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Someday
‘OK, we’ll go there someday,’ she said and I said ‘Fine, great’ and walked away since then I’ve been waiting, every day hoping I would not sooner drop dead waiting for her ‘someday’ to come my way via Daily Prompt: Someday © 2017 Erna G.
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The River
It smells like snow tonight The air splits open your lungs Every breath, a pale sprite Whispers in unknown tongues
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On the New Year’s Eve
What is it about these lights That makes us feel joy and cheer Is it their sparkling warmth Or the memory of someone dear
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A New Take on Historiographic Metafiction: Atkinson and Donoghue
Bunty chops up the blood-glazed kidney, the idea of testicles never far from her mind. She hates cooking, it’s too much like being nice to people. Here she goes again – I spend my entire life cooking, I’m a slave to housework – chained to the cooker … all those meals, day after day, and…
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The Night
The indifferent sun sets and on the horizon remain all of the past regrets the world, now their domain Hooded shadows roam the night frightened children under the sheets their tiny sweaty fists clenched tight seek the promised land of dreams But the dreams refuse to come some invisible eyes steadily gaze darkness soothes the…
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Boredom
Boredom is settling in again Like a thick layer of aged dust On the topmost shelf in the library Where no one seems able to reach And disperse it Like the smooth snow on the meadow That covers the grass and muffles the view, Wrapped up in the hooded cloak Of soft silence Like the…
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Those Dreadful Muggles
Evertree Crescent was a sickle moon of 1930s bungalows, which lay two minutes from Pagford’s main square. In number thirty-six, a house tenanted longer than any other in the street, Shirley Mollison sat, propped up against her pillows, sipping the tea that her husband had brought her. The reflection facing her in the mirrored doors…
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Faded
I’m holding this photograph, of a young woman, who looks quite like me, yet her hair is different, darker, tied up in a bun and she’s standing in a field of some now unrecognizable flowers, somewhere far away from here. The day is sunny, but she is not, solemn and somber, she looks at the…
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Stung
A strange sensation, prickly and painful, under my ribs. Shortening my breath tingling underneath tightening my stomach, an unusual kind of pain, anxiety they call it, I think. I’m waiting, hoping that it will release its hold yet it’s clutching ever more violently making me bend over, huddle, groan, and gasp. Whispers and images keep…
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Fireworks
‘Come on, get up! Wake up, come on, it’s started again! Move! Let’s go!’ The blast shook the house. Mother pulled me out of the bed and down the stairs, clutching my sister in her arms. Another blast. We stopped in the stairwell. There was a short stretch of terrace we needed to run through…
Myths & Stories 