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When she showed up at his door, tears leaving black tracks of makeup down her face, he didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't even question how she had come to be there, on his doorstep, at an impossible time of night. He ushered her inside and sat her down, offered her tea, coffee, water? She settled for brandy. What eighteen-year-old drinks brandy? He ran her a bath and she sank into it gratefully. He brought her a piece of toast with his best strawberry jam and still asked no questions. When she was done, he handed her a big fluffy towel and cuccooned her, swaddling her like a child. He led her to his bedroom and slipped his biggest shirt over her head and folded back the duvet. She slid into his bed and he tucked her in and wiped the last smudge of makeup from under her eye with his thumb. He left a cup of water on the bedside table in his favourite mug. He perched on the edge of the bed until her eyelids fluttered shut and her breathing was relaxed into soft snuffles. He gently held her fingers in his hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. He grabbed a blanket on his way out and made a bed for himself on the couch.

Empty

I want to hold myself together
So my insides don't fall out.
I don't feel so well
But I'm not much cop
As an empty shell

Six Word Story

"Are you busy?" "Never for you."

Voicemail

I let her phone ring out for the fourth time in the past hour, hearing the familiar automated voice of a woman letting me know that I was connecting to her voicemail. Just as her sing-song voice begins to twirl its way through the receiver, my room mate comes back and I hang up guiltily. He doesn't say anything. Why do you bother paying for her phone when she never bloody answers it? That's what my mum used to say. She probably still thinks that, too, but she won't voice it aloud anymore. But I don't care. I will always pay it for her. It's not a big deal. I take the phone into my bedroom and perch on the bed, dialling again. It goes through to voicemail and I tense up a little, as I do every time, just before the bittersweet melody of her voice invades my ears. It's been this way for eight months now. Most people would give up after eight months of unanswered calls. But truthfully, eight months ago she left. She didn't just leave me, but left us all. I've paid her phone bill ever since she passed away, just so I would always have her voicemail to listen to.

Haiku

Kiss your friends because
You love them more than you could
Ever love that man

Six Word Story

What would happen if you knew?

Fog

Black fog swirls around me lazily, caressing me with each languid tendril. I'm trying to avoid the cracks - in the floor, in the walls, in the ceiling but I can't see anything. Everything is grey and black and more grey. The fog envelops me like an old friend, but it's something sinister. It curls around my arms and my legs, rising to cup my shoulders, asking me to join it. I don't want to, but it compresses itself around me and suddenly everything feels heavy. There's a weight against my chest and there is pressure in my skull. Black spots block my vision, like a rogue eyelash floating around on your eyeball - you can see it but you can never quite get close enough to look right at it. The cracks in the ground start to judder and creak. I begin to fall, dragging my nails down the walls with a sickening screech, trying to find something to grasp onto.

Sleep Talking

"It's okay, it's okay," I soothe, awkwardly wrapping my arms around his head. His eyes don't open but I know he senses me there. There is a cold sweat adding a sheen to his forehead and his breathing is irregular. I don't know what to do, so I just sit there, with his head tucked under my arm until I feel his laboured breaths slow. I make the odd shushing sound but mainly sit in silence. He softens beneath me and I know he is asleep again. I feel strange sitting by his pillow whilst he sleeps, but for some reason I am reluctant to leave. His terrified screams made me nervous. I didn't want him to dream like that again. So I stay and lean my back against the headboard, counting the cracks in the ceiling. I can't stop my eyes from flickering down to his face every now and then, making sure he's okay and making sure he's still there. He huffs as he rolls onto his side and faces me, a small, sleepy frown creasing the part between his eyebrows. He's still asleep, but he's mumbling incoherently and it almost makes me smile. He breathes my name, but it's soft as a whisper and I think I imagine it. I hear it again and start - he must know I am there. I gently swing my legs off the edge of the bed, ready to leave, when I feel his fist lamely grab my knee. I stop and he relaxes, even in sleep. "I love you," he mutters. "I love you." I swallow the lump in my throat and kiss the top of his head gingerly. "I love you," he sighs again and I sigh too, but for a different reason.

Earth, Air, Water

When he held me, it was Earth - stable, solid and felt as old as trees, like we had never done anything else.

When he looked at me, it was Air - breath leaving my lungs and words failing me. I saw pink and hearts and rainbows and I knew I should be embarrassed, but I wasn't.

When he kissed me, it was Water - drowning, gasping, trying to tread water and keep myself steady, but they currents took me under and I knew I was a goner.

Strength

Everyday is a battle won

A wound that didn't kill you

A step towards Paradise

A light year closer to the Sun

Old diary entry (stream of consciousness)

Looking for gold deep in my bones Paradise is a breath away Hell is a journey the strongest come out fighting nothing drags me down but me

Creep

The stone walls are sticky and I can hear a dripping tap. I'm crumpled in the corner and everything is dark as coal. Iron invades my nostrils and I can taste salt on my tongue. My forehead is damp, maybe with sweat. Something is dried in my hair, making it crunch under my nervous fingers. My eyes dart around the room and I see a shape on the ceiling. I can't make it out. I've been ignoring it for hours. I swear I saw it twitch. My tongue feels too big in my mouth. I look up again. Two shining eyes are staring right back at me.

Six Word Story

Our story hasn't been written yet.

Autumn

It has been happening for a while now - the transformation. It's like a slow pulsing through my veins that is subtle but prominent enough that I cannot quite ignore it.

Instead of feeling vibrant and full of life, I have begun to feel as though I am curling at the edges; is this what they call "old age"? I am concerned that I have turned a peculiar colour. I remember whispers in the trees about this time of year - the time of change. It feels as though spring was just yesterday.

Now, suddenly, I am tired and lifeless. People stop and stare to admire me and my comrades - we are all in this together. Our proud golds and reds and browns compliment each other perfectly. We must be beautiful, but I know I certainly don't feel it. 

I hear a rustling that signifies a final goodbye from some of those close to me. It's time now for me, too, to complete my short journey. With a breeze as soft and quiet as a whisper, I detach from the branch that has been my life line for two seasons. As I flutter effortlessly to the ground, I can't help but feel satisfaction in the fact that I looked wonderful until the very end. 

Flowers

Flowers and plants

Are proof that life can grow

Even in the saddest,

Driest,

Most barren places,

If one only remembers 

To give them some light.

Child's Nightmare

I am swinging on my swing set. It is sunny outside and I can see my house - my brother's window first, then the bathroom and then the kitchen downstairs. I love my swing set. It's red like apples and the seat is yellow like my hair. I love to kick my legs and push myself as high as possible. I'm quite scared of heights but I know my mummy is inside the house and she won't let me get hurt.

I am swinging so high and my hair is blowing around. I smile and listen to the thudding sounds my feet make when they hit the ground and kick off again.

I hear something above me. I slow the swing down and look up, squinting at the sky. There is a strange animal sat on top of my swing - it isn't a bird, because I've seen pictures of them in books at school. This animal doesn't have wings so I wonder how it got on top of my swing set. It turns its head and stares at me. It has light brown fur, big eyes and something that looks like a beak. It reminds me of a koala that I saw at the zoo, but that koala looked much more friendly than this animal.

I want to shout for my mum but I am too scared. It won't stop looking at me and I don't like it. I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining that it would disappear. My eyes pop open when I feel myself moving - my swing has wheels! The wheels are on the bottom of the poles and my swing set is suddenly moving really fast. I'm not in my back garden anymore; I'm racing down my street and houses and cars are whizzing past me. I'm not scared until I look behind me and see that the animal has wings now and it is chasing me. It looks really angry and it makes me nervous.

My swing drives itself super fast to try and get away from the animal. It is flying behind me and trying to catch me, making angry squawking sounds. I feel so scared that I almost cry, but I tell myself that I mustn't cry because the animal will know and it will get me if I cry.

It is very close behind me now and I am tired. My swing slows down and I feel so sad because it is going to get me. I wish I could tell my mummy but the animal is going to get me now and I might disappear.

I close my eyes tight again and hope it doesn't hurt me. When I open my eyes, I am safe in my bed and I am so happy that I was only dreaming. Silly dream.

Haiku

Wherever you are

We see the same stars and moon

And I'm not alone

The Duke and the Cube

The boy approached the chair holding the box. The crowd fell silent as he stepped forward and kneeled, holding the black cube high in the air. "Sir, Duke of Yored: a gift. For you".

The man in the chair, a stretched, bony figure, smiled and stood. As he approached the boy, the cube responded, as if in anticipation. It parted from the boy's hands, then lifted in the air. The man extended a gaunt hand to claim it. The cube quivered.

He exhaled through his nostrils with a reserved smile playing on his lips. "Finally," he breathed, barely audible to the pathetic boy knelt before him. He flickered his eyes towards the boy, his face a calm mask once more.

"You have done well, my son," the man said. He gestured around the box like an ancient witches spell and its sides blossomed like a flower. Inside lay a crystal; fractured and oddly shaped. The gem glinted under the torchlight of the stone castle. 

"What is it, sir?" the boy ventured to ask. His voice trembled with fright. The Duke cast his eyes down towards the boy, his face impassive. 

"That is nothing of your concern, child," he answered with almost a kind of fondness. "You have done well in returning this to me. Know that I am pleased."

He closed his hand on the crystal and felt a jolting shock. He snatched his hand back in surprise. "Why does it shock me?" he hissed almost inaudibly. "Has this been tampered with? Who gave this to you?" the Duke demanded of the boy.

The boy swallowed hard and gained his resolve. "Sir, I do not know of any tampering, sir," he stuttered. "A man handed this box to me at a flea market, this day two weeks ago."

"And how did you know to return it to me?" 

"At first I kept it a secret - hidden beneath my bed - but it rattled and rattled for days, long into the night. I took it to a loyal and trusted friend - an antiques dealer, if you will - and he urged that I must return it to you."

The Duke, sated by the boy's story, focused upon the cube once more. The crystal settled in the centre winked and twinkled beneath the flickering lights. 

Taking a deep, composed breath, he brought the tip of his slender finger to touch the mysterious stone. At once, the box glowed and began to emit a strange hum, almost too high a frequency for human ears. 

The boy and the guards gathered closer in wonder, startled as suddenly the Duke was enveloped by light; in the blink of an eye he was gone. The crowd blinked, dumbfounded. 

The box lay on the floor, looking as inanimate as it had when the boy had arrived. With a shudder, the sides of the cube began to lift and close, sealing the crystal and the Duke inside its four walls.

Stars

My eyes rise to the skies

And the stars wink at me,

As if to let me know

That they see me too.

I try to count -

Eight billion? Nine?

A trillion? Ten?

Each time I blink, I lose count.

I feel so small,

Like a toddler in a field

Of long, tall grass.

I am miniscule.

A sadness constricts my heart

As I realise, with dread,

That the beauty I see,

The stars, are already dead.

Bad Dreams

The trees tower above me; a light summer breeze rustles the greenery and casts shadows on my face. I squint my eyes slightly, shifting my focus from cloud to cloud, making out shapes and patterns in the spotless, white candy floss. 

The warmth makes my skin prickle comfortably. I have an overwhelming feeling of complete contentment. Had I ever been so happy?

I turn my head to my right and he's lying beside me, watching my face, his blue eyes a mystery to me. He is in need of a hair cut but I never had the heart to tell him so. He reaches his hand out and traces his fingertips along my cheekbone and I smile in response. His answering grin dazzles me and I feel like a child.

He rolls over and props himself up on his elbows in front of me. I shift myself into a sitting position, leaning my back against the tree behind me. The wind blows our hair, tickling my face with a few wayward strands. I wriggle my nose and he smiles his full megawatt smile.

Suddenly, the sky turns dark, like someone has switched out the light. My eyes dart around in fear. I look at him.

"What's happening?" I try to call to him, but it's like someone has removed my voice. The silence is deafening. 

Out of nowhere, the sound of static fills my ears; a heavy white noise that pulsates my brain. I can't take my eyes off him, locked in fear as his body seems to be glowing impossibly. 

His eyes are wide and he's looking at me, but it's like he's looking through me. A light is emanating from every part of him, right to his fingertips.

I lean forward to grab him but he falls clean through my fingers. I stare up in fright and I notice how he's barely there anymore. A pale, translucent version of his form is standing before me, looking as melancholy as the saddest song.

I shut my eyes and squeeze them tight, thinking this must be some kind of bizarre hallucination. Perhaps I had sunstroke.

My eyes shoot open and I am in bed. I realise I have had that dream again. I wonder when my brain will accept that he died months ago. I wonder when my heart will accept it too.