, but I will try my best.  Some stories need to be told at any cost, and some costs have stories leaking from their patch repairs.  The album Queen: Greatest Hits was playing in the workshop where I was born.  I think that must have been where my love affair with the operatic rock band first started.  Freddie Mercury always knew how to turn the gears within me.  My wheels spin to his sweet, piercing voice:

“Bicycle, bicycle, I want to ride my bicycle…”

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