After 10 years of writing this book, it’s finally in the flesh: The Cockroach: And Other Fables for Our Time is out in the world. 🪳
It’s a book of tiny stories that behave like pests — the kind that sneak into your brain and refuse to leave until they’ve done something useful.
Fables. Parables. Poems. Odd little tales. Short on purpose. Weird when needed. Quietly wise when you least expect it.
If you want something small that lingers, sparks, prods, comforts, or just crawls around your thoughts for a bit — this might be your book.
You can grab it now on Amazon.co.uk and .com (other sellers to follow shortly).
But for those who are wondering, I thought I would share a teaser.
Enjoy.
— T
There once lived an old woman in a cave high up on a mountainside, overlooking a valley floor where a small village lay.
Every night, the firelit glow of her cave shone through the darkness and could be seen by the residents of the town below. As long as her light burned, the people found courage and hope amid the enclosing shadows of the mountains.
One chilly winter’s night, a cruel wind crept into the woman’s cave and tried to extinguish her flames. But each time it succeeded, the old hermit reignited the fire again.
Seeing its attempts continually thwarted, the Night Wind embarked on a different approach.
“Why do you bother lighting this fire?” it asked. “Why persist in giving hope to those who have never visited you, cared for you, or even know your name?”
The old woman stared silently back at the wind. But the wind, undeterred by her stony stance, continued to bite at her conscience.
“Would they light a fire for you? Would they come to your aid? Do they even consider you, or do they merely love the gift of your light?”
Cold slowly crept into the old woman’s thoughts, and frost began to cradle her heart, birthing sorrow and despair. This time, by her own will, the hermit extinguished the fire’s glow—and the cruel Night Wind howled with victory as it left her to the embittered gloom of her hollow.
From the entrance of her cave, the old woman watched as the mountainous shadows, now released from their imprisonment, began to stalk across the village on the valley floor.
In their houses below, the people panicked, wondering what had happened to the light. Not once did they consider the woman. Many didn’t believe she existed at all, assuming instead that some natural phenomenon ignited the cave each night. And so, whether through disbelief or the assumption that the hermit was dead, no one ventured out to investigate the strange occurrence.
No one except a small girl.
Cradling a short, lit candle, she began to ascend the snowy mountain path toward the cave above.
Seeing her approach, the Night Wind rushed down to buffet the child, desperate to snuff out the light’s hope. But the young girl persisted, cupping her hand tightly around her flickering flame. The fire licked at her skin, and hot wax dripped onto her tender palm, yet still she pushed onward.
As she neared the old woman’s home, the Wind whispered in her ear,
“Why bother with this dream, this folly? Why gamble your life on an empty cave?”
“Because you wouldn’t try so hard if it was empty!” the girl hollered back over the storm.
The old woman, standing at the mouth of her cave, caught a faint glimmer moving through the night. Though the light was far off, its warm spark began to thaw her soul. Tears melted the frost in her gaze, and her mind rekindled its reason—just in time to see the little flame flicker… and vanish.
Quickly, the old woman ran back into her hollow. Throwing dry wood upon her hearth, she struck flint to steel and lit the fire again.
At once, the cave cast its glow across the night sky, forcing the shadows to retreat and stirring new conviction in the child’s heart.
Outrunning the Night Wind, the girl raced toward the rekindled blaze and collapsed into the wide-open arms of the old woman. And as they held each other against the raging wind, they wept together.
“I’m sorry,” the little girl cried. “My candle wasn’t long enough, and it went out.”
“No, no my child,” the old woman whispered. “It is I who should be sorry. I foolishly chose to put out my light, while you were brave enough to give yours away. And though your candle was short, its reach went far enough.”
“But tell me, child,” the hermit asked softly, “why did you do this?”
Gently touching the old woman’s face with her burnt hand, the girl leaned close to her ear and whispered, “’Cause I’m afraid of the dark… but your light helps me sleep. So when your cave went dark, I thought you might be scared too.”
TRISTAN SHERWIN 
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