Tag Archives: bed

They Keep Digging

Okay. This is going to sound crazy, but I promise I’m not crazy. It’s 4am now and I might be dead tired, but this is real and I’m not just imagining it.

Those diggers outside, they keep moving.

There’s two of them. It’s one of those annoying building sites where the workers start around 6:30am, just so they can wake normal people up, and they keep going until the early afternoon. They started shortly before Christmas and this must be an important thing because this hole is massive and they’ve been at it every day. But like those building sites are, not a single time did the workers stay until the evening and they certainly never worked during the night. And I’ve been looking out there for the last hours and there was definitely no worker out there.

But I have no doubt anymore that those diggers keep moving by themselves. Continue reading

Why won’t you let me out? // Journal of Patient C.14, Entry #1

It was pulling her hair and she scratched her head, but she didn’t look. She didn’t believe me when I told her. I’m sorry, I really am. She just would have needed to look and it would have gone away. I didn’t want to hurt her, okay?

I need to get out. It can get in here. It always comes in when I look away. I need to look or it will come close. It can’t get close.

WHY WON’T YOU LET ME OUT?

Doc, PLEASE LEAVE THE LIGHT ON. Why do you always turn it off? I know you say this is just for me as therapy and secret, but I know you will read it. I know you will. Please, please, PLEASE leave the lights on, okay? Continue reading

Married

Trigger warning: Domestic violence.


Noah J. was so kind to narrate this story:


“They forced you?”
“No,” she said. “They just chose him for me.”
“But you said Yes?”
Her lips stretched into a shy smile.
“It was the right thing to do. It is my culture, you know?”
“Oh,” I said.
“If it’s my culture it must be a good thing, doesn’t it?”
“It could be,” I said. “It just seems strange to me.”
Saraswati pushed her lightly curled black hair behind her ear.
“It’s strange to me too. I’m not really connected to this culture anymore, but I wanted to make my parents happy.”
“And that is more important than your own life?” Continue reading

Off the Grid

Leaving Grace and the kids was the best decision he had ever made. Sometimes, when he woke up to a dark sky, he still felt her voice in his ear with complaints about the butter being too hard and the stray glass that had remained on the couch table overnight.

Those nights he laughed, rolled on his side and fell asleep with a smile on his lips. She was somewhere in the city with her litter and her own mother probably passed out on the couch again. Continue reading

Ten years from now

A tune that I remember. A flock of pigeons that we fed. The sheets that we last used together. They call you in my head. Shampoo – the soft hair on your skin. A pillow – your head, hard and warm against my shoulder. My bed – the angry eyes; the open mouth with which you screamed at me. I’m sorry. I hope you’re well. I hope you’re happy. I hope that, a year from now, or five, or ten, you can forget me. I hope that, ten years from now, you won’t hate me anymore.

The Hotel

For a change I took part in a friendly little writing competition (please don’t comment on my post over there). It’s just for fun and practice, not for any price or profit.

Here’s the prompt I had to write about:

No end to the daylight when on the run….

In a foreign country, our protagonists put up in a hotel. It is a sweltering summer and there seems to be no end to the daylight. Our protagonists wait and wait for the sun to dip, but it doesn’t. Fed up, they head down to the reception, wary of the people still on their trail (since the job they’d pulled back home). What’s the worst they could find?

And here is my response:


The Hotel

Claire wiped the sweat off her face. Her eyes were still fixed on the dry group of trees in the distance.

I couldn’t stop myself from staring at her; the fitted gray shirt she always wore, a long ponytail and gray pants so tight that I didn’t need to imagine what she wore below. I tried to see her in a dress.

She straightened her back.

“They’ll try to free him again,” she said. “We should make a move.” Continue reading