A Dark bit for Dewin

She heard the screams before she realised: it was her own throat producing them. Instead her mind was firmly fixed on the heat, and the rope, and the searing pain behind her eyeballs as her flesh melted into the hemp. Closing her eyes tightly to block out the acrid smoke, she tried to gather her last bit of energy in a struggle to get free. The flames licking at her heels were no longer the biggest threat, if she couldn’t get her wrists free from the knots, she knew it was game over. She had always been a fighter but failure seemed inevitable.

He knew this as he threw the lighter into the carefully prepared bonfire, she had set his heart aflame and then torn away any hope he had for the future. He said he would return the favour as he said his goodbyes.


Costa is King

Quite possibly the largest number of singletons or loners found within one group at any one time. This quaint little coffee shop, a hive of activity for writers and readers alike. They swarm from trains and buses, tumble in from the street to find themselves a lone corner or quiet table from which to write their lives on the pages. Words conjoining to find meaning within inked lines, a master watching the beauty, as they swirl into being, taking form in their growth. Gnashing and gnarling, devouring everything in proximity before their inevitable death; then a refill of espresso to help the writer’s block.


Image: Pixabay

Clarity of Absence

It’s just a drop in the ocean

He says

Time will fly by

Just fourteen days


By day three

The ice cream had run out

Day seven supported a floor

Lined with tear stained tissues

By the tenth day

The batteries had died

Only to be replaced by curse words

On the fourteenth night

He found a pristine flat

Scrubbed clean and bleached

One solitary post-it on the bed


‘You were right, that’s all it took’



Darkside Thursday – Flash fiction

I think of him sometimes, late at night when the world falls silent.

The day he turned up in his new yellow soft top sporting a leather jacket, and the after effects of just for men. His grin stretched from ear to ear as he informed me of his lottery win, and sudden acknowledgement of our ‘relationship issues’.

I’m sure you thought that young Stacey would help you work those through…

You got your fame though, when they pulled your car from the riverbed, they said you should have paid a mechanic to check the new car, that the brakes had failed, they were sorry.

I was sorry too.

Sorry that I didn’t heed your brother’s warnings sooner.

Still the money will come in handy as we take the around the world trip in your memory.

And you are still in my memory, I do think of you sometimes.

The car etched in memory, like a canary, being pulled underwater bobbing for a second and taking its last frantic gasp of air.

The smell of brake fluid still lingers.

My contribution for Darkside Thursday

Darkside Thursday – flash fliction

Stranger in the attic

I don’t know how long it has been since I last got a full night’s sleep.

How can I sleep when I know all the while that he is just there, right above me. Looking at me through the cracks in the floorboards when he thinks that I’m not looking. I see it sometimes, his eyeball pressed against the small chink in the ceiling. It peers at me accusingly, I look up sometimes and catch him. A wild pupil set in a sea of tepid blue, an iris that somehow changes from this to calm grey when the light reflects through the tiny window. When the early morning breeze drifts into the dingy room and he allows the peace to take over his anger.

I feel him watching me as I curl up on the mattress with a book, attempting to follow the words, be taken away by a story. Anything to get my mind away from him.

Sometimes I hear him scratching around up there, I try not to think about what he is doing, what he is plotting. I just want to think about the good things he does for me, and how in those instances he makes me happy, oh so happy.

Yet when I hear him banging on the floorboards and shouting in his mother tongue, he sounds so much more violent then. When he curses me with his words that make no sense to my ear, I still understand the tone implied, I know these are threats he is issuing. And on those days I keep my distance.
On those days I lift up my violin and raise its voice to block out any bad noise. I don’t need this kind of negativity in my life, I don’t want to have to revisit the centre again. The medication never really helped, it only blocked my senses.
Only made me numb

Of course the tantrums don’t last forever, on some level he knows that I need him and even when he takes out his annoyance with me he knows that I will still care for him. I will still carry up that tray of lovingly prepared food and his favourite hot chocolate to help calm him. At some point he will have to sleep and then I can relax. Placing the tray quietly in the doorway to his room, I have to make a run for the stairs in case he catches me again. The bruises get harder to explain away.

So I wait a while until all falls silent and I creep back up to the attic to find a half empty mug scraped clean of any floating marshmallows.
And only then do I know that it is safe.

Stepping over his limp sleeping body, I open the stiff window a crack, just enough to let the breeze trickle through. I study his face whilst he sleeps, so adorable with his velvet plump lips and chiselled jaw. Cautiously I reach out to stroke his short hair that feels soft under my fingertips, I like that fuzzy feeling that it gives me. Then I prod him firmly, and again to make sure he is really at peace before I curl up against him, feeling his slow heavy heartbeat against my cheek.
I so enjoy these moments, just two people alone in the world, thrown together by fate.

I smile at that and think about how glad I am to have opened the door for the delivery that fateful morning.

And as I tighten the bolt on his ankle chain I wonder if the neighbours have started to question the truck parked on the driveway yet.



A little late being pinned up, but better late than never eh ๐Ÿ˜€

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