Apple Pie – For some, eating apple pie quietly on a weekend wasn’t something special. But for Jasime, it was. (Genre – General, Rating – 12, Warning – Hints at childhood trauma)
Jasmine curled up on the sofa, cradling her warm apple pie and ben and jerries. She could just about hold the bowl and keep the blanket on her shoulders, her hands peeking out from beneath the warmth to hold the bowl and spoon.
The flat was eerily quiet tonight. The only noise came from the gentle mellow songs that echoed from her phone’s speaker, quiet enough to not disturb the neighbours but loud enough to stop her mind creating horrors in the shadows.
Indifference – the worst kind of pain comes from the indifference of those who should care (Rating: PG, Genre – General,)
Pain does not disappear if you don’t look at it.
You can look away, you can look towards happy things. You can force yourself to focus on the good, the great, the brilliant.
But it still hurts, just a little. The little twinge at the edge of your mind which reaches round the corners of your conscious thought and feeds the ache that you realise something is missing.
Natalie would listen to the rain to find comfort. (Genre – General, Genre – Angst, Warnings – death, aging, Rating – 12)
Natalie enjoyed listening to the rain hammering against the conservatory roof.
The carers here would complain that she would catch a chill, and wrap her up in blankets to keep her warm. It was cold in here, it bit deep into her bones easily, her thin skin barely keeping her bones protected now. The rings on her fingers, hers and Ben’s, were cold as well.
But the cold was a reminder, it was a sharp, painful, reminder that she still lived with every rattling breath. It was like waiting in God’s waiting room, waiting to die.
Casey writes to move forward with her thoughts, and her life (Genre – General, Genre – Introspective, Universe – Diary of Casey Macford, Rating – 12)
Anger is a good emotion, a strong emotion. It is an emotion which comes from wanting to fight back against the world, a person, a situation. It is vibrant reds and oranges, it is pure brilliant white like the heat of a forge.
Anger shapes you, if you’re not careful. It is so hot, so loud, that it can warp you into something new, something worse. You can’t hear the other emotions when anger is roaring through you, it’s harder to see the happiness, the calmness, the love in the world around you.
Lydia always took her coffee from the same Barista. And every time she tried not to notice how much she liked him (Genre – Romance, Genre – General, Rating – PG)
“One flat white for you, Ma’am,”
“It’s Lydia,” Lydia replied, biting her lip as she forced herself to look at the handsome barista, Chris.
“Lydia,” Chris replied. Her name on his voice sounded like a breath of fresh air.
“Thanks, Chris,” Lydia said, smiling at Chris, as she took her coffee and retreated to her normal corner of the café.
They played this routine every weekend. Every Saturday, Lydia would come in and order her flat white with a flapjack bar on the side, and every Saturday Chris would make sure it was he who served her. It wasn’t a thing, more like an almost thing, something that was just starting to develop into a thing.
Heather and Jacob sat in the Bank holiday traffic, wanting to get to their holiday destination (Genre – General, Genre – Romance, Rating – PG)
“Can we please change the radio?” Heather asked, reaching towards the radio dial.
“Hey,” Jacob said, swatting away Heather’s hand, “my turn for the tunes. That’s what we agreed.”
“I know,” Heather grumbled, glaring at the radio, “but I hate this song.”
“You said it was your favourite song?” Jacob said.
“I’ve listened to it too many times,” Heather groaned. It was one of those songs that you had to have a break from for a bit. Like a few months. Maybe a year.
Ele did not mourn like everyone else. She simply waited for the text to come in. (Genre – Sci fi, Rating – 15, Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, Death).
Ele sat staring at her phone, waiting for the text to come in.
Around her, chaos reigned. Her parents, the rulers of their Sector, had been murdered in the night. Somehow, someone had managed to get past the security perimeter. Already, the news was breaking across the Sector, screams rose from the streets as the populace began to fear for their very safety. Who had killed their protectors? Who had killed the very people that were supposed to keep them safe? There were rumours that the Tenth Sector down south had a hand in it, but they were off destroying their own uprisings. Some even suggested that it was Peoe, the Second in Command who would now take executive powers to try and smooth over the power vacuum. There was nothing more dangerous in this world than the lack of power. It was bad enough that there were no resources, no food, and barely any space left on the tiny floating raft which kept them alive.
“It’s so awful,” Ele’s nurse, Jacque said, crying to himself. She let him cry, offering no words of support.
Smoking Remnants – Ia watches as her village burns, wanting to seek revenge (Rating: 12, Genre – Fantasy, Genre – Sci Fi, Genre – Action)
Ia looked down on the smoking remains of their village. Even from up here, in the safety of the mountains, she could taste the ash on the air. The anger inside her was deep, she had warned the council that the humans were advancing across their borders and yet they did nothing.
The Morning After – It had been a turbulent night. Both for literal and metaphorical reasons. It meant that Helen liked to take a moment to consider where her life was at. (Genre – General, Rating – 15, Warnings: Language)
Helen picked up the glasses from the night before, washing them with a methodical manner which was almost soothing to her cracking hangover.
It was just wine. Wine and a bit of fun. Nothing more.
James was still upstairs, in bed. Helen wasn’t sure what this made them now. She didn’t really want to think about it.
Shadows – There are parts of your mind that you do not look into. For those shadows hold secrets, and those secrets are fear. (Genre – General, Rating – 12, Warnings – trauma)
Trauma cannot be contained by mere words.
It is deep, a deep instilling memory that is burned onto the back of your mind. It lies in wait, like a shadow, waiting for you to notice it.
And when you do? When you do notice it?