The women were the last to leave. Monica, Luella, Jodie, Siobhan. Lottie and Tin Ribs. They left the simple room in ones and twos, led by the redhead with wet, brown eyes and lace up shoes. She held her tiny chin an inch inclined. She appeared to him no older than when they had last … Continue reading Cold Hands.
This is another way he remembered her. Her laughter flowered the living room walls causing colours to bloom here and voices, like hot-air balloons, also. Her face framed at the hatch, asking from the kitchen, who’s for dessert. And some of them claimed to be stuffed, but thank you, and some of them, groaning, held … Continue reading The Pear Gateau.
I think it’s fair to say that this week’s challenge has been the most challenging to date. I am judging by the amount of participants who told me the villanelle form had stretched them, as it did me: the first villanelle I wrote did not follow the traditional rhyme scheme, so I had to write…EIF Poetry … Continue reading EIF Poetry Challenge #13: The Results — Experiments in Fiction
a bowlegged woman and a woe betide gent and a worrisome teen with marker pens, come suddenly through the door. Over the rim of his jar, he decides them, "a very rum number indeed."
i'm looking at death, you're looking at life. but if we could both meet in the middle somewhere then we will both get to live a little. the important thing is genes, i guess. i cry. look at our fingers. *looks at fingers* makes me think about life and death and everything between. we laugh … Continue reading between.
Paul, being her lover, tried, with his voice, to rouse her. She'd liked his voice. But not so much now it seemed. He spoke her name with a frog in his throat. We giggled. Sally did nothing. Then he was nose to the carpet, ear next to her's. He stroked her hair. He spoke her … Continue reading Twice (For Some Reason).