‘What’s the other name for red blood cell?’ Erica asked while covering the relevant textbook passage with her hand.
‘E-ry-tho-CYTE,’ Clara said, counting every syllable with her fingers.
‘Good enough. Alright, number five, then we can go watch cartoons and have a big glass of chocolate milk. Read the rest of this entry »
Na na na, soaring through the night,
Na na na, ready for a fight…
Justice Cape Man!
‘Not this again,’ Robert said as he blindly reached for his phone. Read the rest of this entry »
From: Greg Thorpe
To: Leticia Reynolds
I had been waiting for long enough that the ice in my coffee had melted, topping my drink up by the amount I had already consumed – around thirty milliliters – and cleverly hiding the fact that I preferred to be half an hour early rather than on time. The condensation coalesced on my plastic cup and slid down its length, reminding me that any minute you would appear, your downcast eyes always in search of somewhere innocuous to land, probably starting with my coffee, inspecting the infusion of slow-roasted arabica beans with a dash of milk and, by that point in the cafe sojourn, the by-products of dissolved ice cubes.
Your form materialized on the other side of the street, slow steps weaving around other pedestrians equally frazzled by the rain, umbrellas being whipped from weak grips, grips that couldn’t hold on to what was dear no matter how hard they struggled, grips belonging to weak-willed people who had long since given up on attaining what should be theirs or reaching for something they could only fathom… Read the rest of this entry »
The lady: You wake up in a room—
George: —Wait, who am I? What do I look like?
The lady: You’re yourself. You look like you always do. Read the rest of this entry »
This was written for the Two for Tuesday Challenge #27. Prompt: Incorporate the following arbitrary ideas into a story: a talking robot, an abandoned building, a pair of sunglasses, a mood of indifference.
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‘I’m fine where I am,’ the robot said as it rifled through the debris of a broken dresser.
‘Oh, that’s perfectly alright with me,’ a disembodied voice responded. It was synthetic, the syllables tied together without particular regard to the resulting sounds. ‘I just don’t understand what you’re trying to achieve by being separated from me.’ Read the rest of this entry »
This was written for the Two for Tuesday Challenge #23. Prompt: Blank Canvas.
Some days Victor would dip his paintbrush in oil as blue as the morning sky and attempt to replicate its glory on his mother’s canvas, but the paint would somehow disappear before leaving its mark. Other days a careful shade of grey covering the top half of the canvas would change colour erratically, from red to green and purple, only to vanish before his eyes. Read the rest of this entry »
This was written for the Two for Tuesday Challenge #22. Prompt: Buried Details.
‘Why is there a cow drowning in my mug?’
It wasn’t drowning, exactly, but it felt as though I had liberated it by getting halfway through my tea. Its pleading ceramic eyes told me it was happy to have finally surfaced. Read the rest of this entry »
Would you like some tea with that? 