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October – November 2026 : Express yourself READ ONLINE

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Memories

October 01 2026
Peaceful Space by Anonymous. © Antropia Peaceful Space by Anonymous. © Antropia

Stories and poetry drawing on trauma, substance use and memory. Sensitive topics are touched on in this writing 

The Monster is Real

by Gary Ritchie


“I'll be back before night,” he said, his eyes bloodshot, “you're seven, not a baby!”

He drained the dregs from his can of lager, hand shaking, his Adam's apple bobbing like a yo-yo.

I held the tears back. He didn't care about the monsters that hid everywhere. Even in the bare food cupboards.

Mum used to scare them away, before she left. It's all my fault.

The daytime ones weren't that bad. The night-time monsters that lurked under my bed were scary. They woke me every night banging against the walls to listen to mum and dad scream at each other. I know they were fighting because of me.

“You better not be crying!” he bellowed.

I pulled my knees under my chin without realising, squeezed my eyes shut. A single tear slipped out. I hoped he never saw it. Every muscle tensed in anticipation. Waiting for the stinging slap on the face. But it never came this time.

He cursed under his breath, from the other side of the room. I risked opening an eye.

The small black and white screen flicked on, his stubble, black, illuminated against the cricket game.

“There, watch that. I'll be back when I'm back.”

He walked towards me. I closed my eyes again, tensed up. But no pain. Instead, something more terrifying – the front door slammed. Alone, silent. Just the daytime monsters for company.

Darkness fell; I stayed still all day, like dad when he's home. My stomach growled. I hoped the night-time ones wouldn't hear it.

A man on the TV, wearing a minister's collar, lips moving as if talking to me. I knew this was the last programme before the channel stopped broadcasting. I still couldn't risk turning the sound up. They'd know, they'd see me. I knew when I woke, dad would be sleeping somewhere in the flat.



The Fix

By Gary Ritchie


He lay among the rubbish in a shop doorway, Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow.

“My classmates spent their money on sweets on their way home. Me, I collected dad’s fix”

Jack, told me.

“Nowadays the fix turns down the noise in my head, making the years of abuse a distant memory.”

“Is it any wonder I’m lying here?”



Crackdown

By Terry Miles


Last night I saw you on TV, 

caged in your own body, framed, 

when not, the body, independent, 

danced away, medicated, 

living life, a lost shadow, 

criming hard to keep the habit, 

withdrawal, caught the alarm, 

your fleeing body, frozen, 

still, rigid, over the fence, 

ready to be picked up, 

what a fix, a miscalculation, 

a halfway trip. 



Home

By Eliza Benge


In a small Welsh village on the coast in 1961, I won an award at the local primary school for an artwork which was displayed on the wall of the assembly hall. The prize was an illustrated book about a kitten on a farm. The school is still there, but our family moved on soon after.


Here is a short poem about family moving away:

Little bird sing while

The day is fresh and bright

Before the clouds of 

Descending night

Why you no longer sit on the wire fence 

Outside the window where we no longer 

Use those rooms, that space

Please send a message to the ones we miss

To bestow upon them

Our loving kiss.

< Time eunuchs part II Voice of the people >
October – November 2026 : Express yourself

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