Claire Trbovic

“Charlotte, meet Charlotte. ” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #264

I snuck in at the back. It was a feeble move for sure, but the only option I could stomach in the wake of Megan remarrying.I knew I could hide in amongst the long-lost relatives and random neighbours milling around the venue, but it didn’t change what today was; one big opportunity to rub salt in a wound that had been open for far too long. I wanted to ruin something. I wanted her to know I’d not forgiven her, that I’d held onto the hurt for the fifteen plus years we’d been apart, even if she hadn’t. I practiced scowling, in the hope th...

32 likes 17 comments 17

Read story

“Knot for us” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #247

I look down at the Truckers Hitch in front of me and think what have I gotten myself into? It's a Thursday night, and I'm sitting in a village hall in some arid place on the Essex coast (the least romantic of all the British coastlines), trying to placate you.For most of my adult life, it is you that has been the constant. In that time, we've grown into something; a thing that needs nurturing through Japanese cooking classes, wine tasting, and Friday night family meetings.I suppose that's what happens when you meet young and marry because th...

27 likes 19 comments 19

Read story

“Black Places.” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #243

The Farne Islands are black places. Most places in the North Sea are. From their black cliffs a small fishing boat travels precariously between the rocks in the local harbour to Inner Farne on the near horizon. Around the boat, little black specs tornado in unison, their wings silhouetted against a thick sky.The boat eventually finds it’s mooring and a woman comes into view, her long blond plait falls from under two hats pulled low to her face. A seal breaks the water to watch the newcomer, buoyed in the angry water like it’s riding a wave m...

33 likes 20 comments 20

Read story

“Rapha and Kafka ” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #242

“Won’t you get sick from sitting on a cold floor?” the baby asked.“Sounds like something she’d say to scare us into doing something without really knowing why,” I retorted, trying to sound authoritative with a voice that still hadn’t broken.“But we don’t have anyone to go to now if we get sick. What do we do if we get cold and die?” The baby’s tone was strangely calm, almost in acknowledgment that something this extreme could actually happen, which was a concern and news to me.I didn’t dare admit I needed the guidance, so I decided to wait a...

27 likes 10 comments 10

Read story

“Let them eat cake.” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #241

The thought of cake wandered aimlessly into her mind as she pushed the knife into his flesh. Layers of moist sponge, moving against a birthday blade, except it wasn’t her birthday and this cake had bones.The slim body on her pathology table couldn’t have had many birthdays, 16 or 17 at most. She wondered how many cakes he’d been given, how many candles he’d blown out, how many wishes he’d made and kept secret to ensure they came true.She was glad she’d made the effort to make George a cake for his birthday this week. He deserved it for the c...

46 likes 34 comments 34

Read story

“The Wave.” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #240

In the beginning, there was only darkness. My younger years were long and relentless as I remained in the shadows, watching, waiting, biding my time in a warm womb whilst it moulded and shaped me.Every day, the world became a little lighter, darkness lifting so slow it was only just conceivable, until eventually I emerged. The sun beat down on my back and I finally felt free. It was my time, my era. I had been in the depths for an eternity but emerging forward into the light gave me strength, a purpose. I was a lone force out in the world, f...

28 likes 23 comments 23

Read story

“The mother and father of clay” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #239

Heat rose up through his body, fire and flesh joined as he felt his blood burn. He writhed at the unison, as if his soul were being sacrificed, boiled and baked for a higher being to feast upon. He endured for what felt like an eternity, until a single droplet from his temple cooled the burn and brought him back to life.He woke without worry, for this was a familiar place his mind took him ever since he was a young man. The smallpox he suffered luckily didn’t kill but it left its heated mark on Josiah, dragging him down to the feverish depth...

28 likes 21 comments 21

Read story

“The screamer” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #238

Trains can be romantic, but not when the tit across from you is eating an egg sandwich. It’s part of an unwritten set of rules, you don’t talk, you don’t move, you certainly don’t bring fish or egg onboard for crying out loud. It’s like a church you know, if you wouldn’t do it in the Vatican you shouldn’t do it on a train. Think of it like a big metal confessional, trundling along the tracks of conformity to keep us all in our place.You know on average carriages have 66 seats? That’s 66 individuals who always seem to represent the careful mi...

47 likes 34 comments 34

Read story

“Testing the truth” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #236

  H I H I H I              H E L L OH E L L O. HELLO. TEST TEST Test t e s t .                 Hello. Thiss is a test.                                           A b c ...

33 likes 47 comments 47

Read story

“One baby chicken for two” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #235

Every couple has things they hate to do; they grumble and winge but inevitably get on with the task at hand. Anna hated to cook roast chicken but Max loved it when she did; so naturally she did it at least once a week. There was always so much sinewy mess at the end that just seemed to linger; the fat, the stocky smell of salt. He said it felt like home, she thought it felt stifling.They both worked hard every day, allowing the other space to prioritise their careers like good modern millennials. Deep down, he felt the publishing house was a...

21 likes 13 comments 13

Read story

“He's not really in there” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #234

I watched the back of his head from across the street. Salt and pepper. I hadn’t seen his face in years, always just the back of his head. I’d know it anywhere. It’s shape, the way he held it, the shoulders it sat on, the clothes he wore; today it happened to be the same jacket as that weekend away we had in Scotland. His hair was always the first thing I recognised. Like a flea bitten grey horse, except nothing like the way that sounds. My brain immediately worked to refile that memory, dragging it forward to view like a folder from a ...

18 likes 16 comments 16

Read story

“What’s your favourite flavour of s**t sandwich?” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #234

The calacatta marble floor looked duller today than normal, the thin borders of gold outlining each hand cut tile felt drab somehow, like they needed a pep talk. It was early but the house was already crawling. Cleaners and gardeners moved ghost-like trying to keep out the way, every so often creeping into vision and disappearing again. I padded along the corridor to the kitchen, dropping a towel on the way in the knowledge that before I turned around it would have already been picked up. It had been 972 days since we won the EuroMillions, £...

14 likes 9 comments 9

Read story

“What makes love last?” by Claire Trbovic

Submitted to Contest #232

Iteration 7996. We sit across the mud-stained table from one another. Our legal cavalry sit either side, worn by a battle they intentionally made worse to benefit their own pockets. The table is so god damn wide, wide enough to fit all the worldly possessions we built together, ready for them to be un-ceremonially separated.I’m not sad; that's a lie I’m distraught, but not that we’re getting divorced, it’s happened so many times before nothing surprises me any more. What I can’t fathom, as I hear her discuss how we’ll sell the summer house w...

21 likes 15 comments 15

Read story

“Purple is perfect” by Claire Trbovic

I’d always wanted white teeth, ever since I could remember. The bigger and shinier the better.I was obsessed with American mouths in particular, those big gnashers were like the route of all power, the modern ivory trade. If you had the teeth you had the control; got a better job, had a better spouse, one with an equally dangerous mouth.I suppose my mother was the one who got me into it, watching all those 90’s American sitcoms where everything was perfect. Even when they tried to show you it wasn’t, it basically was. They weren’t eating por...

10 likes 13 comments 13

Read story