Our new home is known as the Clock Tower.
The village layout is a masterpiece of practical design, every house having a direct view of the clock face. We arrive one autumn evening, new keys and a fresh start, unpacking some essentials before sleeping on temporary beds.
Continue reading “The Clock Tower”
She will set fire to the garden, to bring her father back.
It is day sixteen of the heatwave. The lawn is a tinderbox ready to spark. Shrivelled flowerbeds are perfect kindling.
Continue reading “Her Father’s Garden”
Sometimes I just sit and watch the horizon, dreaming of my younger self. Remembering the version of me that knew nothing of what I would become, the adult who sits here today.
Continue reading “Over the Horizon”
Through the lens she finds her target.
Visibility is poor, the last of the light fading into night. A little adjusting of the focus brings her target into view. It’s taken some time, but she may be able to get a perfect shot.
Continue reading “A Perfect Shot”
The postcard is all we have, our only clue.
It arrived two months ago, an image of a hotel, the colours nostalgic.
Continue reading “Wish You Were Here”
She throws up into the bin, her insides lumpy and smelling of sugar.
Once done, she wipes her mouth and smiles at me.
Fancy one more go? she asks.
Continue reading “For Your Amusement”
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”