So, I was sitting at home, flicking through a small book of Seamus Heaney‘s poems, entitledSeeing Thingsand, in the strange way these things happen, wrote this story. My story, of course, bears no relation to Heaney’s poetry or his 1991 collection of poems of the same name.

50 word stories


Guy at the bus stop asked  for a light and I shrugged, did that pull my pockets out thing. The bus was late. It was cold. We both blew on our hands, stomped our feet. Suzie turned up.

‘Who were you talking to?’

‘That guy.’

‘What guy?’

‘You’re seeing things.’


3 thoughts on “Seeing Things

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