Microfiction: The Realness of Things

Sometimes I wonder about the realness of things. Am I real? Are you real? Am I as real as you? Are you as real as me?

I feel the cold of rain as it hits my skin, and hear the whispers of trees as they send shivers my way. And surely this means that I’m a real girl.

But dream rain is just as cold, and dream trees whisper too. In the morning they are nothing but ghosts.

One day I, too, will be a ghost.

Then perhaps I am nothing but a dream.

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Microfiction: The Redness of Autumn

Blood falls from the trees, crisp and cold. It falls slowly, leaf by leaf, into the chill. Its fall is too soft, pillowed by the quietness of others. It is the redness of autumn. The world was made this way.

Haibun: Moth

I tried to save the moth. He was latched onto the wall of my shower cubicle. It was about to get very wet in there. I tried to coax him onto my finger but he kept fluttering out of reach. When he finally trusted me he clung to my finger and wouldn’t let go.

I put him on the sink ledge. I didn’t see the spots of water already there. I tried to push him out, but the more I pushed the more he drowned.

When I fished him out his body was limp. I gave him my finger but it didn’t matter anymore. Perhaps it never had.

winter light
my garden full
of withered things

Holiday #writephoto

tranquil

I just want to relax. They never let me do that. It’s always scare the humans this. Eat the humans that.

I get it. I’m a troll. I have a reputation to uphold. We’ve got a beautiful green space here and we don’t want humans trampling all over it.

I just don’t get why it always has to be me. I’m not the only scary thing around here. Those fairies can be nasty, and a nymph’s regular attitude should bring any unwanted tourism to a grinding halt. Sometimes I just want to look at the reflections of leaves in water…feel the cool of shaded bark against my skin…breathe in the green.

That’s why I’m putting in my leave. I’m taking a holiday. I deserve it. I’m soaking up the green and sleeping in till 10. Some nasty nymph can cover my shifts.

As for humans…the rules are simple.

Trample quietly and you won’t get your legs broke.

 

(Image courtesy of Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo)

Written for Sue Vincent’s Writephoto Prompt: Tranquil

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My supernatural short story Aibhileen’s Curse is now free on Smashwords.

Beneath #writephoto

P1020805

Everyone’s afraid of the lake. It’s a beautiful lake. You can see the whole world reflected in it. But I guess that’s what they don’t like about it. They see things they don’t think should be there.

There’s the old woman who used to sell trinkets along the promenade. They often see her face watching them from beneath the reeds. But she never tries to hurt anyone. She just likes to watch and watch, with those large absinthe eyes.

Then there’s the kitten with the bite wound to its neck. He’s the one who scares the younger children. He’s always scrabbling to get to the top, pawing at the surface he can’t break. He gets so excited when he sees people. He still loves to play.

I was afraid of the lake too. I didn’t want to go that day, but Max was going to ask me to the prom, I could see it in his eyes, and I already had my little pink dress ready.

But Max wasn’t himself that afternoon. He was as still as the lake’s surface, and colder. Really, I hadn’t thought going to the ice cream parlour with Robbie was a big deal. We were just friends after all. But Max didn’t see it that way. We had a terrible fight. I thought I’d never forget the rage on his face as his hands tightened around my throat.

But that’s all a bad dream now. I still want what I wanted before. I want to go to the prom in my little pink dress. I want to feel like a fairy princess. And I want Max to hold my hand – not the Max from my nightmare, but the old Max, my Max. That was the promise life made to me. And promises are made to be kept.

The people above the surface are afraid of us. There’s really no reason to be. We’re not the other. We’re just like them. It just wasn’t our time to go.

 

(Image courtesy of Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo)

Written for Sue Vincent’s Writephoto prompt: Beneath

 

Microfiction: Untrodden #writephoto

snowy-landscape

They ask me why I walk alone in the snow. In the cold where no one else walks. Where the trees are bare and the moon is far.

They see only loneliness in the white.

But I cherish the snow. Those crystals glitter to me. The moon is sprinkled all around me. The trees are clothed in wind and stars.

Only in silence does the world speak. Only in stillness does the world move.

They ask me why I walk alone in the snow.

I ask them why they think I’m alone.

 

(Image courtesy of Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo)

Written for Sue Vincent’s Writephoto Prompt: Untrodden

 

Microfiction: Rain Shadows

I wonder if raindrops have shadows. Everything has a shadow. The rain must have a shadow too. I think I’ve seen rain shadows once, in my garden, but now I’m not sure. I look for them every time it rains. Mostly I see only light and water. But sometimes – in the grass, on a wall – I see them. Rain shadows. And I know they’re there.

 

 

Haibun: The Rain Comes

I try to see the ghost of yesterday. She doesn’t come. Not for me, anyway.

The window gives me a watercolour view of the garden, and yet the colours are missing, stolen. The trees are shadows in the grey. They stand stark and bare, unmoving. From somewhere water drips.

I turn back to my coffee. The steam warms my face.

 

losing you –
nothing glittters
anymore