Sarah Lamptey

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  • March For True Colours

    By Sarah Lamptey     I’m mixed-raced; my father was brought up in England to Ghanaian parents and my mother is English. I’ve always lived in either Surrey or London and I’ve used the word “lucky” in the past, to describe getting so far into my twenties with only one…

  • Strange Pain

    Your words sliced through, I was in two Walking fast away from you Question marks from what would make You want to make a strange heart break? Who dreamed of nonsense, something light And you were there and saw the sight Of brown and a huge mass of hair Bewildered while…

  • Sleeping With The Light On

    Sleeping with the light on And I’m no child. My night’s been wilder Than the deepest jungle At midnight and I’m riled For it’s silly to be Sleeping with the light on When I’m no child. Hiding under blankets And I’m no child. My dream was rockier Than the steepest…

  • Chapter 5

    Samuel and Theodore believed that Maxwell couldn’t speak but they were mistaken. Ten years ago Samuel and Theodore had been heated-debating. It may have been about whether ducks really were “lazy-mouldy-bread-eating quacks” or a revert to the controversial and emotional subject of the Disappearing Red Squirrel but it was definitely…

  • Chapter 4

    Again, night. Benjie lay where he was left, at the side of the road. The light from the lamppost reached him and warmed his side. One pair of shoes passed and made their way somewhere, quickly. Benjie lay alone. His smell had grown to rage then left to explore as…

  • Chapter 3

    Shortly after, Winston was on his shift. He started at Putney Bridge and as usual began to remove the chewing gum from the pavement. It was easier now that they had given him the stick and claw. It was kinder on his back and he could play games with it.…

  • Chapter 2

    They had been waiting all day for night’s desolation and now it was time. The feathers had fluttered since 2.42pm when Benjie had been hit by a car. The tyre had pasted him to the road and took part of him, rolling, to a driveway in South Norwood. His blood…

  • Central Park, New York City, Day 1

    A feeling such as reading the most beautiful, most vivid book. Sounds are so clear, colours are too bright to be true. Or is it a vision I’ve created so often in my mind that it’s now only almost tangible? The new winter’s cold revitalises, warmed through by the falling browns…

  • Notes on hugs from my two ladies

    All-encompassing hugs from my two ladies. Their weight I admired – me, the mathematician, the calorie wizard, the difficult guest at a dinner party and in general. Their joy and sometimes crankiness in life. The absolute void in their death. The void in my living. Rubbed out parts of the…

  • Chapter One

    On a still, silent street it hunches under a dim lamppost. The light drops, rounds the figure’s back and falls to a puddle at its feet. Around, a few lost and wandering rays find their purpose in a deadlock with thickening wisps of mist. A lorry passes; first felt, then…