Z.H Floren

“When It Rains It Pours” by Z.H Floren

C.W : mentions of alcohol. With her hands resting on the metal poles, Constantine looked practically crucified in the middle of the playground. Her hair lays tangled across her face, the cold weather beating into her cheeks, leaving her unaware of the shiver that travelled through her body. 3 bottles of liquor will do that to you. Especially right after exam week. But our little protagonist didn’t seem to care much about what brought her there. In the middle of nowhere, sitting on the rusted roundabout, swivelling her legs on the stubbled...

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“Hurry Little White ” by Z.H Floren

Submitted to Contest #124

“Ready or not, here I come.”I turn to face the grove, the sudden change of light blinding my eyes before it settles on the cacophony of green. This is quite possibly the thousandth time I’ve done this by now. The aforementioned 999th time was last spring, same date same time and same place. Every year, I come back here and I look. Of course a year goes by a lot quicker than you might think it goes, for me, it’s nothing but a petal. Think of that petal, now watch it fall, slowly of course, but eventually it’ll land somewhere as the wind of ti...

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“A String Cut, A Woe A Woe” by Z.H Floren

Submitted to Contest #115

She captures it perfectly, the split second her best friend laughs in the middle of telling a story, about some guy, who did something, to someone. The curve of her lips and the way the skin around her eyes bunched like the shoulders shaking in delight. “Were you even listening?” Marceline asks in the middle of catching her breathe “I was just getting to the best part Leia.” Leia sets the camera down, gently, onto the coffee table as she shakes her head at her. “Sorry,” she says looking at her friend, with a warmth saved just for her...

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“The Way Her Yellow Runs” by Z.H Floren

Submitted to Contest #105

Ms Florence won’t stop talking. She speaks and speaks and speaks but the words just pass right through me as if I was never there, I’d say something like a ghost but Papa says ghosts are long and dangle-y and I’m pretty sure I’m nothing of the sort. Looking down at my clothes, which I picked out on my own this morning, surprising Papa since by the time i rub the kinks and stones from my bones and rub my eyes awake, he too rises and there are clothes ready for me by the door. I run my fingers down the length of the pleated skirt, weaving it ...

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“A Crescendo of Sorts” by Z.H Floren

Submitted to Contest #103

*There will be a prompt to start playing a certain composition during this story, if you’d like to listen to it as you read it adds to the experience, enjoy* All Theseus and Cyrus could hear beyond the rustling of the silk curtains were the rustling of impatient feet. Theseus, always the one readily prepared , sat lounged and waiting on an armchair of the bloodiest red, eyes closed, tapping his feet to the tempo of the music playing in his head. Cyrus, the younger of the twins, was seen dashing along their temporary waiting space with his ...

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“Cement Soul” by Z.H Floren

Submitted to Contest #101

The hours always decide to take their time with The Man. Trailing sluggishly around him like a taunt in a form of the endless tick tock tick tock that seemed to burn itself into his ear the second the store gets empty. The ink boy stood behind the counter, his usual spot during the late hour compared to the robotic stacking and refilling of overpriced canned good on isle 3. It was the dead of night, the air conditioning frigid cold and the smell of anti-infectant heavy on his plain white shirt. He just finished the final customer in the stor...

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“The Forgotten Waltz” by Z.H Floren

Submitted to Contest #99

  Perhaps it was the way the music seemed to be the only thing that rang in Labelle’s ears amongst the crowd of hundreds. Perhaps it was the way the scent of pine and the chorus of leaves rustled against the pitch black sky, that made her feel so utterly alone. Labelle wandered through the tightly dense scene around her, bodies adorned in varying shades of golds to the deepest of blues, and all she ever discerned were her own shallow breathes and the sweat condensing just below her nape. The ball of The Grove raged around her. Dre...

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