Anglea (joined almost 12 years ago)

Six minute story is brilliant as a daily mental excercise to write on a variety of topics. It involves a lot of trial and error before I finish in the given time.

I am often surprised which of my stories receive the most views, often those I planned to delete.

COPYRIGHT - please contact me in advance via a recent story page if you wish to use my stories in anyway.

A digital animation has been made from one of my stories




Running from the swarm of bees, Roger kept his eyes firmly ahead knowing he'd be able to jump into the river, swim underwater, get away.

Later that day, sipping Earl Grey tea, spreading deep red strawberry jam onto his wife's freshly baked scones, he couldn't believe he'd just survived such an ordeal. The yeasty aroma from bread in the oven, strong coffee and the whiff of the floor polish made everything so damn ordinary and routine, yet he could have been sipping hospital tea through a straw, face wrapped in bandages.

It wasn't the best idea to disturb the hive...

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Tom said my neck tasted of honey. When I told Jasper he laughed hysterically, dropping the crystal glass of champagne onto the thick white carpet. Snorting like a horse, slapping his black Parisian jeans, contorting his face like a fairground mirror image. I didn't think it was so funny but didn't say anything. I laughed too.

One thing that Jasper would never know about me is how lonely and disgusted I feel with myself when I tell him about Tom.

When I walked away from the car, turned back and waved at Tom who had wiped the condensation from the...

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It was a surpise to discover that grandad's home disappeared down the sink hole. The ground literally swallowed him up, not a trace for over ten years.

Now I was grown up, I was allowed to stand around with the paramedics and police and watch the removal of the body. I didn't avert my eyes like Mrs Wozniak standing next to me, one moment excited and chattering, eating ham and mustard sandwiches, spitting crumbs, next moment for once in her life she was quiet. The reality of life versus CSI on tv. Soon after turning her thick neck away she...

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The best oak hand sawn carved by a master carpenter. Plush deep red velvet that is soft to the touch yet heavy, and sumptious, the heaviest brass polished to a mirror finish. Everything I bought was the best money could buy, my house photographed and featured in all the glossy magazines.

Rachmaninoff and Bach were always my favourite composers so it was fitting they were chosen, expert pianists played to give me the best send off. As I lay in my coffin in a gown made in Paris, my relatives knew I would be happy.

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The street seller heaped chocolate bits onto the thick slice of honey bread spread thick with butter. The boy's eyes sparkled watching the sprinkles flow, not a single one falling off the side of the bread. Hans knew the boy was special and each day would make him smile.

Jan ate his breakfast sitting on the bench by the river, watching the canalboats narrowly miss the larger vessels, he loves the noise and busyness of the city. Unaware he was constantly watched and followed. After wiping fingers on his jeans, he pulled out a sketch pad and rapidly drew the...

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I tried automatic writing many times, all with obvious results, my inner self responding. However, last night something weird happened. The letter began with 'Dear Santa' which was no way in my mind.

The writing wasn't even like my own. Strange 'A's. Creepy.
Sissie, my twin left the room slamming the door, locking herself into the bathroom. She was gone for hours, eventually after a lot of banging and pleading she opened it and returned to sitting on the carpet, large bathtowel over her head, rocking back and forth, humming.

She is autistic. I knew what was wrong. She was...

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After a quick twist, the silver top was back on the salt shaker, diamonds hidden underneath the large white crystals and put back into the kitchen cupboard.

Simone Chandler didn't even break into a sweat. She turned around just as her husband strode into the room and shouted down the phone receiver. 'You better find those goddamn stones or else!'

'Still no sign Rory?' she asked, busying herself, pouring a strong cup of coffee and putting it onto the black marble worktop.

He didn't answer but gulped the scalding liquid, not seeming to notice the heat.

'I'll kill Johnson'.


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Running from the larva, Nick wondered if he could stop for a second, catch his breath. He carried on, the survival persona taking over, making him look ahead at the hovering helicopter, knowing his life depended on reaching it...........

This part of the dream would never go away, he'd been recording it for years, wondering what it meant. He'd never been anywhere with a volcano, or any life of death scenarios, or had any worrying health concerns that he could recall.

Every night at three am he would wake, drenched in sweat, shouting out 'wait for me' to the helicopter...

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Deep beneath our feet lies a maze of tunnels, crypts, secret passages, large and small pipes, cables, each layer added over the centuries dependent on current needs. For most of us we would only consider water pipes from the bathroom, utility wires, sewage. Our ancestors needed secret ways to travel undetected, our enemies wanted places to hide.

Jim looked down at the blueprint of the basement, the house renovation had taken far too long. The cellar in the right hand corner didn't seem to exist anymore all he could find was a rusty metal trunk full of strange photos, black...

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100 feet away I watched the smugglers struggle to get over the jagged stones, collapse onto the wet sand, expel salt water from their lungs and pray to whatever gods they believed they had reached shore alive.

Frank De Libre was the youngest and most sober on the galleon. Swimming for freedom, literally. Kidnapped two years beforehand from his parent's home, watched his tutor die trying to save him.

I could see everything as the images appeared like a slide show. This was the fifth time I had undergone hypnosis and finally my lifetime of phobias had been explained.


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