In Antipode_My Future Ex-Husband_The Cry of the Captain_Sign of a Haunt
Catalog Guide:
In Antipode
My story is not about recovery. Or tragedy. In the literary sense of the word. I was never destined to play the tragic heroine. Far too insular. Which has become worse, since it happened. Now I spend most of my time speaking to myself. Which is not good.The internal dialogue is stagnant and predictable and sometimes I can taste the fetid mouldiness of it in my mouth.But first… let me start with the accident, though this is not necessarily the beginning. It is important to start here because every day starts with the accident, even though I only remember the events of it in snatches, an...
My Future Ex-Husband
Moving day was approaching at pace and the to-do list was as long as the Amazon River. Unlabelled, half-filled boxes sat in every room I walked through. Rolls of unused tape were still in their packs and a marker pen lay on twww.onedoor.cche carpet with the lid off. Sighing softly I picked it up before the ink could leak on the carpet and slipped the cap on with a satisfying click. Corey had been tackling the study and it was typical of him to leave things so chaotic. The pen could have left a mark that we would have had to pay our future-ex-landlord, why didn’t he think of that? We were going to need every...
The Cry of the Captain
I emerged from the turbulent waters for the first time in a few minutes.One breath. Two. Three.I squinted as I gasped, but my efforts were futile.I couldn’t see. The waves pulled me under right as a cacophony of lightning and thunder illuminated the sky, echoing above the din of the waves. I felt the waves knock me against something- likely wood, considering I was in a sea so deep that the entirety of my boat had disappeared except for a few scraps left floating above the surface. The waves dipped and my head poked above the water for a second. I had time for a shaky, watery gasp before going ...
Sign of a Haunt
She's everywhere. She doesn't do anything or say anything - just stands there smiling. Everything about her looks dry, but her hands are cold, clammy, and wet. Trust me, I know. When she grabbed my arm after I'd dropped my papers in the hallway, my wrist was dripping with water. The shadow of a wet handprint lining the outside of the pisiform on my arm.I jumped back, not because my arm felt weird, but because she shouldn't even be here. She left. There was no way she was still at Georgetown High. She left. There was no escaping her after the incident in the hallway. I had been avoiding her all...