SAFE GROUND: Flash by Jon P

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

Flash by Jon P

And then it happened. 

‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’ The vicar smiled, showing his stained teeth.

I lifted up the satin veil before he finished speaking. Her eyes were closed. She smelled of Spring. I kissed her. It was a perfect kiss. 

The sun was high in the pastel blue sky. There was a scent of freshly cut grass as we laughed and posed our way onto film and camera.

The reception: Family, close friends, friends’ plus ones mingling, glasses tinkling, taffeta rustling, children playing, applause and laughter then dancing.



In the early hours I lay on the extremely comfortable bed, replaying the events of earlier, some in black and white, some in Technicolor. It’s quiet but for the sound of her sleeping, and the distant traffic beyond. I replace the errant strand of hair back behind her ear, and think, ‘It’s finally happened.’


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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: 'Truth and Hope' by Stephen H

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

'Truth and Hope'
by Stephen H

It is now that fateful day of reckoning, the day I never thought would materialize, well not like this. The 27th of January 2017. Amazingly I had slept well the night before, thinking just before I drifted off, of the inscription on King Edward III’s shield in a jousting tournament, ‘It is what it is.’

My sister, Jill, drove me from her house, where I had been staying, to Bedford rail station. It was typical cold, dark, misty morning, visibility was poor, I recall. Was this to be my last journey of what had become a regular commute? Would I be coming back? A dilemma – purchase a single ticket or a return? I chose a single, why tempt fate?

I was in a zone whilst travelling on the train, having no recollection of boarding it. I am ordinarily a phlegmatic person, well I thought so. Today I was lugubrious.

My co-defendants had been remanded into custody on the 18th. Fortunately I had been given continued bail, so I had hope, whilst I knew that they were doomed. One of them I cared not an iota about - no compassion. The other is a man that I had known for over twenty-five years, Simon, a former solicitor and deputy district judge. The journey to Southwark Crown Court took no longer than normal. My fate would be known by the end of the day. The peculiarity was not, I was not concerned for me. It was for my loved ones and how they would feel and cope. That concentrated my mind for the entire journey. I reflected I still had my freedom; I still had hope of being handed down a suspended sentence.

I arrived at Southwark Crown Court to the usual melee of navigating through security. The rush of unpacking and re-packing the contents of your bag, had become less stressful over the twelve-week trial period as the familiarity between myself and the security guards transcended into a more lackadaisical, cavalier attitude to inspecting what they had seen in my bag time and time again.

I entered into what was to be the last trip in one of the two elevators that ever worked. The third never worked in the whole twelve weeks I was there. On pushing the button for the third floor I wondered if the third elevator would ever work again. Why should I care?

On the ‘ding’ I turned right to be greeted by my daughter, Lucie. I had turned right some fifty times before simply to walk to Court 13.

‘Hi, Dad. You look well.’ She was always a delight, from when she was a toddler.

‘I don’t exactly feel it,’ I said.

‘The press gallery was full.’

I wasn’t surprised. I knew it would be as Simon’s position as a Judge had all the ingredients given the missing money and the lover’s tryst, with Emma, the other defendant. Embellishment by the tabloids beckoned.

When I entered the courtroom it was packed. I felt an air of silence when I entered the dock unaccompanied. I sat there alone. The door was locked behind me. My last day of freedom? There was still hope, I thought.

With that, Simon and his former lover who he had been besotted with years ago, which to this sorry ending of this tale, entered the dock from the cells below. The court room hushed, the packed gallery settled. Simon looked forlornly at his wife in the gallery. He looked ashen.

‘How is it?’ I asked, knowing he had been incarcerated at Wandsworth Prison.

‘A dreadful experience,’ he said. ‘An experience.’The next ten minutes, or was it two and a half hours were surreal. The judge entered, the hush continued. As he recapped the events leading up to the conviction, my mind wandered. This was not my sentencing. It was that of the other two. All I recall is the judges face grimacing, screwing up and growing redder as he became more vocal. And then the words, the only words that I heard – ‘Six years!’ And then the even more fateful words of ‘Send them down!’

It was now lunchtime. How had two and a half hours passed so quickly.

‘Mr. Hiseman can be released from the dock for the lunchtime recess,’ the Judge said.

‘Court rise!’ the clerk to the court bellowed.

Lucie came up to me. ‘Dad, you still have hope.’

‘We’ll see,’ I said. ‘It will be what it will be.’

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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: 'Her Smile Never Fades' by Stephen M

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

'Her Smile Never Fades'
by Stephen M

Her name, her face, the colours of her hair, none of them I remember any longer. It’s been such a long time, too long to even consider counting. Time has turned its pages over many seasons and years. But her smile has never faded away, or been forgotten. Whenever I think of my childhood, she’s always there, in my mind.

The farm was big. There were plenty of olive trees, some of which played a part in my favourite climbing game with my cousin. The best part was getting to the top of the olive tree and then simply jumping down. The more bruises, the more the chances of being the winner. How funny that was; but that’s another story.

Each day, after school, I’d run home, drop my bag, grab a slice of home-baked brown bread with olive oil and tomato on it and then run again – out to meet her. I knew she’d wait for me. She always did. I was so excited and happy to see my friend. I’d run all the way through the vineyards, through other people’s farms and their olive trees. Up, down, left and right, the narrow countryside paths, when at last I’d run around the corner of a house with a water well in front of it. There she was, my friend, sitting at the side of the path amongst the flowers and various other plants, smiling at me. Most of the time, I wouldn’t eat the bread and tomato as I’d throw it away. You see, running does not go well with eating at the same time. I’d go and sit next to her and we’d talk about our day and school, and all the things we’d learned. I’d tell how I didn’t listen to my grandma, and she’d say how she’d disobeyed her mum. We’d laugh and talk more.

Whenever thirsty, we’d walk up the narrow path and get some fresh cool water from the well. The metal bucket was small; the rope attached to its handle was very long. The well was deep and there was a technique to get water from the well. I’d always get her to drink first from the bucket. Full face in.

The all of a sudden, a loud voice would come through the trees, calling her to go back home. A quick goodbye till tomorrow and off I was, running back, so happy. I’d always look back and see her smile. I’d wave goodbye, so happy.

Tome passed and the time came when I had to go away and my grandma was very upset about it. You see, she never called me grandson, just son. I left and never got to say goodbye to her and see her smile again, ever.

Thirty years later, I got to visit my cousin and his family. He was still at the same farm where he grew up. Time had stopped. Almost everything was exactly the same as I remembered it. The main topic of discussion was the olive trees and the jumping down game. Everyone listened with amazement, but not my cousin and I.

There was a man at my cousin’s home. He’d just popped in to pay a visit. After the normal introduction, he turned around and shocked me with his next words –

‘My sister has never forgotten you. She always talks about you and smiles she mentions your name; even to this day. We all knew she’d come and meet up with you after school. She thought it was your secret!’


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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: 'The Manuscript' by Chris

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

'The Manuscript'
by Chris

‘It’s all gone through.’ The words I had been waiting for confirmed the purchase after weeks of near misses. I felt relief where I expected joy, though that returned as I drove through the gates. The large, old stone property, a secluded town north of Inverness, the view over the sea, the peace away from neighbours and enough parking for the whole team and many more were the magnets that brought me here to buy this dream.

I had a week to clean the place before the new furniture arrived. Easily, each room in turn, done and dusted clean. Ahead of schedule, I reached the last at the top. I had never noticed the entrance to the eaves, hidden by the shadow of the wardrobe. Inside, a cave, tidily arranged but full.

The last night I stayed to clear the final boxes before the morning’s rush. Amongst them an ancient wooden chest, rope handled, sporting a very faded crest above initials beginning with a G or a C perhaps. As was my wont, I kept the best for last.

The coffee had allowed me to work but this was slowing rapidly. I needed sleep but I wanted this done. I was alone, cold and tired and had let the winter fire go out. The box was locked. Of course, I should have waited but my brain was not in gear. Finding a chisel by the sink, I broke the lock, cutting my finger as the lid flew free. Blood dripping everywhere, I was back there, cold water pouring from the wound. No plasters, so kitchen paper had to serve. Freezing and finger-hampered, I picked up the papers from my box. Six scrolls in ribbons sealed by wax, four of them now with drops of blood, stabbing me with guilt.

I relit the fire, placing the bloodied scrolls to dry. Of the other two, one fell open as the wax on the seal broke. I read with awe a deed of gift granted by a king, his initials now clear, G II R or George II, and sealed three hundred years ago, now worth millions. My finger dripped again. In my fuddled rush to staunch the flow, my weary leg knocked the small table, tumbling the two remaining documents onto the others drying by the fire with the open one on top. The rush of air this caused set up a spark. As I reached the doorway, I turned and watched the flame as it licked into my manuscripts.


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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: Flash by Nolan

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

Flash by Nolan

She had to go, she had to go. She had to get down to the coast, the White Cliffs of Dover. It was imperative for her to get there.

On the sandy path, there was something about the way she moved and twirled. There was something about the way she swayed. There was something about the way she veered off the path, onto the lush green grass, and slowly kicked off her shoes. There was something about the movement of her legs, and toes, towards the White Cliff of Dover. There was something about the wind blowing through her hair. There was something about the steadfastness of her feet in the grass.

As she approached the edge of the cliff, there was something about the blue brightness of her eyes, half closed and looking straight ahead. There was something about the dimples in her cheeks. There was something determined, and steady about the short, positive strides she was making towards the edge of the cliff. There was something about the way she slowed her stride, and shuffled towards the edge of the cliff.

There was a book in her hand, and as she stopped at the edge, there was the slight nervousness of her bright painted fingernails, tapping the book, and the light seemed to shimmer off her nails and back into the sky.

There was something about the way she smiled, and looked out over the ocean, towards the other coast line. Her eyes half shut, and looking through her eye lashes made the distance seem a lot further.

There was something about the way she swayed towards the edge of the cliff, and as she stood on the edge she thought, ‘What if? What if?’ What if I had wings and could fly like an eagle? What if I had wings and fly like an angel? And with that thought, a smile erupted slowly from her painted lips, spread across her tranquil face. The special magical moment of just being there.

As she slowly and slightly bowed her head and face toward the depth and movement of the ocean, she slowly stepped backwards away from the edge of the cliff and turned back towards the sandy path. As she stepped back onto the sandy path, and took a step, she stopped, and realized the untrammeled love that she’d had for her younger sister who had passed away after a long illness. And she knew that was the reason for her trip to the edge. And it had delivered the serenity of her sister, and the look of tranquility on her sister’s face. And she knew she had experienced her sister’s passing as an angel.
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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: 'The Funky Farm' by Blake

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

'The Funky Farm'
by Blake

Today, I find myself strolling around a farm, not a clue what I’m doing here. I really can’t remember a thing from last night. It must’ve been some night!

After ten minutes, I decide it’s time to get the hell outta here. I stumble across a large wooden fence. It must be five times bigger than myself. It’s massive. I don’t even bother trying to climb it. Seems bloody pointless that. ‘There must be another way outta here,’ I think to myself. So I continue my hunt for an exit outta this strange farm.

After a wee while my belly starts rumbling. Christ, I’m bloody starving, but there ain’t no food around. I spot a trail of seeds on the floor. At this point I’m blimmin hungry, so I decide to have a go at them.

‘Aargh, no way,’ I shout. Tastes rank.

I continue on searching for a way outta this odd farm. I spot a trailer in the distance and start running towards it. I can’t help but smile, tryin’ to hold in my own excitement. I’m now thinking, ‘Yes, man! This is my ticket outta here.’

While making my way to the trailer I’m intercepted by a gigantic bloody monster of a pig. I’ve never been so frightened in me life! The creature is absolutely filthy, covered ‘ead to toe in mud. It’s loud an’ all, hurting my blimming ears it is. My initial thought is to leg it, of course, but the giant pig ignores me and just continues walking away.

Got me thinking, ‘What sort of a bloody messed up farm is this?’ I can’t rack me ‘ead round it. Eventually, I come to the conclusion that this must be some sorta scientific experimentation farm, where the animals are getting enlarged to produce more meat, the poor things. Well anyway, thank goodness I’m getting bloody outta here soon man.

I keep moving towards the trailer. It seems to get bigger the closer I get to it. As I approach I’m shocked to see that it’s looking more like a monster truck. Determined to get onto the back of it, I climb and make me way up.

‘Some bloody job that was,’ I’m thinking as I lie on the back of the truck. Just in time an’ all, as the driver starts the engine to get me out of this crazy farm and straight onto the motorway. I’m so relieved. I’d thought I’d never get outta this mad place. I plan to give the driver a thumbs up through his side mirror, just to let him know I’m on the back of his vehicle. But summink is very wrong. As I’m looking into this mirror, I am shocked to see that a chicken stares back at me.  


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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: Flash by Sheheen

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

Flash by Sheheen

Another day, up early, black coffee in bed, Bloomberg in the background. The markets will open soon. Emails will come flooding in. I may need to make a call – Hong Kong or Singapore.

It’s cold outside, two block walk and I am at the gym – shoulders and biceps today.

Home again, more emails flood in. Shower, get ready for work – it will take me forty minutes to get ready. No time for complicated decisions. It’s a grey suit or black, white shirt and tie, laptop in bag, blackberry in hand and I’m off...

Will it be a black cab or the Jubilee line? I will decide when I get to the underground station. It’s the tube. Much quicker.

I get off at the other end, short walk to the tower. Now need to find a desk. It’s a hot-desking policy at work. I’m called into a meeting, one of many today. Outsourcing to India, talent management, performance reviews, quarterly business planning. Quick check – more emails, and more. No time to check when unimportant. If it’s important I’ll be paged.

Working lunch at Sushi Sumba. Stress increases. Can’t remember much of it. All I heard was ‘Get rid of him!’ Have to find a way of getting rid of him. Need to put a call into the lawyers. Will have to park this for now.

Pay review meeting all afternoon, then a call with New York ‘til 7pm.

It’s Thursday once again, drinks with friends. No late night for me.

8 bottles of Bollinger and two bottles of Grey Goose and I’m on the dance floor at China White, checking email. Everything is urgent. I will deal with it tomorrow, more alcohol, I think.

3am in taxi, need to be up in four hours. Alarm goes off, headache. Still fully clothed on my bed. I crawl into the shower.

Thank God it’s Friday. But my diary has Monday written all over it.

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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: 'The Assignment' by Vladimir

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

'The Assignment'
by Vladimir

They told him it was a matter of national importance, the key to the survival of his countrymen; for the triumph of their principles and values. It was the existential issue of their whole being. There needed to be found a solution to the problem of being able to write in space.For this was a time when victory in space meant victory at home. And this was being prevented by the fact that no pen could work without gravity.

All the sciences, all the resources, all the efforts towards this project of national priority were being prevented from their fruition by this most simple of tasks.

So, armed with purpose and full of responsibility the man sacrificed himself in totality to the assignment. His children grew up and entered adulthood, but he missed all this as he had the assignment. They moved out, got married and started lives of their own, but he missed all this, as there was the assignment. His dear wife grew old and sad, but this was not noticed due to the assignment. When she breathed out for the final time, alone, without his love, there was no time, as there was the assignment.

Even when the official letter came, delivered by official men, informing him that they would no longer wait, that the program had been moved on, he did not flinch, for they did not understand that he had the assignment.

In the autumn of his life, at home, alone, working on his assignment, he shouted out, ‘This is a riddle that no man can solve!’

And so, exhausted, defeated, he slumped into the sofa, switched on the TV. He felt the sudden sharp pain inside and knew that his end had come. As he drew his final breath he managed to see the little girl on the screen, writing upside down with a pencil.

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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: Flash by Yakub

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

 Flash by Yakub

 The town crier whiskerly howled not to the best of his cry.

‘People, please. Preserve. Do not waste. Ration. RATION.’ He carries on daily with the same words in different tone, ‘Ration. RATION. PRESERVE.’ His cries get weaker as the days go by.

There is a queue and people look at the thin and whiskerly crier.

Someone calls out, ‘We can hear you,’ but no one listens. No one cares.

It is the afternoon and the day is hot. The air is dry, people are thirsty, carrying on with their business. The sky is clear, people look up, but no clouds. Dismay. Suddenly, from far away a loud thunder roars. Vibrates. People in the street run, frightened. They look up. But nothing, no sign.

Evening falls. Lightning strikes fill the air, the sky bursts, luminous. Finally, thundering rain follows.

And the town crier whiskerly howls with the best of his cry, loudly, so loudly, so deafening.

‘People! Please preserve. Do not waste. RATION, RATION, RATION.’

There was no queue. People looked, did not stop, but muttered, ‘We have rain. What the cry for? NO ONE CARES.’   


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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: Flash by Andre

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

Flash by Andre

‘It’s a girl,’ he said. ‘Mr. Stevens, would you like to cut the umbilical cord?’

BEEP. BEEP. The notification read “Mike. I know you’re on paternity leave but it’s pretty urgent. Call me. Sorry.”

‘It’s a good thing she has her mother’s ears ay.’ Laughter.

BEEP. BEEP. Three new messages. “Mike it’s urgent. Call me. Big deal on the table. Cheers.” “Hey mate. Dinner and drinks Friday night. You up for it?” “Mike a ticket to Arsenal Spurs this Sunday with your name on it. Let me know asap buddy.” BEEP. VIBRATE. BEEP. New emails – five of them. “House of Fraser sale. 50% off. Ends today.” “Your uncle in Tanzania has passed away and has left you 1.3 million. Just reply with your bank details.”

An hour passed. Mike reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the device. Three hundred new notifications. He switched it off.

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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: 'The Truth About Your Grandparents' by Antony

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

The Truth About Your Grandparents
by Antony

Photographs were just commas in the narrative about my mother and father, for my daughter, who had never met them.

You can see his shoulders were as wide as the River Tyne, where he served his early sentence as a Geordie. And your grandmother had gentle blue eyes and the soft accent of west Cork, but steel in her sinews borne of Michael Collins. They would have loved your willingness to vacuum up their words; words lost to forty woodbines a day and maybe a little too much cheap whisky. 

My father was the only fundamental atheist I have met and he married a woman with more plaster popes on her dressing table than the Vatican has pontiff statues. But his digs at Catholicism were never intended to wound. Her attacks on his English patriotism were not the bomb or bayonet of rebellion.

Life for Walter and Kathleen was invented on the fly with visits to churches where my father would theatrically climb into the pulpit and preach against religion. But if she was not amused, he would take her into the heft of his frame and comfort her. Or, when visiting a rebel’s grave, after singing ‘The Fields of Athon Rye’, she would announce that this is why your English father comes from a race of devils. Then, when she saw his hurt look of incomprehension, she would embarrass his tough northern act with a wet, smacking kiss and a loud, ‘I love every bone in that body of yours.’

Your grandfather would have carried you laughing across the Labour Club’s room to show you off to the men he beat at snooker, always with a shark’s smile. He had a plasterer’s physique and a sense of humour that could cure a room full of failures. Your grandmother had kindness in her hands, hands that were never still; and words that would heal a graze or maybe broken bones. She sweated care from every pore. 

Somewhere they are looking down on you, and for the first time, they are judging me. They want me to teach you that we make ourselves from the stones we find and how we stack them. We are not DNA and an electro-chemical factory. Your grandparents made up life’s chapters every day. They were not Irish, or White, or Strong. They were sewn together with threads of experience that made the patchwork of authentic evolution.

We lived in South London where two accents had such different cadences I could barely understand them. But I understand the rock-hard fact that somehow you must learn without them here to teach you…that it is not where we come from but how we travel now.

Your grandparents loved you even though they never met you and it does not matter a fig that you are chosen, that you are adopted.  

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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: Flash Fiction by Nick

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

Flash by Nick 

She had always adored him. For years they had known one another. She had watched him grow from the days when they were both at school, to now, a man with the world at his feet.

Somehow their lives had taken different directions from those heady years when they were both in their early twenties. She had married well, into a respected local family, and he had raced on, following his ambitions but had never settled down. 

Over the years their lives had continued to cross in one way or another and they had never really lost touch. While working in Zurich, her best friend had taken a job at his firm. A couple of years later they met, at her father’s funeral. It seemed like only yesterday.  

They immediately felt very comfortable in each other’s company. There was an intense warmth between them and almost a nervous energy.

She told him that she had left her husband and in a funny way that seemed to please him. They carried on chatting on their own and away from the hum of the crowd. They recounted tales of the years gone by. The more they spoke, the more they smiled.

The gathering was thinning out as, one by one, the bodies left the lounge bar of the Flounder and Firkin. They were almost the last two.

‘I suppose you’d better get going, if you’re going to make that flight,’ she said, looking down at his shoes. 

‘Wow, is it that time already?’

They gazed, fixated at each other for a few moments, knowing what they wanted to say but not sure how or whether they should. 

‘Look, this has been great, seeing you I mean, not the funeral.’ 

She chuckled a little.

‘Really great actually, and I’d like to see you again…soon…really soon.’

A broad grin spread across her face and her cheeks reddened slightly. ‘Yes, that would be lovely. I’d like that.’ They exchanged details and she reminded him again that he had to go.

They hugged. He took a few seconds to smell her hair, remembering what they had once been. As they parted, they looked at each other, then went on their separate ways.

He sat in the back of the taxi, staring through the slightly steamy windows, contemplating his wonderful epiphany. He had been around the world, his life running at full speed and the woman that he had been seeking may have always been there, right from the start.


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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: Flash by Nolan

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

Flash by Nolan

I have been all around the world, had many, many amazing experiences. Getting on long flights to far off places, to the other side of the world. I’ve met some fantastic people and avoided some of the world’s craziest animals.

There have been many, many times that my life should have ended in an instant. And when you open your eyes, your toes are still moving, your legs are shaking, your hands are twitching, your eyes are slowly opening and squirming to see what had happened. 

‘Oh well!’ you say. ‘Shit! I’m still here, so what the fuck!’ Get up and start again, OK. Lucky this time, but at least I survived. Some of my closest friends have not, and have gone for good.

In your mind you go back in time, to exquisite places, and remember the happy carefree days meditating on the isolated beaches in Sri Lanka, running for miles and swimming through the fast-flowing river coming across the beach until one day...One Sri Lankan said to me in his accented English, which I love. 

‘You mustn’t swim tru de river!’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘Because big crocodiles. Dey eat you. Dey eat somebody four days ago.’

So sitting here in a courtroom, looking through the toughened glass at the judge and jury, and suddenly being sentenced. Some of the words I did not hear. I was taken through the door, and downstairs and handcuffed, put in a van, in a complete daze. The van drove through the gates of the court, along a few other roads and came to some more gates which opened. There was a lot of banging and clanging. The bus came to a stop. One and a half hours later, out of the van, up the stairs, photo taken. I was taken into a separate room, told to undress.

‘What?’ I said. ‘Naked?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘OK?’

He then handed me a pair of blue, thin boxer shorts, and I looked at him with a frown and he said,

‘OK. Put them on.’

It was then I realized I am here to experience a new way of life.


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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: 'Truth' by Dewayne

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  You can read more about Safe Ground and the story behind this work in our introduction to this series.

'Truth'

By Dewayne

How do I know if she is telling the truth? Body language? Facial expressions? Who knows?

I really want to believe her when she says that she will pay back that money I lent her, but look at her. She looks like never before, shoulders hung, she’s fidgety, and not once has she made eye contact.

It makes my spider senses tingle. I know something is wrong. Two weeks back, when I asked her if she loved her boyfriend, wow, she started to burst with the passion of truth. She stood upright, shoulders back. She used hand gestures to describe things he had done for her. I could see in her eyes, and tell by the high pitch of her voice that she pictured everything she said in that very moment. She was glowing with honesty.

So the fact that I can hardly hear a word she says now, making me say ‘What?’ over and over, makes my heart race, my armpits sweaty, my fists clench, my teeth grit, my eyes bulge. And getting nothing back from her makes my bad feeling grow. I have things to pay for and nothing to pay with.

‘So will I get that £500?’ I ask again, trying to stay calm. She is a long-time friend after all.

‘Next week, I promise,’ she replies, in a low, slow voice as she walks away.


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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.

SAFE GROUND: An Introduction to Today's Flash Series

Flash Flood is continuing its 2019 National Flash Fiction Day celebration with a day of flash written on the theme of 'epiphany' by men at HMP Wandsworth who were participants of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project workshops.  To start the day, we welcome Safe Ground Programmes Manager Lindsay Murphy who tells us a bit about the background and philosophy of Safe Ground's Flash Fiction Project...

An Introduction to Today's Flash Series

Safe Ground is a national arts organisation delivering high quality services and interventions in both prison and community settings. Our programmes focus on relationships and identity and use group work and creative techniques for participants to experience alternative perspectives, develop empathy and self-awareness alongside skills and competencies. We challenge people and communities to do relationships differently.

As an arts organisation, Safe Ground relies on the use of artistic practices and techniques to inform and support our programme design, delivery and evaluation. Our methodologies promote reflection, realisation and revelations. They provide participants with platforms for change and routes into transitions. Throughout our programmes moments of clarity can occur, awareness and understanding of situations can be enhanced and participants can find themselves with a renewed sense of the self. Often, participants in our programmes begin or develop skills in performance, drama and creative writing.

Part of our organisational ethos has always been to work in partnership wherever possible and appropriate. Since 2015, Safe Ground is proud to have been in a relationship with Essex University and in 2017 we coordinated a creative writing workshop with the men at HMP Wandsworth.  

It was agreed that ‘Epiphany’ was appropriate as a narrative theme, to support the groups to explore moments of change and transformation, which are inherent in the work we do. These epiphanies or turning points can provide moments of clarity but can also bring up an array of issues, dilemmas, decisions to be made and pathways to be pursued. Over two, two-day workshops, a total of 12 men participated and each produced a selection of short stories for submission. Participants ranged in age from 23 to 65 and brought with them a vast diversity of cultural, educational and life experience. The flash fiction pieces produced by participants denote an array of lightbulb moments, of points of sharp realisation, of transparency and revelation.  

Our colleague and design partner on this project was Jonathan Crane who writes:

“When the opportunity to work with Safe Ground in the design and delivery of a creative writing workshop for HMP Wandsworth arose, I was studying towards a Ph.D. at the University of Essex. At that time, I had just been researching the concept of ‘Epiphany’ in relation to short stories, and exploring the flash fiction form. To my mind, these elements seemed ideally suited for a creative writing project in a prison setting.

Flash fiction, I felt, could provide the participants with a short, accessible form with which they could experiment. Then, with the concept of epiphany as a central theme for the workshops, the men could be encouraged to reflect on their own experiences, as well as to explore their own realizations and transformations. Yet, more than this, by introducing the idea of epiphany as a focal point of change within a narrative, we could provide a structure which would help the men shape their own flash fiction. 

Using Safe Ground’s methodologies, the workshops provided a supportive forum not only for discussion, and for the expression of ideas and experiences, but also for the sharing of work. We encouraged the men to read out their work, and to give constructive feedback on the work of others. This process then fed into a session on editing and drafting stories during which the men worked collaboratively.

When I began this project, I had hoped to share some writing technique with the participants, and to introduce them to a form which might enable their self-expression. In short, I wanted to help them to write, and to have their voices heard. I little knew that the men would embrace flash fiction so keenly and create stories which ranged from the minimalist dramatic short, to the lyrical prose poem, from the poignantly personal to the surreally comic. 

It was a privilege and a pleasure to work with Safe Ground and the men in HMP Wandsworth. The men’s eloquence and honesty, their openness to discuss their experiences and insights, as well as to share their stories, not only dismantled my own preconceptions about prison and life therein, but also taught me to appreciate the small things that we so casually take for granted.

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You can follow Safe Ground on Twitter @Safe_Ground.