Gordon Ferris was born and reared in Dublin. He left school at sixteen, worked as a barman in Dublin into his twenties. He fell for a Donegal woman, got married, moved to Donegal and has lived there for the past thirty-four or five years doing various jobs to support his family. He has had stories and poetry in A New Ulster magazine and poetry in Hidden Channel, a Sligo magazine.
By Gordon Ferris
I peel open my eyes, slowly. Ah, let me sleep for just a little bit longer, the sleep has left a tiny solid annoying substance in the corner of my eye. Which for the life of me I can’t remove; I poke it out eventually, looking at the little white round substance thinking, so much bother for something so soft and delicate, before flicking it unceremoniously away.
I look at the ignored alarm clock on the dresser…
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