Tag: prose
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22 Sept: MicroDosing 80µg
Wind cut through the trees not like a visitor, but a thief returning to the scene of the crime — carrying scents of wet earth; petrichor’s ghosts of rain; breath of graves. Leaves fell in a slow, silent surrender, moss drank from the dark, and the roots twisted in their sleep. Decay was not an…
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20.03 Spring’s Arabesque
I dreamt of spring—such a strange little telling; blind, blue-eyed flowers straight from the dark brows of doom into a gentle dance. A swaying arabesque—so soft were its April eyes upon the woodland, its shock of white from a blackthorn’s blossom. There’s always a romp, a bird’s pantomime between branch and bough—a secret song, like…
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11 Dec: Ink In Thirds 100 Words
In the Light of a Lamp I’ll say right upfront that she didn’t kill herself. Mum told the removal men where to place the piano; in the dining room against the south-facing wall, but when Dad came home he glared at the piano and walked past it like it was a naughty puppy who’d peed…
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3 April: Part 3 – The Colour of Walls
Previous instalments of this story: Part 1: The Pull Back Part 2: The Measure of Her Part 2: The Gatekeeper’s ResponsePart 3: The Colour of Walls Part 4: Tectonic Shifts Part 5: Out of the Frying Pan At an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintPart 3: The Colour of Walls When you’re in the middle of a street you…
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27 March: Part 2 – The Measure of Her
Previous instalments of this story: Part 1: The Pull Back Part 2: The Measure of Her Part 2: The Gatekeeper’s Response Part 3: The Colour of Walls Part 4: Tectonic Shifts Part 5: Out of the Frying Pan Part 6: How to Break Eggs Part 7: A Moon River Part 8: Starlight Shines on the Roof Part 9: Before When Part: 9.1 Flower Power At the Intersection of…
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24 January: Six Sentence Sunday
Diffused ‘The light is a different colour here…’ she says as if speaking to herself. She’s standing on a balcony that’s just large enough for two pairs of feet, two chairs and an iron café table that’s slowly corroding in the Côte d’Azur air. They’re sharing the view from their hotel room, sharing a bit…
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1 January: SSS “Task”
Nothing Much A few red bricks from the demolished chimney, and the curve of the driveway is all that’s left to show that a house stood here once, where every December Christmas lights hung in scallops from the iron guttering, blinking on and off all night until one of the neighbours complained that it set…
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6 December: Somewhere There’s Always Chocolate
Somewhere near the equator, my youngest son is explaining to his daughter of nearly 6 years why she can’t have chocolate for breakfast, in much the same way that I explained to him when he was 6, why he couldn’t eat chocolate for breakfast, and much like my mum explained to me that eating chocolate…
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4 November: The Suitcase
Mum thought it was a suitcase, but then she didn’t open it up to look, because that would mean spending more time in the charity shop than she wanted to do, just in case some neighbour walked by and saw her – in a charity shop for fig’s sake, so she bought it for a…
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1 November: The Season Leaves Should Love
I.I really should love this season, gilt and ruby leaves that move with the wind, catch and hang in spider webs. But I don’t. People in my family always die in the winter. Every last damned one. II. We are like grass. Some always die, but most lift their veil in spring and renew. Recharge.…
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