You can do this. [flash-fiction]

I walked through the fields in the middle of the day in the middle of the week in the middle of the month and I thought: where has this year gone? it’s like we waste a whole glass of water just to drink half of it. it’s like we walk all the way round the field just to get to the middle of it. there is no easy route to finish off this day and finish off this week and finish off this month but eventually we’ll get there. once we walk round the field and drink a whole glass of water, we will get there. it may take longer, but we will get there. 



granny. [flash-fiction]

they tell me you’re gone and i don’t know how to feel. it’s hard to know how to feel when you’ve been sitting in a puddle of suffering for too many days. it’s such an incomprehensible thought – that someone that was once here is now gone. it’s such an incomprehensible thought – that you were here and now you aren’t. and i wish you could come back as your former self, as your body 10 years ago who knew how to speak and would remember all the little things before Alzheimer’s stole it. and i like to think that you’re okay now. i hope that you’re okay now. and that when i put my fingers to the piano i can play all the notes you left me in this world…

and all the notes that i will remember in your name. 

oblivious [flash-fiction]

i sat in the room. i sat in the room with the chairs and the table and the tattered curtains. my feet blended into the cream carpets. my eyes blended into the walls. and it was enough that the walls were all that i saw. it was just me. in that empty room. with so much and so little. it was like the sound of rain was gently – ever so gently – tapping on the ceiling; on the walls on my head on my skin but there were no windows. hugging my knees to my chest, i felt as empty as the air; as something that held the world and yet never meant anything. water began to seep in through the cracks. water began to rise. and i could feel it swim against my toes and then splash against my sides and then lie heavy on my throat. it became so much i didn’t know what to do and i didn’t know who to call and I didn’t know who to –
i opened my eyes to the room again. i was sitting in the room. a glass was on the floor, red wine splattered on the cream carpet.
how could i be so oblivious?
it was so obvious.
how could i be so oblivious to drowning and yet feel it all along?

lurking. [flash-fiction]

sometimes my mind is so loud i
feel it all in waves
waves of hiding beneath the
sheets and
waves of falling in between
the smiles.
and sometimes it’s so hard to
shut off the noise and
sometimes i yell at it
to fall into the sea
and float away with the rest of
my dreams.

but it always comes back.

like an anchor it hangs beneath my skull and i
try to repress it –
god i try to repress it –
but sometimes i wonder
if pretending it’s fine
is really making it
fine
at all.

night-dreams. [flash-fiction]

the foot of the bed was broken and so were her dreams; falling to the side like tears that slid down the cheek that no one saw. and in the darkness of the night the bed looked safe and warm and maybe she looked it too – almost. but as the sun rose and the night was no longer an escape, you could see the cracking wood of her skin and the dent against the floor. she was making imprints within herself. her pillow was no use at all.

curtains. [flash-fiction]

it was like an imaginary curtain that shut it all off. this dark curtain that wrapped itself right around my core until I could scarcely let out a breath above the noise. and i felt all these people – all these voices – running about the curtain as if it were a carpet; as if they knew I knew they were there but I’d stopped pretending I could become one of them. and it would only take a few days to unravel this curtain and I would finally be able to breath again. but trapped in the notion of life sometimes the curtain gets caught and I’m left sinking into the darkness of the room until the sun comes home tomorrow.

walls. [flash-fiction]

they sat against the wall in lines – rows, columns, formation, did it matter. either way their heads were tied to strength and yet tied to something so unmovable they were inextricably bound. bounded by the rocks of heads that became so heavy; hanging under the weight of the night that they sunk into backgrounds.
eyes in a wall.
eyes in every wall.
eyes everywhere.
and passers by watched with heads too high, amused by the animated life of the dead. and yet was it even a life at all?
did it matter.
did it matter.  

slowly sinking into sidewalks. slowly removed from their tracks.