fiction-freak

She sat on the toilet, looking at the blood soaked pad between her knees. It was heavier this time around, and brighter. It was almost fluorescent under the bathroom light, nearly pink in its brightness. It was day 4 and not starting to slow down, the smell of rotting blood and viscera contained in old pads were starting to come from the bathroom bin, it would need to be emptied soon. She felt a clot fall from her and into the toilet, grimacing at the sensation she finished peeing and folded sheets of toilet paper to wipe. She huffed quietly at the blood coating her hand and wrist, grabbed more paper and cleaned it off. Throwing the stained

My head is all fuzz and sighs, I scroll aimlessly through social media articles I’ve seen before memes I’ve shared before. Nothing of interest, including my thoughts. I should be creating, doing something of merit, testing myself a little, reading patterns, freehanding. Using some of this restless energy, channeling it though my hands. But that is a lot of effort and my brain can’t feel its way through the fuzz enough to move my hands to create, or my legs to gather the materials from other rooms. It’s easier to sit here, sighing and picking at the lint between my ears.

The town felt apocalyptic. Looming grey skies cast a dull sheen over the oddly silent streets. The lack of traffic making the fluorescent lights of the shop fronts glaring against the grey backdrop.

I have been trying, for some time, to accurately describe my body type. But I now know. I’m not an hourglass or a toothpick and while it is decidedly obvious that I am pear-shaped I am in fact: Gia Shaped. Wide child bearing hips connect to full and plump thighs, thick calves and broad feet from a barefoot life. A full stomach, signifying fertile times while broad shoulders have had many children perched upon them. Fat but strong arms with feminine hands encircle small breasts. Far from large and nourishing though they are, I know that with children of my own the will grow. My body is soft and giving, warm and comforting. I have lost tr

The night smelt of rain but there had been none that day. The sheer humidity of the languid morning, afternoon and evening had built to such an extent that the already tropical town smelt of wet rainforest and mouldy garbage with a hint of salt, sprinkled liberally on the night air by not too distant waves. Trees rustled and frogs croaked, all pleading in their own unspoken way for true rain. Rain to wash away the dust and green the earth and the make the citizens open their windows and savour the splash of raindrops on unturned faces. But there would be none to come on this night, nor any other, for some time. It was on this night that our

Personally, I blame my boyfriend. It's his fault that I'm not sleeping and it's not for the reason you'd think. He's got me addicted to Minecraft. I am staying up until four in the morning just so I can gather some more coal and try and find my house that I've lost for the fifth time in half an hour thanks to my horrible sense of direction. Brett, my boyfriend, has been a confirmed Minecraft addict since its beta level and through him and his constant updates on his pixelated world I became aware of the difficulties and joy involved. I even learnt some of the in-jokes, not that I really understood them but I knew when to laugh at least. Du

They were two sides of the same coin. Each vying for attention and each their own man and musician. One would waltz as he played. His feet like a clumsy partner, stepping on the pedalled feet of the piano but still maintaining the beat and shuffling along, seeming to count the steps out in body and mind. He serenaded his partner as he played, growling low and earthy of love, lust, hate and all of the despair and wonder of life. At the end of each song he would tip his hat to the audience and it was then that you realised that you were his partner, not the wooden instrument in front of him but the breathing audience listening to every word an