Cherrypicked stories
Rest Cure
Hand me the revolver – Today, the crushed hats of spinsters Scroll past like carnival ducklings And good God that weathervane Is asking for it. When the newsagent Hands me my change
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- 693 reads
Adjustment
The first thing that happened, We stopped separating out Our glass and plastics. Dad turned the recycling box into a still And bracketed it to the roof Next to the harpoon and the razor wire.
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- 740 reads
The Sculptor
He carved a face for himself through milenia by looking at others,
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- 882 reads
eli gets caught
The door to the hut flung open at ten to four in the morning, and in stormed eight guards, pistols drawn and rifles cocked.
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- 664 reads
Instant Fires
Last term, my school introduced a one-way system for the corridors. We’ve been reading 1984 by George Orwell and I am beginning to notice the similarities.
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- 5 comments
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- 2116 reads
Ennui
My dad makes lists To entertain me At this age, I cannot explain That boredom is etched out In my eyelid veins That there is a reason Jade is my colour.
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- 521 reads
A DAY WE REMEMBER story
Grandpa said, "I could help you catch the biggest fish of your life." And his grandson took the bait.
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- 1754 reads
Not the Maternal Type
Some women aren't meant for motherhood. My 200-word offering.
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- 2 comments
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- 1399 reads
What I Would Never Know ( My 200 Words)
Ma’s voice over the phone sounds anxious, “Mamon…how are you?” Long pauses between words. “Ma, is everything alright?” She blurts out, “Mamon, Dimma is no more.”
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- 2 comments
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- 883 reads
Goodbye - Nostalgia Competition
Nostalgia Competition
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- 1014 reads
Things Untitled
On that particular Wednesday morning Titin did not have any classes.
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- 2 comments
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- 847 reads
Soft charcoal lines...
poem
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- 3 comments
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- 2036 reads
Frown lines and empty baskets
I think it’s true that smell is the strongest trigger of nostalgia. Just cut grass and a hint of petrol reminds me far more of my father than a photo ever could.
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- 976 reads
Lucky Thirteen
A totally self indulgent and sentimental 200 words. Today is a special day.
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- 8 comments
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- 2484 reads
This is Saturday
She says: 'I am as brittle As dog biscuits and my teeth Are as dusty'. Frets She will flake out On the sheets stained Clover green. I am not afraid. I love this girl to my bones,
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- 2 comments
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- 771 reads
Bird Watching
Down by the stilled green water that offers no clue to depth, except that there is enough for some heartless bastard to drown six puppies in a sack, I wait, as I hear a dragonfly
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- 1372 reads
Mirror Lines - Prologue
This has had an edit. Any feedback gratefully recieved
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- 4 comments
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- 1365 reads
Every Word?
200 words that don't count
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- 3 comments
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- 2199 reads
A Murky Mind
I was drowning. Gagging and spluttering my way up to morning through a sea of deep-sleep snot. I reached for Kleenex. Ccchuuurrrpp.
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- 1 comment
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- 738 reads
Seasons End
My top 10 books of the year.
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- 1 comment
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- 1235 reads