After the Fact
by Bill Robertson
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: Love blossoms by the sea in the post-apocalyptic world.
_____________________________________________________________________
We had been travelling west for a few weeks, walking most of the way. The traffic jams had snaked on for miles in all directions making most of the roads impassable.
I met Maggie when I left the city. She seemed a lot better equipped for dealing with what had happened than I was. Her dyed red hair and piercings made her look as if she had walked straight from some post-apocalyptic movie and she had a decent sized backpack and sturdy boots - whereas all I had was a carrier bag and my trainers.
‘Do you want to go to the coast?’ she had asked once we started talking.
‘What’s there?’
‘My dad owns …I mean he used to own a caravan out there. We could stay there over the winter.’
‘Why there in particular?’
‘It’s late September now, the weather is going to be getting wetter and most of the towns and cities are going to be full of bodies. They’re going to rot fast in the damp. You can already smell it a bit in the air – pretty soon it’s going to get worse’
‘Ok, point taken, but won’t this caravan park be the same?’
She shook her head.
‘Park shuts at the start of October. Most people would have closed up their vans for the winter by now.’
The penny finally dropped. ‘So the place will be empty,’ I said
We had hit the road soon after. The streets had been empty for the most part save for the odd wandering dog. Most people had gone to ground like sick animals, drawing their curtains behind them.
We slept together a couple of nights later. I supposed we were finding solace in that most basic of human contact. For all we knew everyone was living on borrowed time anyway. Neither of us was sick, not yet at least, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. The virus had spread so far and so fast that information about it had been scarce.
‘Well, here we are,’ I said.
The low sun was starting to cast long shadows. There were no signs of life from any of the long rows of static caravans. The heavy silence made me feel like a burglar.
Maggie fished in her purse for a few moments before producing a set of keys. ‘Ah, there we go,’ she said. There was a click and the door swung open to reveal the dim interior of the caravan.
I could smell that peculiar musty smell that I remembered from long ago holidays to Scarborough and Great Yarmouth. Maggie flicked the light switch a few times. Nothing happened.
‘Well, it was probably too much to hope for,’ she shrugged. ‘There should be some candles under the sink – we can use those for now.’
‘Good thinking Batman. I don’t suppose there will be any food knocking about?’
‘Not likely but have a rummage around in the cupboards. There might be a few bits and pieces lying around.’
A few minutes investigation unearthed some teabags, a box of biscuits and a couple of out of date bags of crisps.
‘Not exactly haute cuisine,’ I said, dumping my booty on the table, ‘but it will have to do. Hope you don’t mind your tea black.’
‘I think I’ll survive. Now, let’s see about some heat. If you pop outside you can connect the gas. There should be plenty left in the cylinder.’
When I came back inside, she fiddled around with the gas fire. The dry click of the electric starter motor sounded ominously loud in the confines of the caravan. The fire sputtered into life, the glowing gas lit up our faces.
‘I’ll go put some tea on,’ I said.
We huddled together in front of the fierce but not very far-reaching heat; steaming mugs of black tea clasped in our hands. Outside, the wind had picked up. It moaned and buffeted the thin aluminium sides of the caravan.
‘It feels like we’re the last two people on earth,’ she said sipping her tea.
‘Aye, it does a bit,’ I said. ‘Reminds me of that book we did at school Z for Zachariah.’
‘I remember that one, about the girl who survives a nuclear war.’
‘That’s it. It really disturbed me.’
‘I can’t imagine you were the only one. We grew up at a pretty screwed up time in History – The Cold War and all that.’
I nodded. ‘In the end, we were all worried about the wrong bogeyman. It wasn’t nasty Mr Radiation that did us in. It was Mr Smallpox who everyone thought had gone away for good.’
‘Well,’ she said, huddling closer. ‘I could think of worse people to spend the end of the world with.’
We set off down to the beach the next day. We had raided the camp shop for more supplies and Maggie had made up a picnic. Things were going great until we walked past the empty playground. We both stopped and looked at it for a few minutes, neither of us speaking. The swings squeaked slowly in the breeze and I could imagine the sounds of kids playing there in the summer.
That’s when Maggie started crying.
‘How old were they?’ I asked.
Her words came out between sobs. ‘Ben was seven, Callum was four. Ben came down with it first…’ she tailed off, her eyes clouding.
He was such a wee sweetheart. I tried taking him to the hospital when his eyes started going red but they were already turning people away. His skin was turning black with the bleeding and he was in so much pain. “Too hot mummy, too hot,” he kept saying. By the time we got home I could see Callum had started to come down with it as well. That’s when Ben began having convulsions.’
I tried to take her hand but she brushed it aside.
‘His skin was literally falling off in sheets, blood coming out his eyes and mouth, the whole house reeking with that awful sweet smell...’ She broke down completely then. Black eyeliner tears running down her face. For a moment there was just the sound of her weeping, with the swings adding their rusty commentary.
I put an arm around her. This time she didn’t shrug me off. ‘Look, its ok,’ I said. ‘We’ve been so busy moving forward we haven’t had a chance to look back and take it all in.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Just seeing this place again brought it all back at once.’ She wiped her eyes with her sleeves. ‘Come on, we better get going if we want to make the most of the daylight.’
‘You sure you’re ok?’
‘I’ll be alright.’
The sands stretched for miles on either side. I could just make out a small town on the headland to the east. A few gulls swooped low over the surf, skimming the white wave tops. It was a crisp October day with just enough warmth in the air to make you forget winter was on the way. For a little while at least, we could pretend we were on holiday. I had found a Frisbee under the caravan and we spent ages chucking it about until we stopped for our picnic.
‘Tell me more about coming here,’ I said, munching on a roll.
‘Not much to tell really,’ she said. ‘Dad got the caravan off my Granddad as a wedding present. I carried on the tradition once I grew up and had kids of my own. We couldn’t afford to go abroad you see – not after the divorce. I used to bring the boys here whenever I could. They loved running in and out of the waves. Callum liked to collect shells in his little bucket. It was nice. Kids don’t need much – just some fresh air and a bit of space to run around in.’
‘Aye, it’s easy to forget the simple things.’
‘What about you?’ she said. ‘Any kids?’
‘My job kind of put me off.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I used to be an English Teacher.’
‘You’re joking, right?’ she sniffed, a hint of a smile returning to her lips.
I shook my head. ‘I’m not joking, puts you right off, so it does. There’s nothing like other people’s nippers to cure you of any romantic notions about parenthood.’
‘What about your wife?’
I shrugged. ‘Well, we had sort of been talking about it. She got a bit broody after a few of her friends had kids.’ I stopped for a second. ‘We’d sort of agreed to think about trying and now… now it doesn’t really matter does it?’ I could hear my voice cracking a bit. ‘She had the most amazing smile – that’s what I’ll always remember. The first time I met her I could see it from across the room. I was too shy to speak to her so I kept looking over trying to catch her attention until she finally got fed up and marched over to me to ask me out.’ I closed my eyes, recalling that first night at Anthony’s party. ‘She got sick about a week after the first cases were reported. I buried her in the garden – they stopped collecting bodies pretty quickly, didn’t they? After that, I couldn’t stay in the house any more – I couldn’t get rid of the smell. I had to get out of the city.’
‘And now here we are.’
‘And now here we are,’ I repeated.
We sat together on the sand looking out at the ocean, lost in our private thoughts.
I nearly jumped out of my skin a few minutes later when a howling noise split the air.
‘What the hell is that?’ The rasping wail cut through the stillness again.
‘There’s an army firing range further up the coast. It’s a warning to clear the beach. We used to hear it all the time. It’s probably on some kind of automated circuit’
‘Do you think anyone might be alive there?’ I allowed a note of hope to creep into my voice.
She shrugged. ‘Why?’
‘They might have had protective suits and stuff, like in Iraq. They might be ok.’
The wailing continued.
‘Wouldn’t they have sent out patrols or something by now?’ Maggie said.
‘Not necessarily,’ I said, my mind now racing with the possibilities. ‘They might have been ordered to close up the base and sit tight until the outbreak is over.’
‘I think it’s a mistake,’ said Maggie. ‘I heard rumours about the army shooting people near the end.’
‘Things were a bit mad then though – people were rioting and stuff. You could hardly blame them for what happened. Anyway, all that’s done now – they’re probably looking for survivors – if we’re immune it might help them find a vaccine.’ I gave her a look. ‘You’re the one who’s been saying we should be looking for other people. This might be our best chance.’
‘And if they’re all dead?’
‘We might be able to find more supplies at least.’
She threw up her hands. ‘Ok, we’ll take a look but I still think it’s a bad idea.’
‘Duly noted,’ I said. ‘Come on.’
There was a corpse sitting in the guard post. Its black and blistered face stared out from behind broken glass while seagulls patrolled the roof of the little booth. A chain-link fence topped with razor wire stretched off in either direction. I waved at Maggie to stop.
‘What should we do?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘The place looks deserted apart from that poor bugger.’
‘We could go back to the caravan park. Give it up as a bad job.’
‘We’ve come this far.’ I said. ‘We might as well see it through.’
‘It could be a trap though – did you ever think of that?’
I shrugged. ‘Well there’s only one way to find out.’
I stepped towards the main gate, imagining hidden eyes peering through sniper scopes, black gloved fingers tightening on triggers. With each step I waited for the sudden impact of a bullet. The seagulls moved on as I approached. They reminded me of the hoodied teens who used to hang around the local shops. As I reached the guard post, they suddenly took flight. For a moment, I was convinced that I’d been shot.
Once I got my heart rate back down, I managed to open the door. The dead man ignored me as I opened it. I pulled my t-shirt up over my nose and mouth and bent down to take his rifle. I had never fired anything larger than an air pistol before but it looked straightforward enough. I stood up and waved at Maggie to come on.
There were more bodies as we moved deeper into the base. A truck carcass lay on its side, the badly burned bodies of its occupants hanging out the smashed cab.
‘What do you think happened?’ Maggie asked.
‘My guess is that once the plague got really bad some of the squaddies decided that there wasn’t much point sticking around to the bitter end.’
We searched the base for any signs of life but found none. In one room, an officer was slumped back in his chair with a pistol jammed in his mouth. A spray of maroon and something that looked like oatmeal had dried in a large patch on the wall behind his head.
‘Let’s go,’ I said. I felt sick at heart. I had been so certain that the base would be full of other survivors.
That night we lay next to each other in the darkness.
‘What if there’s no one else left?’ Maggie said.
‘There have to be others; we’ve seen plenty of signs getting here.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I don’t mean survivors like us; I mean what about the bigger picture? You said it yourself – things were falling apart. ’
‘That’s why I took the gun - better safe than sorry.’
I held her tightly, hands clasped around her waist. Sleep was a long time coming.
As the weeks passed, we started walking along the beach after dinner most nights. It was a good way to exercise and stave off cabin fever. The park had proven to have rich pickings to scavenge. Lots of the vans had storage sheds and fridge freezers attached and although the power was out a lot of stuff hadn’t gone over.
The dying light cast a bluish tint on the sand and the first cold sparkles of stars were starting to peep through the heavens. The stiff breeze whipped up thin sheets of spray from the waves as they curled ashore.
Maggie pulled her hoodie tighter around herself. ‘It’s bloody freezing,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be too cold to keep doing this soon.’
I pulled her in close. ‘There’s plenty of ways to keep warm during winter.’
‘You’d have to catch me first,’ she said, elbowing me in the stomach and running off down the beach as I gasped in her wake.
It took me a good few minutes to catch up with her. She had a good head start and I was still trying to get my breath back. She was down to the water’s edge staring out to sea, oblivious to the tide pooling around her ankles.
‘What is it?’
She pointed into the distance. A single light flickered on the horizon.
‘Is it a lighthouse?’ Maggie said.
‘Too far off shore – it looks like it’s in the middle of the sea, not the coastline.’
The light flickered on and off at irregular intervals. ‘I think it’s spelling out a message.’
‘What do you think it means?’
‘Hope,’ I said.
Swearwords: None.
Description: Love blossoms by the sea in the post-apocalyptic world.
_____________________________________________________________________
We had been travelling west for a few weeks, walking most of the way. The traffic jams had snaked on for miles in all directions making most of the roads impassable.
I met Maggie when I left the city. She seemed a lot better equipped for dealing with what had happened than I was. Her dyed red hair and piercings made her look as if she had walked straight from some post-apocalyptic movie and she had a decent sized backpack and sturdy boots - whereas all I had was a carrier bag and my trainers.
‘Do you want to go to the coast?’ she had asked once we started talking.
‘What’s there?’
‘My dad owns …I mean he used to own a caravan out there. We could stay there over the winter.’
‘Why there in particular?’
‘It’s late September now, the weather is going to be getting wetter and most of the towns and cities are going to be full of bodies. They’re going to rot fast in the damp. You can already smell it a bit in the air – pretty soon it’s going to get worse’
‘Ok, point taken, but won’t this caravan park be the same?’
She shook her head.
‘Park shuts at the start of October. Most people would have closed up their vans for the winter by now.’
The penny finally dropped. ‘So the place will be empty,’ I said
We had hit the road soon after. The streets had been empty for the most part save for the odd wandering dog. Most people had gone to ground like sick animals, drawing their curtains behind them.
We slept together a couple of nights later. I supposed we were finding solace in that most basic of human contact. For all we knew everyone was living on borrowed time anyway. Neither of us was sick, not yet at least, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. The virus had spread so far and so fast that information about it had been scarce.
‘Well, here we are,’ I said.
The low sun was starting to cast long shadows. There were no signs of life from any of the long rows of static caravans. The heavy silence made me feel like a burglar.
Maggie fished in her purse for a few moments before producing a set of keys. ‘Ah, there we go,’ she said. There was a click and the door swung open to reveal the dim interior of the caravan.
I could smell that peculiar musty smell that I remembered from long ago holidays to Scarborough and Great Yarmouth. Maggie flicked the light switch a few times. Nothing happened.
‘Well, it was probably too much to hope for,’ she shrugged. ‘There should be some candles under the sink – we can use those for now.’
‘Good thinking Batman. I don’t suppose there will be any food knocking about?’
‘Not likely but have a rummage around in the cupboards. There might be a few bits and pieces lying around.’
A few minutes investigation unearthed some teabags, a box of biscuits and a couple of out of date bags of crisps.
‘Not exactly haute cuisine,’ I said, dumping my booty on the table, ‘but it will have to do. Hope you don’t mind your tea black.’
‘I think I’ll survive. Now, let’s see about some heat. If you pop outside you can connect the gas. There should be plenty left in the cylinder.’
When I came back inside, she fiddled around with the gas fire. The dry click of the electric starter motor sounded ominously loud in the confines of the caravan. The fire sputtered into life, the glowing gas lit up our faces.
‘I’ll go put some tea on,’ I said.
We huddled together in front of the fierce but not very far-reaching heat; steaming mugs of black tea clasped in our hands. Outside, the wind had picked up. It moaned and buffeted the thin aluminium sides of the caravan.
‘It feels like we’re the last two people on earth,’ she said sipping her tea.
‘Aye, it does a bit,’ I said. ‘Reminds me of that book we did at school Z for Zachariah.’
‘I remember that one, about the girl who survives a nuclear war.’
‘That’s it. It really disturbed me.’
‘I can’t imagine you were the only one. We grew up at a pretty screwed up time in History – The Cold War and all that.’
I nodded. ‘In the end, we were all worried about the wrong bogeyman. It wasn’t nasty Mr Radiation that did us in. It was Mr Smallpox who everyone thought had gone away for good.’
‘Well,’ she said, huddling closer. ‘I could think of worse people to spend the end of the world with.’
We set off down to the beach the next day. We had raided the camp shop for more supplies and Maggie had made up a picnic. Things were going great until we walked past the empty playground. We both stopped and looked at it for a few minutes, neither of us speaking. The swings squeaked slowly in the breeze and I could imagine the sounds of kids playing there in the summer.
That’s when Maggie started crying.
‘How old were they?’ I asked.
Her words came out between sobs. ‘Ben was seven, Callum was four. Ben came down with it first…’ she tailed off, her eyes clouding.
He was such a wee sweetheart. I tried taking him to the hospital when his eyes started going red but they were already turning people away. His skin was turning black with the bleeding and he was in so much pain. “Too hot mummy, too hot,” he kept saying. By the time we got home I could see Callum had started to come down with it as well. That’s when Ben began having convulsions.’
I tried to take her hand but she brushed it aside.
‘His skin was literally falling off in sheets, blood coming out his eyes and mouth, the whole house reeking with that awful sweet smell...’ She broke down completely then. Black eyeliner tears running down her face. For a moment there was just the sound of her weeping, with the swings adding their rusty commentary.
I put an arm around her. This time she didn’t shrug me off. ‘Look, its ok,’ I said. ‘We’ve been so busy moving forward we haven’t had a chance to look back and take it all in.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Just seeing this place again brought it all back at once.’ She wiped her eyes with her sleeves. ‘Come on, we better get going if we want to make the most of the daylight.’
‘You sure you’re ok?’
‘I’ll be alright.’
The sands stretched for miles on either side. I could just make out a small town on the headland to the east. A few gulls swooped low over the surf, skimming the white wave tops. It was a crisp October day with just enough warmth in the air to make you forget winter was on the way. For a little while at least, we could pretend we were on holiday. I had found a Frisbee under the caravan and we spent ages chucking it about until we stopped for our picnic.
‘Tell me more about coming here,’ I said, munching on a roll.
‘Not much to tell really,’ she said. ‘Dad got the caravan off my Granddad as a wedding present. I carried on the tradition once I grew up and had kids of my own. We couldn’t afford to go abroad you see – not after the divorce. I used to bring the boys here whenever I could. They loved running in and out of the waves. Callum liked to collect shells in his little bucket. It was nice. Kids don’t need much – just some fresh air and a bit of space to run around in.’
‘Aye, it’s easy to forget the simple things.’
‘What about you?’ she said. ‘Any kids?’
‘My job kind of put me off.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I used to be an English Teacher.’
‘You’re joking, right?’ she sniffed, a hint of a smile returning to her lips.
I shook my head. ‘I’m not joking, puts you right off, so it does. There’s nothing like other people’s nippers to cure you of any romantic notions about parenthood.’
‘What about your wife?’
I shrugged. ‘Well, we had sort of been talking about it. She got a bit broody after a few of her friends had kids.’ I stopped for a second. ‘We’d sort of agreed to think about trying and now… now it doesn’t really matter does it?’ I could hear my voice cracking a bit. ‘She had the most amazing smile – that’s what I’ll always remember. The first time I met her I could see it from across the room. I was too shy to speak to her so I kept looking over trying to catch her attention until she finally got fed up and marched over to me to ask me out.’ I closed my eyes, recalling that first night at Anthony’s party. ‘She got sick about a week after the first cases were reported. I buried her in the garden – they stopped collecting bodies pretty quickly, didn’t they? After that, I couldn’t stay in the house any more – I couldn’t get rid of the smell. I had to get out of the city.’
‘And now here we are.’
‘And now here we are,’ I repeated.
We sat together on the sand looking out at the ocean, lost in our private thoughts.
I nearly jumped out of my skin a few minutes later when a howling noise split the air.
‘What the hell is that?’ The rasping wail cut through the stillness again.
‘There’s an army firing range further up the coast. It’s a warning to clear the beach. We used to hear it all the time. It’s probably on some kind of automated circuit’
‘Do you think anyone might be alive there?’ I allowed a note of hope to creep into my voice.
She shrugged. ‘Why?’
‘They might have had protective suits and stuff, like in Iraq. They might be ok.’
The wailing continued.
‘Wouldn’t they have sent out patrols or something by now?’ Maggie said.
‘Not necessarily,’ I said, my mind now racing with the possibilities. ‘They might have been ordered to close up the base and sit tight until the outbreak is over.’
‘I think it’s a mistake,’ said Maggie. ‘I heard rumours about the army shooting people near the end.’
‘Things were a bit mad then though – people were rioting and stuff. You could hardly blame them for what happened. Anyway, all that’s done now – they’re probably looking for survivors – if we’re immune it might help them find a vaccine.’ I gave her a look. ‘You’re the one who’s been saying we should be looking for other people. This might be our best chance.’
‘And if they’re all dead?’
‘We might be able to find more supplies at least.’
She threw up her hands. ‘Ok, we’ll take a look but I still think it’s a bad idea.’
‘Duly noted,’ I said. ‘Come on.’
There was a corpse sitting in the guard post. Its black and blistered face stared out from behind broken glass while seagulls patrolled the roof of the little booth. A chain-link fence topped with razor wire stretched off in either direction. I waved at Maggie to stop.
‘What should we do?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘The place looks deserted apart from that poor bugger.’
‘We could go back to the caravan park. Give it up as a bad job.’
‘We’ve come this far.’ I said. ‘We might as well see it through.’
‘It could be a trap though – did you ever think of that?’
I shrugged. ‘Well there’s only one way to find out.’
I stepped towards the main gate, imagining hidden eyes peering through sniper scopes, black gloved fingers tightening on triggers. With each step I waited for the sudden impact of a bullet. The seagulls moved on as I approached. They reminded me of the hoodied teens who used to hang around the local shops. As I reached the guard post, they suddenly took flight. For a moment, I was convinced that I’d been shot.
Once I got my heart rate back down, I managed to open the door. The dead man ignored me as I opened it. I pulled my t-shirt up over my nose and mouth and bent down to take his rifle. I had never fired anything larger than an air pistol before but it looked straightforward enough. I stood up and waved at Maggie to come on.
There were more bodies as we moved deeper into the base. A truck carcass lay on its side, the badly burned bodies of its occupants hanging out the smashed cab.
‘What do you think happened?’ Maggie asked.
‘My guess is that once the plague got really bad some of the squaddies decided that there wasn’t much point sticking around to the bitter end.’
We searched the base for any signs of life but found none. In one room, an officer was slumped back in his chair with a pistol jammed in his mouth. A spray of maroon and something that looked like oatmeal had dried in a large patch on the wall behind his head.
‘Let’s go,’ I said. I felt sick at heart. I had been so certain that the base would be full of other survivors.
That night we lay next to each other in the darkness.
‘What if there’s no one else left?’ Maggie said.
‘There have to be others; we’ve seen plenty of signs getting here.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I don’t mean survivors like us; I mean what about the bigger picture? You said it yourself – things were falling apart. ’
‘That’s why I took the gun - better safe than sorry.’
I held her tightly, hands clasped around her waist. Sleep was a long time coming.
As the weeks passed, we started walking along the beach after dinner most nights. It was a good way to exercise and stave off cabin fever. The park had proven to have rich pickings to scavenge. Lots of the vans had storage sheds and fridge freezers attached and although the power was out a lot of stuff hadn’t gone over.
The dying light cast a bluish tint on the sand and the first cold sparkles of stars were starting to peep through the heavens. The stiff breeze whipped up thin sheets of spray from the waves as they curled ashore.
Maggie pulled her hoodie tighter around herself. ‘It’s bloody freezing,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be too cold to keep doing this soon.’
I pulled her in close. ‘There’s plenty of ways to keep warm during winter.’
‘You’d have to catch me first,’ she said, elbowing me in the stomach and running off down the beach as I gasped in her wake.
It took me a good few minutes to catch up with her. She had a good head start and I was still trying to get my breath back. She was down to the water’s edge staring out to sea, oblivious to the tide pooling around her ankles.
‘What is it?’
She pointed into the distance. A single light flickered on the horizon.
‘Is it a lighthouse?’ Maggie said.
‘Too far off shore – it looks like it’s in the middle of the sea, not the coastline.’
The light flickered on and off at irregular intervals. ‘I think it’s spelling out a message.’
‘What do you think it means?’
‘Hope,’ I said.
About the Author
Born in Perth and now living just outside Aberdeen, Bill Robertson has created a large body of work showcasing a tendency towards the darker side of life and stories which leave an indelible impression on the reader long after the final word is read.
An active member of Aberdeen’s Lemon Tree Writer’s Group, Bill’s work has appeared in Journeys, an anthology of work from the group, and most recently in a chapbook, Himself by the Seaside. He has performed some of his stories as part of the Word and New Words festivals and other events around the north-east. He has also self published two e-books: Reindeer Dust, a short Christmas story, and When the Revolution Comes, a collection of linked short stories concerning an uprising in a fictional eastern European country. A number of his stories have featured on the website http://www.shortbreadstories.co.uk, where he has been chosen as the featured Friday story a number of times and has won a number of competitions with his short stories and flash fiction pieces.
If you would like to hear an interview with Bill and listen to him read some of his work, please go to this link to hear Bill’s appearance on Mearns FM's Smith on Sunday show. You can also keep up to date with Bill’s work by visiting http://www.billrobertson55.wordpress.com, where he often shares work in progress as well as finished stories.
An active member of Aberdeen’s Lemon Tree Writer’s Group, Bill’s work has appeared in Journeys, an anthology of work from the group, and most recently in a chapbook, Himself by the Seaside. He has performed some of his stories as part of the Word and New Words festivals and other events around the north-east. He has also self published two e-books: Reindeer Dust, a short Christmas story, and When the Revolution Comes, a collection of linked short stories concerning an uprising in a fictional eastern European country. A number of his stories have featured on the website http://www.shortbreadstories.co.uk, where he has been chosen as the featured Friday story a number of times and has won a number of competitions with his short stories and flash fiction pieces.
If you would like to hear an interview with Bill and listen to him read some of his work, please go to this link to hear Bill’s appearance on Mearns FM's Smith on Sunday show. You can also keep up to date with Bill’s work by visiting http://www.billrobertson55.wordpress.com, where he often shares work in progress as well as finished stories.