Her hand flicks through the crisp new book that her father bought her the day before. He said it was because she’d been such a good girl lately. Her parent’s divorce hadn’t exactly been a pretty one.
This is going to be my first attempt at a ‘blog’ post. This whole adventure of writing is supposed to encourage me to try new things; so I suppose it’s only fitting I give this a go. I took inspiration from a few friends, who honestly are amazing at this sort of thing; unfortunately I don’t have such high hopes for myself…
“Shall I speak for thee? shall I say ’tis so? O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, That I might rail at him, to ease my mind! Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp’d, Doth burn the heart to ashes-”
“Sorry, from the top please. It’s cinders, Francis, and maybe a bit more emotion? Your daughter literally has had her hands cut off and her tongue cut out.”
Francis sighs, running his hands through his dark hair and returns to his marker on the stage. The other actors roll their eyes and groan quietly, Charlotte rubbing her knees the best she could with her ‘mutilated’ hands.
Continue reading “March”
“Nostalgia isn’t the truth; it’s just something you want to be the truth today.”
Alex is only 19 years old. He is 6ft 1; he has dirty blonde hair; he has green eyes. He has never experienced nostalgia. In fact, he is entirely against the concept of it. Nostalgia is a lie your brain tells you. In reality, you just want an escape from your current moment. Continue reading “January”