Stories by
Simon Kewin

Airliner trails streaked the blue sky, impossibly high, flying to unknown lands. Ang kept her eyes on her field, not daring to dream.

@SimonKewin is the pseudonym used by an infinite number of monkeys who write from a secret location in the English countryside.

This was the part of the job she hated. She knocked, then waited on the doorstep for the parents to answer. A heavy rain began to fall.

@SimonKewin writes this and that. Sometimes other words too.

When he died, he found the souls of all the animals he’d ever hurt standing in a line, waiting for him. For a moment, none of them moved.

Simon Kewin just is.

Black beetles roamed the grass by her feet, fat and shiny like beads. He’d have liked that. The adults standing around her droned on and on.

Simon Kewin is writing down everything he knows, one word at a time.

The doctor said he had the heart of a much younger man. He stood outside the home of the donor’s family, trying to think of the right words.

Simon Kewin employs an infinite number of monkeys to write stories for him. It’s easier that way.

His GPS told him the town where his birth-parents lived was two hours away. It couldn’t be right. It had taken him fifteen years so far.

Simon Kewin employs an infinite number of monkeys to write stories for him. It’s easier that way.

Her mum’s last, whispered words were ‘Save yourself for the right man.’ It was a comfort, later, to think she’d died not knowing the truth.

Simon Kewin likes cake. And chocolate. And chocolate cake.

The bees stung her three times on her hand as she collected the day’s honey. Still, she didn’t mind. You knew where you were with bees.

Simon Kewin writes from the UK. It’s easier that way because that’s where his house is. His blog Spellmaking is open 24/7.