The first time I saw Frank I was on my lunch break, wandering the green pathways and semi-fresh air of the city zoo. He was sitting in front of the bear, smoking a Stuyvesant Blue. He’d cut a hole in his fur suit, roundabout where his mouth would be, through
It’s the middle of the week and we’re on the N2, home bound. You’ve got the wheel, one hand steering and the other resting on the gear stick. First, third, fifth. You can do that with a close ratio gearbox, you know, but not other cars. Nah-uh, you’d stall before
Blue and red, fuchsia and pink swished around and about in the hall. The colourful ribbons were making a statement, one that says ‘I have no care in the world.’ They could up and go and settle at will as much as they wanted, wherever the wind took them. Only
Her name was Georgie. Hers was the rather clichéd story of an only child, abused by an alcoholic father who, in a drunken fit of rage, often mistook her for her long-gone mother. Georgie’s mother left them, or rather ran away from them (so it seemed), on Georgie’s 9th birthday.
Last night, we lay in each other’s arms. A faint light emitting through the shirt I had hanging over my laptop. I don’t know why I keep it on at all times. Maybe to keep the dark at bay? But with her here, her heart beating in perfect tune with
Cecilia lay down on the couch and squinted into the warm sun beyond the patio door. She rested for a few minutes, day dreaming, stretching her spine out comfortably. Then like a flash she jumped up and ran into the kitchen, where her brother sat bent over his book. “Come
Elizabeth woke up with a start and sat up in bed. She opened her eyes only to be blinded by the morning sun that filled her bedroom. She smiled as she remembered her dream. She closed her eyes again in an attempt to find her way back to one of