†遥か彼方へあの約束を†

won’t you fall into my waveswith no one left to savei’ll wrap you in the deepest depthin coral-laced, flowing shawls of deathi love you in your tragedyanother Herowaiting for the seato jump and drown herselffor loss of life,for love, despair and wounding strifemy arms are open, gentle, warmmy waters will not do you harmcome to me, beloved soulwill cradle you in glitt’ring shoalsfill your lungs…

His fingers trail over my skin, tracing my bones as if he were to outline my skeleton for later purposes. As if in his basement, there you would find a circus of the macabre, with the skulls of former lovers grinning at onlookers from the top of mahogany shelves, skins draped across the walls like uncertain curtains, spines stretched and hardened like hat-stands, and femurs, piled up into heaps…

Melancholia is a sickness. Who are you?

Part I Melancholia is a sickness. Who are you?  “Not a stable foundation.” The realisation that also this can mean more than one thing. When are you? Solitude and dark both interrupted by a stranger to share the same space. Yet the words still flow. How will they react to the falling of dark? A wager that most won’t accept it. Melancholia is a sickness. Limbo is no where. Limbo is going…

Melancholia is a sickness.

Clinking of cups and dishes in a kitchen soon closing, a man’s voice on the radio singing of you’re in love with me and I’m in love with you and about lovers and only knowing lovers when they don’t call and about letting go. A song heard before, maybe once. Your face, lights up again. Frozen hands writing with some effort – cracking, ugly fonts, and the taste of blueberry prosecco cake, just…

You are the animal now, roaming the darkness of the woods, skittish and bristling with fear, frothing at the mouth, panting against the cold ground, nervously swishing a tail, growling out from the depths. And I, I am there, sitting down in a sphere of nothingness, enveloped in cold and darkness, with but a faint idea of your presence, somewhere, in a short distance. So I sit down, and stretch…

The story I concocted for NYC's short story challenge earlier 2020, "Extraction". Conjoined twins in a simulation? Bring it on. #amwritingfiction #writingcommunity #NYC

“Let’s go let’s go let’s go!”, Merle yelled at the members of the party behind her, “We need to get out of here, they’re on our trail” as she jumped across a ledge and landed in a deep puddle of mud, spraying brown sludge all over her legs. She could just about make out the quickening of hoofs, the breaking of branches as their pursuers drove their beasts through the wood in an all too short…