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Stacey on the Lunch

Warning: this piece contains strong language

Decelerated positron emissions born a thousand centuries earlier bathed her face in the warmth of a late Spring morning. This time was ours and no aspects of cliché, of empathy, of knowing smiles could take away the fact that she was my princess. I knew she was for I had admired her for months, waiting for a suitable time to slay the dragon who held her prisoner.

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school rebellion, love

Starting Again

My shoe broke on the way to the station which I tried not to take as a sign. Limping into a new life does dampen the intended grace somewhat. The right lace now trailed along demonstrating all too plainly how I couldn't hold my life together. I half expected a mocking over the tannoy. Thankfully, none came. 

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Straight Lines

I was in primary 6. Ten years old. Old enough to know right from wrong. Young enough to be plastic and suggestible. The day had started in the usual way. I had stood at the bus stop with others in various hues of uniform, a man in a dark suit with a briefcase, the old lady who only ever travelled three stops with her shopping trolley. It was dry, so she didn’t have her flowery umbrella with her. Our bus stop had no shelter. If you walked back to the terminus, two stops away, there was one there.

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Surviving Life In a Parallel Universe

Examining the bubble of society that I have been fated to reside in, I look outward at the people around me, the cohort I have become part of, and then I examine the person I have become.

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