Tag: AI Digital Art
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5 Aug: A Six Sentence Story
Where the Air Remembers Your Name The elves stitched the sunlight wrong that day—threads too gold, too tight — even the trolls’ granite knuckles itched, their slow blood humming something, something. Elverhøj yawned open, just a slit: a shadow slid out, licking the air for old witch-scent. She waited, blind eyes milky as the cave’s…
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30 July: A Six Sentence Story
Flood Floodwater licks the porch — it tastes a memory. A child’s red balloon bobs along the wall’s wet breath … a fridge drifts past like a coffin; forks whisper from inside the drawers. A woman wades through the hallway, her nightgown a pale blossom unfurling as she clutches a dripping photo album, its names…
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22 July: A Six Sentence Story
14.2 of 27 – Driftspire: Lindisfarne – Before dawn, dreaming Part 3: Driftspire’s Tidemark Brigid dreams in crow-black ink and saltwater glyphs — names she realises she wrote herself, now unspooling like psalms soaked through by rain. Felreil stands at the edge of her sleep, voice soft as worn vellum: “Of course you dream this…
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21 July: A Six Sentence Fish Story
MicroDosing: 55µg – The Depth of Blue-Grey Cold Year on year, that trout knew the river’s elbow-turn. Its icy thieving bite at bait. The humming tone of my father’s hook circling the same blue-grey crook of curved water. Depth was measured in patience. He’d cast and recast, quiet as the current. And the water, full…
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16 July: A Six – The Book of 27
14 of 27: Driftspire – a Colour once felt, not seen—The Joy of Being Completely Unknown 16 July – Lindisfarne: Holy Island, Northumberland – low tide, salt breath, sheep for company PART 1: (6 Sentences) 14 of 27 — Driftspire: The Joy of Being Completely Unknown The North Sea sleeps at low tide, and Brigid…
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9 July: A Six Sentence Story
13 of 27 – Stillrift: Peace Earned from Ruin Let It Become Weather It didn’t feel like peace when it came—just the absence of argument, like a room forgetting your name. That night, Felreil appeared as a crow on the footboard of Brigid’s bed, dropping black stones onto her feet—each one etched with a word…
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2 July: A Six – Brigid’s Journal
2 July: Left Scotland last night. Writing under the shadows of the monastic ruins of Lindisfarne, Northumbrian coast – aka Holy Island Arvet i Grönt – The Inheritance in Green The bowl was always there before I was, there resting in my grandmother’s lap like a second sun, heavy with stories it refused to spill.…
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2 July: A Six – Brigid’s Journal (revised)
2 July: Glen Affric, Scotland. Brigid leaves the Highlands with quiet hands and a storm behind her—what she carries now can’t be packed. Brigid Leaves the Highlands Brigid twists Connor’s ring from her finger; it clicks against the wooden table—a sound too small for such a leaving. This isn’t abandonment, it’s an offering to the…
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1 July: A Six Sentence Story
12 of 27: Frostwrit – Affection Behind a Locked Jaw The Egg Song “Easy, be gentle, my girl,” her grandmother says, eyebrows knitting into a single grey line, “and remember what I taught you this morning — focus, centre yourself — now be quick, or she’ll peck your eyes out.” “Mothers will do that,” the…
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24 June: A Six Sentence Story
11 of 27: Drowndusk – Love buried beneath duty A Six Sentence Requiem Elira’s hands move through dishwater like archivists—scrub, rinse, stack; across the kitchen, Jonan sits sidewise at the table, lost in the morning newspaper, sipping coffee that’s as smooth as the wedding band she never takes off. Felreil doesn’t hide in the shadows;…
It's Still Life 