Kate Simpson

“Life is full of letting go. But I still feel empty at your absence.” by Kate Simpson

There is a hole where you used to be. I have tried filling it, but all things I put there fall through. My heart is crying out in indignation, this isn’t right, and I repeat to it over and over, in attempt to soothe her aching, but it is. It is. It is. She doesn’t listen. She is in revolt. What kind of love replaces that of a friend? None. No kind. Because you can’t kiss away the tragedy of losing a fifteen-year long friendship. You can’t fill the place another person filled so thoroughly. I have learnt that you shouldn’t try to. One o...

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“loss and love for an immortal” by Kate Simpson

Submitted to Contest #64

Being alive for five-hundred years is bound to make you a bit of a bastard. And irrevocably numb. Seeing so much death, and life, and horror and beauty. Existence begins to lose its meaning. In a way, nothing exists after a while. Only you. Everything else is weightless, pointless. People become less than individuals, and more of simply mortals. Temporary bursts of existence; electric, naive, passionate, and pathetic. She had seen her heart die far too many times. Seen it buried, or burnt and scattered. She had known, and loved, and lost, s...

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“Greensbourg” by Kate Simpson

Submitted to Contest #59

Greensbourg had never been fond of newcomers. It was a small place, with less than a thousand people. It was a town with eyes in every window, every alleyway, every street corner. Ears that picked up on every syllable, every coin that clinked in the pocket of foreigners. Mouths that loved to move and spill thought, in every building that contained a heartbeat. Eventually people would blend into the background. The newcomer finally became a local after years of putting up with the burning spotlight. Desperate to fit in, they too became a mout...

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“Ink stains” by Kate Simpson

Submitted to Contest #43

All children are born free from expectation. From the moment you are born until about six, you aren’t expected to be anything but a kid. Your environment is always influencing you though. When the first family members come to see their niece or their grandchild or anything else, they often bring colours with them. Pink and blue. From that moment there is ink on your skin, some of it leaking onto you when you touch it for the first time with exploratory and fumbling fingers. That ink is blue or pink. No shading. Just one colour. That stain tu...

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“I saw you for the final time that day.” by Kate Simpson

Submitted to Contest #40

I saw you for the final time two days ago. On my way to work along the busy city street, the usual symphony of horns blaring, people shouting, others muttering under their breath. The street was a sea of white and blue collars, clicking heels and shuffling feet. The suffocating stream of movement, trying to manoeuvre your way through the thick crowd, just to get into another one that seemed to be going the same way as you. And it was that morning that I was rushing to work, that I paused.  I hadn’t seen your face in years, but there you...

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