As part of my MA in Creative Writing Studies at University of Limerick (2023-2025), I was given the opportunity to take part in the college’s Espresso Shot of Thought series.
Thanks to Emily Cullen, the Meskell UL-Fifty Poet in Residence at the college, for inviting me to take part in the series.
Special word of gratitude too to Elaine Kiely, Oonagh Grace and Karen Byrnes for their work in editing the final version.
This story is included in the collection Second Chance & Other Stories, published October 2022. Read it below or listen here:
Louis found his father propped up in his chair in the day room where they hung the children’s paintings of farms and grandparents and siblings and cows and sheep and football pitches and choo-choo trains. Board games were stacked up on a table in the far corner, beside Get Well Soon and Thinking of You cards. A spray of illuvial bands draped lazily from a hook a little to the right of the TV, on a bracket high up on the wall.
He was engrossed in a programme, volume at full. Louis heard him say “Africa” in response to a question. Green and beige rugs were wrapped tightly around his legs. The sunken holder on the chair had a cup in it – that’d be tea. Plenty of milk, the way he liked it. Two sugars. And the tea gone cold, probably. The presenter bellowed “so, what would you do with €50,000?” Continue reading “Hope by Liam Horan”→
This story is included in the collection Second Chance & Other Stories, published October 2022 – read it below, or listen here:
Charlie pulled the car in on the left just before the empty pier. He held down the button to turn off his phone, which was feeding Spotify through the speaker system, and slipped it down into the pocket on the side of the driver’s door – for once, not choc-a-bloc with scribbled notes, loose batteries, old keys, match programmes and a dozen other random items. “Make sure you clean the car,” had been Sophie’s last words the evening before, “and get it washed as well.” He lifted his wallet off the passenger’s seat and put it into the glove compartment, and unnecessarily checked one more time that the little black ring box was there too. Then he hopped out and grabbed his sports bag from the boot. The morning was grey, and the water lapped onto the end of the pier.
“Why do I do this?” he asked himself again, just as he had a few times on the ever-narrowing road out from town. Now, as he fumbled with his jocks under his dryrobe, and looked out at the choppy lake, he contemplated not bothering. But he was having a good run of it lately and though Sophie had wanted to get on the road earlier, he told her he’d like to grab a swim before they left, and so it would be 9.30am before he’d be at her house.