Tag: fiction

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The Justice Box – full story

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

Winter 1969 Emmy is singing as I try to get her supper into her. I’m singing too, but she’s singing for Jesus in a cutesy, trit-trotty kind of way. I hover the spoon in the air, and wait for her to take a breath. Pop it in/swallow it down/good girl. I wipe her mouth with my pinny. Shouldn’t really but it saves time. All those doors to lock and unlock just for a flannel. ‘Jesus loves her, Jesus loves her, Jesus loves the murdering bitch.’ Emmy chuckles to herself in that private way only people whose heads are somewhere else … Continue reading The Justice Box – full story

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abuse, fiction, short story4 Comments

Lovely girls – continued

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

Content warning: story concerns neglect and abuse of people in long-stay learning disability institution. Amy watches the door; that grimy finger-stained gobbed-on portal to fleeting respite from the ward’s stink. The stink that makes her eyes water and saturates her soul. She tries to shift her bottom; to hold her limbs still for just long enough to hover briefly above the puddle of cold pee that has settled in a trough of rucked up rubber sheeting. No luck, she sinks back. Flails back, in truth; arms threshing, mouth grimacing and spit flying, onto the wet sandpaper of the twill draw … Continue reading Lovely girls – continued

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Fat Mo, let me tell you a story, not being first fishLeave a comment

‘Tis the season

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

Somehow, normal time – the sort that plods predictably slowly during tedious meetings and gallops along through anything enjoyable – ties itself in knots come November. October is October – sensible and operating within the rules, as is most of November. Too early to think of Christmas so I don’t. Next thing I know we’ve been through a wormhole and here we are heading down a temporal waterslide to the last posting day for second class and no chance of parking in town without a scrap. To add to the mayhem, I started a Fine Art degree in October and … Continue reading ‘Tis the season

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Black Cat Stories: hard to home and just as likely to honk in your shoe as purr in your faceLeave a comment

Five Shades for Greg 

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

I pulled him closer, my hands almost greedily devouring his body. I had to get this right. I had to make these darned things fit around the bulging muscles of his arms and, oh my, the bulging muscles in his thighs. I would think about his bulging manhood later, right now I had to concentrate like I’d never concentrated before. I pressed my lips together into a hard line and rolled my eyes. It was going to be hard, very hard – and that was a promise! I smothered a smirk. ‘Stand up, Greg,’ I ordered. It felt very nice … Continue reading Five Shades for Greg 

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Black Cat Stories: hard to home and just as likely to honk in your shoe as purr in your faceLeave a comment

Last Man Standing

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

They didn’t kill me, just made me wish they had, bastards. We were all there that day, lined up ringside waiting for the off. It was top billing and we were crackling with anticipation, the scent of victory already creeping up our noses and fuelling our self-belief.  Our man was big. The biggest. I mean really big. So big their man couldn’t even reach him never mind hit him. So what, that it was barely a competition? All we cared about was winning. We had bets, we’d make a pile. We’d get the hell out of the gulags and away somewhere warm … Continue reading Last Man Standing

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Black Cat Stories: hard to home and just as likely to honk in your shoe as purr in your faceLeave a comment

Yesterday was the best day ever

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

It was the day mum and me had just been to the big shop in town to get my senior school uniform and even the smell of it was thrilling. I couldn’t wait to wear the dark green winter skirt, scratchy or not; and the satchel – well that was glorious! All shiny leather with new, stiff straps and brass buckles. We hurried off down the high street towards the bus stop, mum putting her purse away and me thinking about the bubblegum in one pocket and the thirteenth birthday lipstick Gillian had given me in the other. What was … Continue reading Yesterday was the best day ever

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Black Cat Stories: hard to home and just as likely to honk in your shoe as purr in your faceLeave a comment

Bad Apple

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

Ollie was sitting on the sofa, watching TV, when he first noticed his hand disappear. He was about to scratch his nose when there it was. Or rather, there it wasn’t. Right up to his elbow, it wasn’t. Then, back it came, just as suddenly. It looked a bit electrical around the edges, but otherwise … Ollie held it up to his face, palm first, and spread out his fingers. All accounted for; although the end of his index finger had a slight glow to it, he thought. He pressed his palm up against his nose, and sniffed. Chocolate and … Continue reading Bad Apple

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