Geertje Jong

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryThe stranger at our table-Part Two Geertje Jong1315 years 2 weeks ago
StoryPostcard Home Silver Spun Sand2415 years 2 weeks ago
StoryKnowledge Geertje Jong915 years 2 weeks ago
StoryThe stranger at our table - Part One Geertje Jong1115 years 2 weeks ago
StoryChalk And Cheese -(I.P.) luigi_pagano1215 years 3 weeks ago
StoryHE'D ALREADY DISAPPEARED kheldar615 years 3 weeks ago
StoryOut of the Dolls House Whatsername215 years 3 weeks ago
Forum topicClassical music Lem815 years 3 weeks ago
StoryBig Carlo's Women luigi_pagano615 years 3 weeks ago
StoryFor Better For Worse Silver Spun Sand815 years 3 weeks ago
StoryHoly Communion Geertje Jong615 years 3 weeks ago
StoryMy boy Geertje Jong515 years 3 weeks ago
StoryHad it With You! Silver Spun Sand1715 years 3 weeks ago
StoryOrigami Geertje Jong815 years 3 weeks ago
StoryWhat would you do if you had your Life all over again? prettypolly515 years 3 weeks ago
StoryWhat I'd love to say to the wife d.best315 years 3 weeks ago
StoryNo Name Joe Silver Spun Sand3115 years 3 weeks ago
StoryStorm Geertje Jong415 years 3 weeks ago
StoryMissing You seashore2215 years 3 weeks ago
StorySearching Beeme1715 years 3 weeks ago
StorySilt Geertje Jong815 years 3 weeks ago
StoryThe hunter Geertje Jong915 years 3 weeks ago
StoryBoy in Green Beret Silver Spun Sand2615 years 3 weeks ago
StoryHorrid Horace Geertje Jong215 years 3 weeks ago
Forum topiccreative writing Teacher needed writer98315 years 3 weeks ago

My stories

Maiko

An eastern promise

ZYX (IP)

Zeal is not a virtue, unless you are a missionary. Yesterday is not for regretting. Xavier is my cousins name. Waifs and strays need looking after. Very pious people are usually liars.

The Crypt

The day of the funeral the sky is thick with fat woolly clouds, like a herd of pregnant sheep huddled together on the brow of the hill.

The Mole hill gatherers

The mole hill gatherers come, with bucket and spade and barrow. At the early arrival of dusk. The fine milled soil gently lifted. To heap the bucket full. This crumbled earth, damp scented.
Cherry

The stranger at our table-Part Two

You used to shout at me like thunder. Now you just attack me with a look. You watch me black and blue. When the milk is cold or when there aren't enough Oates in your porridge.

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