Like dust floating through a stream of sunlight. Like a small chip in the paint that resembles a tiny elephant. Like a scrap of that beloved floral pattern on an old sundress discarded to the rags basket in the laundry. I see these relics everywhere. Reminders of those tiny beautiful things. There’s an infinite sadness …
Author Archives: Ekaterina Tretiakova
Fiction: ‘The Shoemaker Who Made Toys’
Finn Dreyer was a shoemaker who didn’t really like shoes very much. No, he didn’t like them at all. Every day he would rise early in the morning, walk across town through the slushy snow to his master’s workshop, and spend hour after hour, day after day, year after year, making shoes. First he would …
Fiction: ‘Weightless’
He leans back on the couch, his right hand firmly clasping his left and his eyes fixed on a thread dangling from her sleeve. Her office is small, but it feels cosy. Intimate. Every object is exactly where it needs to be, from the desktop calendar by the phone to the yellowing cactus on the …
Fiction: ‘The Oracle’
Prometheus first shaped mankind out of mud, and Athena breathed life into his creation. He loved mankind more than any of the Olympians. I know because I was there in the very beginning. I saw how he stole fire from the gods and gave it to man to better arm them against the cruelty of …
Fiction: ‘99 Bottles’
The circular room has only one window. Coated with a thick layer of grime, the light comes through dimly, as if it’s always the twilight hour. Shelves which stretch all the way up to the ceiling line the walls. There are ninety-nine bottles of various shapes and sizes sitting along these shelves, as well as …
Fiction: ‘Hide-and-Seek’
She peers at him closely, her plump eyelids narrowing until her gaze is forced through two pale slits. ‘How do you feel?’ she asks, her voice carefully laid out before him, controlled and well-rehearsed. ‘Fine nurse,’ he replies, flashing a smile. ‘Any nausea?’ He shakes his head. ‘Do you feel anxious or depressed?’ ‘Not at …
Fiction: ‘Down the Rabbit Hole’
It was a strange thing to come by in the middle of the forest. Amongst the ancient trees and a thick carpet of green moss was a table with two matching chairs whittled out of tree stumps. Each chair was tucked neatly and considerately under the table. There were no people or houses for miles …
Fiction: ‘Rotation’
Deep in a golden forest on top of an amber mountain lives a queen with violet eyes. She watches the world mournfully, waiting for its end as she sighs and drifts forever closer towards slumber. Sitting on her agate throne, she dreams of endings and loss. Golden vines creep over her, their crimson leaves fading …
Fiction: ‘The Man Who Sold the World’
The house looked old and dilapidated from the outside. Tiles had slid off the roof, pigeons were nesting in the rafters, and the paint had peeled away from the walls, leaving a dreary patchwork of greys on the splintered wood. But never was that tired old line truer; that true beauty is found within. The …
Fiction: ‘The Magician – Part 2’
She sits on the cool tiled floor of her apartment, watching the sunrise paint the walls with splashes of fire. Silver birds skim across the section of sky in the window. A pale moon glistens on the horizon before slowly dissolving with the coming dawn. The gloves lie in her lap. She runs her fingers …
Writing on Tangents 