We spend our days playing in the closet.
In our imagination it is a spaceship, a doorway to other worlds, a portal that can travel through time. In the darkness we act out our fantasies, constructing the characters of our narrative. We play with the treasures that surround us – costumes in boxes, paperwork on shelves, trinkets that remind us of our parents.
We play all day in the closet, waiting for the door to be unlocked once more.
Continue reading “Monsters in the Closet”
We steal from shops.
It starts with small newsagents, one of us daring the other to take a pen or a packet of sweets. Gradually we move on to larger targets – supermarkets and corporate stores. Taking turns to steal something of ever more value, gaining the respect of our peer group.
Continue reading “We Steal From Shops”
A timid knock at the door.
Trick or Treat!
I open the door to find two Triffids standing on the doorstep. Costumes of incredible detail. Textures organic. Flower heads glistening under pumpkin lanterns.
Trick or Treat! they repeat.
Continue reading “Fancy Dress”
During low tide we search for remnants of the conflict.
Every day brings with it a new surprise, gifts from the battle upstream. Metallic objects washing up on the shore, many of them unfamiliar and no longer of use. Military uniforms floating by like leaves. Body parts settling in oily reflections.
Continue reading “Low Tide”
The music almost kills me today.
It is a childhood memory. The song that would play as my father hunted and brought local wildlife to the garage. It would play as I cried for my mother, begging her not to go to work. Terrified of spending time with this hulk of a man.
Continue reading “Birdsong”
We watch her from the safety of the forest.
Every morning she wanders out into her yard, placing the cups on the three fence posts before returning back inside. Here they remain untouched until nightfall. No animal ever comes to drink from them, and no human ever visits the cottage where they are placed.
Continue reading “The Observers”
The change of season approaches. Colours fade and make way for the new. A chill now strokes at our skin.
Continue reading “Harvest”