On her 34th Valentine's Day alone, Loreta had had enough. She put on a dress, did her hair, visited an animal shelter and killed a puppy.
The soldier stood, and my breath ceased. The other children kept their heads down, hoping for a crumble of bread, but I knew better.
Christmas Eve she walked out into the snow and disappeared. The children were told that she fell in love with Santa Claus and moved north.
Rain burst from the clouds and the mud licked his brand new Nikes. She poured motor oil into his pack of sneaker wipes. Sweet revenge.
Forever lovely her face remains in my soul. A Buddhist monk said she’ll return. What he did not say broke my heart. She lives next door.
Border officer: Anything to declare?
Traveller: Does undying devotion to travel puns count?
Border officer: ...you just crossed a line, kid.
On a fresh, wet October night, low clouds glow by the moon. Burnt leaves coat my breath. His pawprints linger on the slate floor. Temporary.
The great raven stood, its eyes meeting mine. I held my breath, but the invitation to stay was declined.
Visions of pulverised, green feathers filled Julian's head as he watched the wax-eye dance, and again, heard the grinding of the weed eater.
The oxygen mask muffles his words as his eyes plead for me not to go. I avert my tear-filled eyes and walk away.
Growing up in a spiritualist household she was used to strange things but nothing explained the gentleman sitting on her bed when she woke.
There was an oddly bitter bite to that half-eaten Bakewell, so he went in to sweeten his tea. Back outside, the dog buckled and died.
His nails were hard and tough, bark-like, and cracked easily. He wished he could give his nails, and marriage, a varnish of red, or orange.
Leo eyed Kermit in the mirror and chuckled.
He loved saving his best disguises for DiCapri-Con.
The post-apocalyptic silence was broken only by far away groans, penetrating from deep bunkers of ex-dictators watching porn.
Her lunch-hour opens with a one-shot latte, M&S Meal Deal and novel packed with passion, romance and adventure. In the end nothing happens.
Sweat beads on his forehead. A sigh breaks into my name. A teardrop appears. His face falls on mine. I lick his tear pearl. Love is made.
A bird nests in our front door wreath. The children turn the knob to peek. Shattering commotion!
It’s spring time. The snake sheds its skin under the fig tree. She takes off her nightgown, experimenting with freedom.
I was six when Dad won the sack race.
Didn’t know then he was mine.