Apr 06
fiction challenge: Photo-Slanting
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A Little Quiet

It was one of those days. You know the ones- cold but not unpleasant, with nothing to do- chores all done, house tidy, should be content but too bored to be happy. I was sat in my reading corner beside the window as my mother walked in.
"I thought you were working today?"
she sighed. "Nope. I was kicked out of the project this morning-" 
"was it Linda?"
"- of course it was Linda," she rolled her eyes as she sat down next to me, "but it's been coming for a while. Don't worry too much though, something new will come up soon." She ruffled my hair and I batted her hands away. 
She was finding it more and more difficult to keep jobs, and I don't think she ever realised quite how much I noticed. Usually in these rare little moments with her I'd be trying to enjoy her company as much as possible, but the mood had been dampened and both of us were silent. 
“I love the light this time of day,” she said, trying to start a conversation.
"you do?"

Feb 03
fiction challenge: Love
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When Coira came ashore

Coira tasted of salt. Not just salt, but the smoky kind- almost like a bonfire on the beach. Siobhan loved tasting Coira’s seaside lips, even the sad goodbye kisses at the end of cosy evenings together in front of the fireplace in her living room. 
Feb 03
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Out of place


Sometimes I really feel like I don't belong. A lot of the time, I'm just being silly, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm trying too hard in places I'm not supposed to be. This is a good example. I only really started writing as a hobby a couple of months ago, and already I'm posting my work as if I'm good enough to be among talented, experienced writers. I'm out of place and can't help worrying that this is all I'll ever do- try to get involved in things I don't have talent for. I find myself with many hobbies, but none I'm particularly good at- I'm mediocre in everything I try. 

I've never fit in, despite my best efforts. I'm an only child so I'm too young to belong with my family, yet I behave a lot more mature than my peers at school. I'm always in the middle, always not quite good yet not quite bad, always the odd one out.
I know this is a bit of a weird one, but I had to get it off my chest. 

Feb 02
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The Lichen

Lichen grows in places with good air
fresh air
crisp air
it spreads quickly, covering branches

There used to be lichen in my heart
from happiness 
from love
it spread through my body, proving my contentment 

now there is none 
Feb 02
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The Market

This is a piece I wrote for an English task today, and I thought I'd share it with you

Warmth.
That’s the first thing I noticed. A wave of warmth smacking me right in the face. Upon further inspection, I realised the heat was coming from one of the market stalls to my left- the woman running it had opened the small oven to check on the fresh loaves she was baking. It was mid-afternoon in early September, so the air had a crisp bite; inviting butchers to display large cuts of meat at their stalls without having to worry about heat turning them rancid. I was amongst the food stalls- some selling home-grown vegetables and others selling eggs and fish. While this wasn’t my desired destination, I did find myself stopping to buy a couple of cheese pastries for myself and my mother to have for lunch when I got home. 
Feb 01
poem challenge: Tone
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Salt and Honey

Salt and honey
They don't mix, I know that now
Silky sweet with crystal dry
I'm sorry for thinking we would work

Salt and honey
Your sugary tendrils made me dissolve
Now I am nothing, you leave me alone
I wish I could forget you
I wish we never met
 
Feb 01
poem challenge: Haiku-Moment
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Perfume Box

Feb 01
fiction challenge: Love
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Made Of Sugar

She makes me feel as if I'm made of sugar. I've always been scared of compliments- they make me uncomfortable and i never know how to respond, but when she tells me I'm sweet and talented and kind I can't help but to believe every word. She makes me feel better about myself; my low self-esteem slowly controlling me less and less the more time I spend with her. Sometimes I am spun sugar, delicate and fragile and vulnerable, too much pressure and I'll be flattened. Other times I am sugar syrup, melted into sweet gloopy liquid full of warmth by her words. I learned to rely on her, depending on her for comfort and support, and she was my everything. She became part of my routine. She became part of me. She taught me that I could be sugary sweet, and I loved how she made me feel good about myself.
Things ended badly between us and I still haven't forgiven her, but one day I will. That's just how it works, you see.