Long ago, a little girl was visited under the cover of night by midnight’s mischievous servants. They tumbled in through the window sash and juggled stardust like it existed in plenty. To you or me, their voices are but squeaks. To the little girl that night they spoke louder than uncomfortable silence and taught her … Continue reading A Short Story
It is strange. Of all the places I wear the red tutu the most, it is in the bath or by the sea. My ghost prefers to be near water. Perhaps the translucency, baring the skin and bones of all who venture in, helps it feel less alone. Or it sways in the coastal breeze … Continue reading Mermaid
Three days had passed, since she visited her allotment last. She felt guilty for neglecting her parsnips, turnips, carrots, kale and cabbages. She hoped she would have prizewinners this year. She hoped for better than the disaster eleven months prior. The autumn she had succumbed to the fall. The weather had been exceptionally unkind. She … Continue reading The Allotment
I feel an emptiness but I also need to buy milk and tonight’s dinner. I’ve made it to the shops but there is a coffee house here. So instead of milk and dinner, I’m hiding in the back, settled into a semi-circular swing back chair, with a hot chocolate and cake I can’t really afford. … Continue reading A Hot Chocolate
They had been lost on the road of undulating cobble stone for what could have been hours or years. The road was lined with trees; watched by a forest they daren’t go near. From the outside they saw only darkness. They did not entertain the possibility of canopy free light. Adventurous spirit was too costly. … Continue reading Thousand-Year-Old Forest
Dear You, I am writing this for the both of us. Not because I am not yet on the other side of the darkness but because there is no other side or quick fix. Your recovery is a journey. The light we look for; for clarity, purpose and lost motivation is not switch operated. Think … Continue reading A Recovery Letter
For the last few weeks, I've been coming to Jacqueline’s for lunch and when I say lunch I mean a diet coke and cream tea - English breakfast. It's my favourite tea room with its assorted table cloths, dark wood and 1940s crockery adorning every shelf and up-cycled trunk screwed to the wall. A gramophone … Continue reading City Boy
The radio switches on. 5.20am. The room is well lit from the rising sun through pale curtains. In the mirror opposite the bed I see my figure; milky skin and nothing else. The sheets have fallen well below my hips, just touching the mid point of my thighs, brushing my feet. My eyes are slowly … Continue reading A Good Thing
My favourite place to write is in the bath. I have a cut of wood which rests on the sides, allowing me to scrawl like nobody’s business until the pages are damp. Damp pages remind me of how squishy my feelings are - squeezing my heart and soul for coherent thought, art - and how … Continue reading Me and I
I wonder if I knew why I was crying, would answers open themselves up to me like heaven’s gates? I don’t imagine they will be pearly white or morally sane, but they will be answers all the same. Answers for why buried in my chest is a seed. The size of a plum or sometimes … Continue reading The Seed in my Chest
