My Ride on the 26, by Mat Woolfenden

They are all standing around the bus stop – and are like children. There is the waitress, early fifties, cute in her lipsticks, and the black pinny spoiled only by long black trousers. She ignores me, she understands how I am a top predator of the top deck. She couldn’t trust herself upstairs with me in the eye-line.

How to Build a Sand Castle

I heroically led the charge. Screaming at the top of my lungs as I sprinted towards the oncoming wall of water. Leaping over the tiny smaller waves before it, smashing through them, destroying them, regaining my footing underwater, and charging onwards, my plastic shovel held high up in the air, the sunlight reflecting off the red plastic. I could hear the ranks of the shell army cheering behind me as I led the charge.