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The Petite Grief of Rejection Emails
Posted on January 23, 2020 5 Comments
Yet another rejection email has hit my inbox. Yet another chip has been eroded from my soul. I don’t know how rejections affect everyone else, but I assume it’s similar. There’s a level of deeply intimate, deeply personal critique in the sharp hidden edges of an email thanking me for my work, noting the large […]
The hit
Posted on April 4, 2019 4 Comments
“They exchange secrets; two strangers on the bus.” YeahWrite #416 Microprose
The Innocence of Mabel Cunderdin
Posted on October 4, 2018 8 Comments
If you wanted to set your life on fire, there wasn’t a better combination than Mabel Cunderdin, and Edward Willard’s limitless credit card.
Prophesy
Posted on November 25, 2014 3 Comments
Larni’s fingers grip the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. Nanna didn’t sound well on the phone. She sounded old and tired. A large shape on the road catches her eye. A full-grown wedge-tailed eagle picks at the bones of a mangled carcass, the latest road-kill victim of a hurtling road-train. She doesn’t have time for this.
Ladoo lies and love
Posted on October 9, 2014
“Can you guess how old I am?” she giggles, shoulders back, a few stray white hairs escaping the tight bun at the back of her head and snaking around her high cheekbones. The only lines on her face are the creases at the side of her mouth as she smiles. “Come, tell me. Can you […]
Wonderland Falls
Posted on October 5, 2014
Alice stands facing the door, her hand quivering the key to the lock. The weighty shawl of barely acknowledged memories shifts uncomfortably across her shoulders. Were her white linen and lace wish-memories usurping the real events that occurred in this place? Her mind tumbles, stumbles, hurtles backwards through blurred images, pitching and tilting through […]
Hide And Seek
Posted on October 5, 2014
Marli sits in the dark, her knees drawn up to her chin, her breath coming in short sharp bursts. She is certain he can hear her heart beating; it’s hammering so loudly that her ears are reverberating. Her chest aches from where her knees are squeezed in tight by her arms. She makes herself as […]
Rotting Fruit
Posted on October 4, 2014
Like rotting fruit she hung from the branches of the tree. Arms aching, tear-stained face, knees scraped. How long had she hung there? She had run, the gang of kids behind her, laughing, taunting, cruel adult-child voices rising in derision.
Asha Rajan 