i was here (150)

i was here, she writes into the hard wooden floor. it's the ninth apartment she's lived in this decade, and she's lost count of how many times she has moved around before that. she doesn't remember when, but in the interim of the last eight places she developed the habit. it's always the same wording,…

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necessity, 1.1 (150)

there's a bespoke bottle of perfume on my dressing table, unremarkable glass bottle all but blending into the wall behind it. i designed it a while ago, trying to pick out the various notes and fragrances that i felt best suited you; the ones that best reminded me of you, to be used when you…

until later (150)

fifteen years, is the date always in place. somewhere on a computer, there's a calendar app with fifteen years from now circled. there's a tally, a countdown app that lets the date be selected and the days count down. it's plenty of time, so it gets shoved to the little box in the back of…

sacred (400)

the runes are laid out, slicing a circle into twelve even pieces on the forest floor. in the centre is lucky thirteen, added on a whim. in the carver's pocket there's a spare twig and a rumpled bit of parchment detailing the meaning of each one. technically it's not breaking any rules. nor is the…

boredom (150)

the heart rate slows, oxygen and blood slower around the body. there's calm and calm precedes the onset of boredom. the mind is next to slow, lack of stimuli whirling down to a whittled spiral. and the artist sits at her easel, brushes in hand and a row of paint tubes lined up before her.…

instability, 1.2 (150)

the wind wails through the cottage window, slipping through the tiny gaps that haven't yet been plastered over with glue. around me, the chill seeps in, the fireplace too weakly lit to do much good. under the wind, the fire dies down a little more; i place a screen in front of it, hoping to…

Vignette (7)

the ground is still hot to the touch, ivy burnt off the exterior walls and red bricking now scorch-black and gray. this was her doing, her playing at being the mad wife shut up in the attic without ever thinking about how to pull it off. curtains have been torn from the window-rail, flung out the window…

passion (150)

burnt out; i'm tired, running on adrenaline to build up something that's been built so highly i can't manage it any longer. people call it a passion, something to be admired and envied and celebrated until it dried up. the energy has run out - the magic has gone, evaporated into a mist of grandeur and…

lofty (200)

she ascends a ladder woven from rope, silken promises and steely encouragement. together, under the light, they are luminous - hard to see the rungs, invisible as they are under golden-silver light. the issue is that she is given each rung day by day, and only under certain circumstances. the goals are lofty, and the…

winter haze (400)

the city is indecisive tonight. late-evening sunlight glitters weakly off a myriad of glass, a maze of cars and buildings and filters through thin lace curtains. in the not-so far-off  distance, there's a series of factories and houses all burning fires. smoke rises, hangs heavy and congested in the air, curls into the buildings themselves…