HaiAnh

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StorySomething in me, I suppose, must be going blind rokkitnite217 years 7 months ago
StoryHow It All keeps Its Rhythm HaiAnh617 years 7 months ago
StoryI forgot to mention the moon mcmanaman117 years 7 months ago
StoryNap hejira j817 years 8 months ago
StoryI Have a Cunning Plan HaiAnh517 years 8 months ago
StoryI'm not cool enough to be in your band mcmanaman417 years 8 months ago
StoryMiss Tempest Thinks mcmanaman217 years 8 months ago
StoryApples and cheese span217 years 8 months ago
StoryMy Favourite Song rokkitnite1017 years 8 months ago
StoryDear Man I Saw On The Platform At Colchester rokkitnite317 years 8 months ago
StoryFamous Sooz006317 years 8 months ago
StoryThe Creased Dyslexic and the Fine Artist HaiAnh617 years 8 months ago
StoryHe made couches out of commas span217 years 8 months ago
Story2 Minute Thought Train hejira j217 years 8 months ago
StoryThe 10 things we talk about when we talk about love HaiAnh517 years 8 months ago
StoryI Move In Concentric Circles Now HaiAnh217 years 9 months ago
StoryOn the Waterfront Gilbert217 years 9 months ago
StoryTony Dunne Has Had The Same Song In His Head Since Tuesday HaiAnh317 years 9 months ago
StoryHangover hejira j217 years 9 months ago
StoryI want a girl who reads gristo617 years 9 months ago
StoryPluto HaiAnh217 years 9 months ago
StoryThree Poachers and a Poet in a Sequin Beret HaiAnh317 years 9 months ago
StoryOn Poetry Readings HaiAnh517 years 9 months ago
StoryRiver hejira j217 years 9 months ago
StoryThey Will Forgive Them Everything HaiAnh217 years 9 months ago

My stories

Cherry

The Spider

What I hated about mezze was a spider that spread his picnic-blanket net, sat like a roman in the centre as dishes flung themselves around his plate. That spider never doubted,
Cherry

Met

I should’ve been asleep, but sat upright clasping a cup of cold coffee to my chest and listening out for everyone who hadn’t met yet… Remember the Brandywell Lane bus stop

Facing Up

In retail this is called ‘facing up’, to turn the products forward so they can be eyed by customers. The sergeant lined women like this, like tins, tied rags around their eyes.

Sardines

Normally, you can tell. Now, I am not supposed to be here. Usually: the duvet would be flung theatrically across the bed, proclaiming: I’ve been slept in; bra hung from a lamp shade,

Day Night

The post woman unzips the drive, letterbox peaks open, then shuts sharply, eyelids heavy, lashes interlocked like a Venus flytrap. She puts handwritten letters on top,

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