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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2020
We had an extension; by that I mean the front door – we made it bigger. You see, I am expecting some very important and some very large guests; so large that we have set up the dinner table in the courtyard… yes, the black-cobbled, little uneven courtyard. It is all arranged, the ants have done me a massive favour and moved it for me into the courtyard and then will favour me again by moving it back after our di...
What is it that you wait for? I can smell it on the air, feel it on the wind. You think, glancing through the kitchen window as you apply a blue sponge to soapy, overturned dishes. Back to the sink – silverware onto silver surface. Why has it not arrived yet? You pick up a fork, drop it in the sink, pick it up, wrap it up in the sponge, and rub with soap until it shines, unwrap, p...
“It was on the hunt, and it wasted no time to let us know, with a roar that digs into the depths of your soul and threatens to rip your heart out with claws the length of your body. Uncle Ben’s head flicked towards mine. I have never seen so much fear and so much hope written on the same face at one time. Run; that was the plan. Poorly executed. If we had only been quiet, that heavy breath, the stench of rotting wood, blood and humidified sweat, may not have reached ever closer to our nostrils - the scent prowled on the air.” ...
I am waiting for you. The paper, imprinted with little black songbirds, all in a row, singing on the power lines, calls out to me: “Listen to my language.” But I am past listening; my heart sings alon...
“Eve is dead. She has been two years.” Silence. Your ears are ringing. A heatwave threatens to push you backwards. Anna falls gingerly into the armchair and ducks her head into her hands; her eyes mirror your own, and you grit your teeth to push angry tears back into your depths. Let go. “Wh-Why were we not told before; I am her fiancé?” “And...
April third, Listen. The warning of a steady click, counts the tick of time. It is the sound of my heartbeat, reminding me I live, and the sound of the second hand rotating past time. Forget sheep, I have counted the seconds; ninety-nine, then I lost count by an interrupting chime – a distant ornament from the floor below, but it echoes and I hear it though the walls; the eleventh chime of a clockwork rhyme. ...
You fix your eyes to the summit. Stone steps wind down into murky darkness at your heels, yet, above your head there is light, cold, crisp morning light. You push your head out of the earth’s black skin and breathe the new air. From underwater you came, no longer drowning in your own darkness but pulled up by some miracle into the first signs of daylight. It grows slowly, gradually becoming brighter and harder, like the window-pane, the glass, illuminated but very solid. You chose the sill. All else besides, you must enjoy this moment an...
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