Inner musings of a Wayward Writer
Deep in a desert not far from here there once rose a vast mountain. Snow always glittered from its peak, even under the blistering summer sun, and lush trees grew around the base even though it had been many years since this region last saw rain. But the most remarkable …
She pulls the thread taught down the crease between the pages and around the spine. The book creaks as it stretches wide. She ties the string in the centre of the spine and hangs it from a small hook on the ceiling. She does this over and over until the ceiling is covered with books …
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 …
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 …
She stirs a cauldron full of colours so bright with energy that they project a shining aurora across the ceiling. The coloured lights shift through the air, bursting with charged particles. She adds another pinch of vermillion. Red hot sparks erupt from the pot. Light sprays across the room, washing the walls in a blazing …
Sunset leaves dance along the empty highway. First they move in one direction, and then another; each time spinning in one spot for a moment before moving on. The old man watches from a dilapidated park bench. He gives the tiniest trace of a smile as the leaves break off into pairs and begin waltzing …
