Anne Oatley


Anne Oatley lives in South London. She is a full time carer for her mother, who has dementia. She has tried her hand at long and short fiction, drafting everything in pen before typing it up on her ancient desktop.


‘Go!’ my brother screams, ‘Go!’     Go where? I wonder, but bullets are flying past. Away, I guess. I am still processing Bro firing the gun and the cop lying straight down, like a movie. I can see my face in the SUV’s mirror, eyes like window panes and a smoky smear on my cheek. Least I don’t look like a pretty- boy fag no more. Sirens wail behind us and we’re speeding through ripples of blue light. Because a spark jumped an inch of darkness and made us guilty. If I drive fast enough, maybe we’ll shoot into another …Read more

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