Thunder rumbles ominously in the distance. Polly suppresses a yawn. She glares at the night sky which is blanketed in clouds heavy with storm.
Rain already, she thinks. Get it over with.
Almost as though they are lending an ear, the heavens open. Fat raindrops make their rapid descent down to Earth and Polly quickly pulls up her hood and directs her camera at the Stormy Princess.
For decades the Stormy Princess has guarded this short, barren stretch of Yorkshire coastline. From the day she first appeared in 1959 — crafted from clay by an anonymous artist — the sculpture has been the source of superstition and rumour. She’s bewitched, say the residents of nearby towns and villages. She’s made of magic. Every time a storm passes over her, she moves.
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Hey, how do you do?
Do you see all this poo
that’s smeared in my lovely hair?
It’s a statement, you see,
for the silly lady
who is in charge of my care. Continue reading “Eau de Poo (A Poem by My Dog) | Microfiction”
His heart is pounding. He’s lost in her gaze. His lips are a hair’s breadth away from hers.
And then it all disappears.
He’s wide awake, staring up at the white ceiling, cursing himself again. Why does it always have to end there, right before the kiss? Why can’t he keep himself asleep for just long enough to feel her soft, full lips against his mouth? Continue reading “It All Disappears | Short Story”
She had to stand on tiptoes — on top of a stack of books, on top of a dining chair — to reach the forbidden cupboard. What might lay inside, she wondered. Chocolate? Sweeties? Chocolate-covered sweeties?
She pulled open the door and yelped. Continue reading “Behind the Cupboard Door | Microfiction”