I Will Never See The Sky The Same Way…

Late night confessions…

If you follow me on twitter then you may be aware that I’ve recently been on a bit of a downer. I wish I could explain why, but I haven’t figured it out myself, right now. In a few weeks time I may be able to look back with a clearer head and figure it out.

Until then I’ll just have to accept it.

I went through a similar thing in my two years of sixth form college (to those non-Brits who read this, I think your equivalent may be the last years of high school – feel free to correct me on this). A lot of things were going on in my head in those two years. There were a lot of things that I never told anybody and a lot of things that felt too crushing to explain.

They say that these years, teenage years, are critical to discovering who you really are.

Continue reading “I Will Never See The Sky The Same Way…”

Flash Fiction No. 29

#Flashfiction

Half A Blink

She looked out of the wet glass. The heat condensed upon the cold, driving across the surfaces like a child running from a tragedy. The spray fell across her shoulders, warm and tempting. Crimson bled into the clear liquid.

Troubled eyes closed, a furrow aching her brow.

She rolled one shoulder and then the other beneath the spray. It had been a long time since she’d felt the comfort of a shower. She swallowed and bent her head gracefully to inspect the scarlet swathe. Her hand ghosted over the gash. She sucked air in through her teeth.

It had taken them such a long time to bring her back. Time was a tricky thing. They’d figured out the coordinates she’d been sent to, but they hadn’t wanted to risk trying to bring her back from that date. It would have been so difficult.

Continue reading “Flash Fiction No. 29”

Flash Fiction No. 27

#Flashfiction

A Mournful Transition

Eyes opened and breath whooshed down into the gaping chasm of his lips, wheezing down dusty passages to find his lungs. The organs creaked and expanded like they hadn’t felt breath in hundreds of years. He tried to lift his head, but it was deadweight.

The room was slathered in dust, grey in the weak morning light. He batted his eyelashes, spraying dust into the stagnant air. It made him choke, his ribcage heaving and rattling like the body of a freight train.

A monochrome hand pressed to the dull ache in his chest. Something fluttered against his fingers. At first he thought it was beating wings, a trapped butterfly or moth, but then he realised it was the feverish beat of his heart.

He coughed, scattering more dust into the air.

Continue reading “Flash Fiction No. 27”