sliceoflemon



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    “Oh shit,” he says, eyes wide. And then, “oh fuck,” as he’s scooting backwards as quick as he can, “sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” because what else can you say when you realize, oh, that’s not just a version of your friend that your brain conjured up, that’s your actual friend, the anthropomorphic personification of dreams, in your actual dream. The dream where you’re naked and waiting for him to come be naked with you.

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    04 Oct 2022

  2. Public Bookmark 4

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    Apparently, this pain will fade! In time. So they tell you.

    But how long a life will you need to live that your throat will forget the graze of his fingertips? That your sleeping back will forget the press of his chest?

    They must never have felt a love so consuming, or else they would not lie to you about time and healing. Your wounds need more than time. They need him, and he is--

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    05 Sep 2021

  3. Public Bookmark 9

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    John watches the man on the black horse from the shadow of his porch, his broken-open shotgun slung over his shoulder. He’s undoubtedly a taxman, looking at the quality of his horse and the cut of his rich black coat, and no one else would be out here anyway - considering the acres and acres of desolate nothing in every direction.

    The light breeze picks up the dust from the fields and sends it hissing over the dry wood of the porch. The bone-dry corn stalks rustle and whisper in its wake.

    The man watches him, and he watches the man, until the clouds in the distance darken properly - an hour, maybe two, John doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. There’s a rumble of low and distant thunder. The man turns to look behind him at the rapidly gathering darkness, then turns back to John and spurs his horse forward.

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    (Prompt 18 - In the kitchen, Lams)

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    22 Oct 2020

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    13 Jul 2019

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    07 Jul 2019

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