shard, #1


gristly red dirt in toes


eyelashes that catch teardrops.

this is nothing. a pile of words. to test out my new blog template. 

her voice

was like  rust  and dust  and stinging fragments of glass.  husks of broken nuts;  the cracking,  creaking  breath of the wind.  shallow puddles  and the water that trickles over  sharp, uneven rocks. 

#4: a quote

— from someone passionate “I fear a life where I only exist. I want to taste, see, hear, feel things with every fibre of my being. I want to make a difference and I want to set others alight with the desire to change this world.”

minisaga, #1

title: Her brother drinks from the milk carton She squints as he lumbers to the milk. As lips press to it, she growls, “Glass?” Triumphant, condescending, he explains, “It means I’m drinking the rest.” Next day, after packing away the groceries, she apprehends him– “No glass?” She smirks. His eyes widen. Hours later, he is…

those on the bus, #1: finbar

finbar sits in his ragged shirt; it is unbuttoned, and the wind is slinking across his chest and into the sleeves. yellow shoots of scorched grass press into the backs of his legs. a surfboard lies beside him. he runs a brown hand through brown hair, pushing it off his forehead and behind an ear….