Story Therapy

  Story: S A Spencer A forgotten nurse. A silent debt. A final act of grace. Author of Popular Fictions : The Pink Mutiny , The Black Waters , Dream In Shackles The receptionist at Holloway & Sons Funeral Home had seen her share of odd requests. But this one was different. A man in his late fifties, dressed in a plain grey jacket and worn boots, walked in just after opening hours. He didn’t ask for a brochure. He didn’t inquire about services, but simply said, “I’d like to pay for a funeral. For someone I didn’t know.” The staff exchanged glances. Was this a prank? A scam? But his voice was steady. His eyes, tired but sincere. “Who is the deceased?” the funeral director asked. “She passed away two days ago. No family claimed her. I read about it in the paper. Her name was Margaret Ellis.” Margaret Ellis. A retired nurse. Died alone in a small flat on the edge of town. No children. No known relatives. The council had planned a basic cremation—no service, no flowers, no...

  Story: S A Spencer We were supposed to be heading to a supplier’s warehouse on the outskirts of the city — a routine drive for our business. Mick Donnelly, my business partner and former AFP officer, was behind the wheel. He’d left the force at 50, trading in his badge for spreadsheets and supplier calls. But his instincts hadn’t retired — they just wore a different uniform now. The road was narrow, one lane each way, winding through semi-rural outskirts. It was the kind of route where patience mattered more than horsepower. But not everyone got that memo. A silver sedan ahead of us was playing games. Every time an overtaking lane appeared, he’d speed up just enough to block us. Then, once the lane ended, he’d slow down again — crawling, taunting, daring us to react. It wasn’t just annoying. It was deliberate. I glanced at Mick. His face was calm, unreadable. I knew that look. It was the same expression he wore when interrogating suspects — composed, calculating, never givi...

  Story: S A Spencer Maya held up her new driver’s license like a trophy. Her smile stretched ear to ear, and her parents tried to match it—but theirs was thinner, tighter, weighed down by something heavier than pride. Her mother glanced at the group chat pinging on Maya’s phone. One name stood out: Zane . Loud, impulsive, the kind of friend who thought speed limits were suggestions and seatbelts were optional. “You’re not just driving a car,” her father said, handing her the keys. “You’re carrying lives.” Maya rolled her eyes. “Relax, Dad. I’ve got this.” The next morning, Maya met her friends at a petrol station just outside town. The sun was bright, the playlist was loud, and the air smelled like freedom. Zane said. “Let’s see what this baby can do.” Maya hesitated. She’d promised her parents she’d be careful. But her friends were already piling in, laughing, filming TikToks. She didn’t want to be the buzzkill. She slid into the driver’s seat. The engine purred. Her ...

  Story: S A Spencer “Let’s give them a choice,” the CEO said, his voice smooth as the recycled glass water bottle he sipped from. “A Green Energy Plan. Same electricity, but with a conscience. People will pay 25% more if they think they’re saving the planet.” The boardroom nodded. Except one. Ravi, a mid-level marketing executive, flipped through the proposal. “We’re buying solar at 3 cents per kilowatt. Selling it at 40. And now we’ll charge 50 for the same electricity, just with a green label?” The CEO’s smile didn’t waver. “It’s not about the product. It’s about the emotion.” Ravi hesitated. “A customer told me yesterday—‘This is daylight robbery. You’re brainwashing people. That extra money’s just going to your bloody CEO’s bonus.’” The room froze. Someone coughed. Another adjusted his tie. The CEO leaned forward. “You’re excused, Ravi.” The next morning, Ravi’s access card blinked red. Security didn’t say a word. As he was escorted out, he passed a bin. Inside, a...