Short Story Sunday: Red Sand

She has seen him before. The muscles on his back run like rope on pulleys as he manipulates the sienna mound. It's hard to see what he's working on through the lace curtain and she daren't move it in case it catches his eye. The power trips. He swears into the darkness. Her pulse quickens. She anticipates the light before it makes her squint. He is a perfect silhouette, working the clay like he's birthing a new species. 

Poetry Post: The Glass Heart

The Glass Heart

She arose, mid-winter, in the east
With frost clinging to her eyelashes.
Her brittle beauty enamoured,
While her glass heart rattled with
The absence of love.

Short Story: Ship-spotting (For CWV)

The first time they went to the water's edge, her job had been to hold the stopwatch.

"This is the busiest channel in the world," her father said. "More than one hundred ships pass through here every day."

Short Story: Diana's Mirror

He couldn't get their last meeting out of his head. She'd sat opposite him, cupping the empty mug of chai which had scented the air with cinnamon, weeping. She'd made no sound, but the rivulets on her cheeks made his heart ache. He didn't know what to say, so he kept rambling about the unfairness of it all and how she deserved better than the hand she'd been dealt. 

Short Story Sunday: The Language of the Soul

"This isn't exactly weather for a barbecue."

"We'll make the best of it, don't worry." Mickey tapped the address into the car's navigation system and looked at her. "Nervous?"

"What would give you that idea?"

"Oh, I don't know. The look of terror in your eyes, your white knuckles on the door handle and the sweat on your upper lip."

"Sometimes I hate that you're a police detective. You notice way too much."

He chuckled. "It comes with the territory." He squeezed her thigh. "They're going to love you, Kate. Trust me."

Short Story Sunday: Sakharov Gardens

"Come on, Rolf."

Ali looked on as the hound ignored her summons and continued digging his way to China -- or so it would seem. She wouldn't normally have minded, but they were in the public gardens and she didn't think the municipality would take kindly to having to fill in the craters he was creating at alarming speed. She tugged harder on the leash.

"Heel, boy!"

The voice came from behind them and Rolf abandoned his task, sitting guiltily at Ali's feet.

"I'm sorry about my dog," Ali began. "He just loves digging." She shrugged, hoping they would get away with a warning and a friendly smile.

"I know. I've been watching you."

Short Story Sunday: A Thousand Years

Lucy paused in the doorway of her apartment before entering. The door was slightly ajar and she could smell jasmine. It didn't seem as though the entry had been forced. She steeled herself and nudged the door with her foot. Had this been a horror film, she was sure it would have creaked on its hinges, but instead it swung wide until it bumped into the broom cabinet she'd installed behind it. On the carpet in front of her was a brown paper package. The red sealing wax looked liked blood stains on the string. 



"Hello?"