She can smell the rain as it seeps through the dry wall behind her bed. The little glass fairies which dangle from the strings on her curtains tinkle as they brush against each other, stirred by some unseen draught. She draws the covers up to her chin. Suddenly the room is lit with a blinding …
Author Archives: Ekaterina Tretiakova
Fiction: ‘Medusa’
She stares at the hideous apparition in the mirror as though frozen by its reflection. Her skin is cracked and split, glaringly white even in the shadows. Her lips are the pallor of someone long dead. In place of her lovely chestnut curls are deadly snakes which twist and writhe from her scalp, their scaly …
Fiction: ‘The Renaissance’
The river flows steadily, its rich brown current sweeping away the cigarette butts and empty beer cans. He stands on the ledge beneath the bridge. The wall before him is a dark grey canvas dappled with moss and faded tags. He lifts a paint-stained hand, rattles the can, and brings it to the wall. A …
Fiction: ‘The Vanishing Act’
There were seven people ahead of me; I know that because I made a point to count them. They stood along the uneven ground, their faces glowing under the neon lights as they waited with the same sort of unspoken impatience. The booth sat apart from the other tents and stalls. Like everything else, it …
Review: ‘How to Stop Time’ by Matt Haig
I picked this book up on a whim when the July new releases arrived at the bookshop in their crisp boxes, cushioned with packing peanuts. The title jumped out at me. The cover did not. So, on a whim, I bought it and discovered something curiously wonderful. This book is deeply human. It’s a strange …
Fiction: ‘The Gargoyle’
For years he had perched in the same old position, on the same old spot where the sculptor had carved him. The rain had washed away the finer details of his grotesque form and the sun had bleached the stone into a ghostly white. Hideous bat wings sprung from his hunched back, while a set …
Fiction: ‘The Sparrow and the Sun’
There once lived a sparrow who loved the sun with all its heart. All throughout the spring and well into summer, he would perch on the highest branch of the tallest tree and sing to his golden beloved. He sang so sweetly and earnestly that all the people of the town would gather around his …
Fiction: ‘Existence is Futile’
Ageing is inescapable. It’s an inevitable part of being alive, and as certain as death. But then again, maybe not. Over a century ago, our leading neuroscientists made a discovery that changed the course of human evolution. They found out that ageing isn’t just a biological process in which our bodies experience a gradual decline …
Fiction: ‘Hunger’
It looked just like any other well in any other city; deep and dark with smooth sides worn away by the years and an echo as sweet as a bell. The water had dried out long before the eldest living generation had been born. But that never took away from the true value of the …
Fiction: ‘Lyrebird’
She pokes her head out of the nest and looks up at the sky. It’s so blue that it looks violet against the sun. Light spills off the gum leaves that ripple in the breeze high above, while down below the ground is a crosshatch of stringy bark. She withdraws back inside the safety of …
Writing on Tangents 