Time Travel
Shakespeare has been outside my window for the past three nights. It’s rather annoying actually. He’s far too fond of composing sonnets about me, and it’s not at all flattering having my hair compared to a loo brush. At least he’s not holding up a boombox. I don’t think I can handle Peter Gabriel at this present moment.
Style
“Isn’t she just the epitome of style?” asked Ermentrude, gazing at the subject of her devotional. “Yes, she is rather,” agreed Amelia, though somewhat less enthusiastically.
Acts of Kindness
It was raining when Myrdia reached the cottage. Big, thick clumps of water, like the heavens had decided to spit on her. The Goddess was spitting on her, Myrdia decided. She had decided to spit on her since the pilgrimage began. From falling in the gully to getting lost in the forest, it had been a disaster from beginning to end. She rapped the door three times, hard and fast. Anyone who lived within a hundred miles of the Temple would recognise that knock.
Quilting
The kingdom was like a quilt. A patchwork of people, of places, of things. Of memories, traditions, and beliefs. All of them, like little coloured squares.
Wonderland
Leila found the rabbit hole by the great oak tree. As she approached it, it widened, and the girlish curiosity she thought she had abandoned overcame her. Ignoring her treasured tea dress, she climbed in.
Haven
When Lucy found Haven, she was absolutely rat-arsed. She’d been out all night, and then she and Michael had been fighting. Drunk, and dribbling kebab sauce down her front, she stumbled down a side street. She’d never seen that nightclub before, poking its dimly lit head out into the alleyway.
Invasive Species
We thought they’d gone extinct. Most of us weren’t even sure they were real to begin with. But we found a community of them in India, living in the Western Ghats. Some tourist took photos of them on their iPhone and the world went mad. The unicorn had returned to the world.
The Perfect Meal
Julie’s first thought, when she heard Letitia was coming to Sunday dinner, was a horrible swear word she had not been sure she knew. Her second thought was one of such abject terror that death by firing squad was preferable. She hated cooking for her mother-in-law.
Closure
The shutter clicked into place for the last time. Lindsay removed the brass key from its little box, and dropped it into the little brown envelope, neatly stamped with the address of Smiths & Co., Administrators. She would post it on her way home.
Hi, I'm Kieran!
I'm an author and BookTuber.
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