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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.

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

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.

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.