Tracks, a short story : Part 2

Now everything is silent. My whole body feels as if it belongs to somebody else. I am disconnected, my senses feel short-circuited. As I open my eyes it seems to make no difference. There is still no vision, all is black.

The heaviest silence that I have ever experienced is also surrounding me, and I feel as if I am floating. The one sense that seems to be functioning is smell. There is a strong smell of, something. I am having trouble putting my finger on it. It is earthy, moist, dead.

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Tracks, a short story : Part 1

It was a joyous feeling, knowing that you were the first one to pass this way. There were no tracks to be seen. He had been walking for a while now, and even though the snow was fairly fresh he would have thought that somebody would have been this way by now.

He wasn’t an early bird, although he often wished he was, and it was already 10 am. Usually another walker or jogger would have been here before now. But, no, there were no prints of any kind, neither human nor animal.

The forest path ran straight off into the distance and he loved the feeling it gave him. It was as if he could see into the future and gain comfort that he knew that everything was going to be OK.

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Burning the Past : a story

I put tulips under all the pillows, and then I set fire to the house. It was a ritual that I had often dreamt of, symbols of the love I once had for this place. But that feeling seems old now, a burnt flower is already where my heart used to be. The happy times are like a movie reel playing through my mind and I no longer feel any connection to them as real events.

Crouched down the street I watch with fascination as the fire takes hold, spreading from room to room, slowly consuming the whole place. I want to watch for as long as possible, to make sure the job is done. If I see this place reduced to ashes perhaps the ashes inside me could finally be cleared away.

A girl is walking along the street and she stops directly in front of my position. She seems to sense something is wrong, and she casts her eyes around searching for whatever her instincts have alerted her to. Why did someone have to come along? Couldn’t I just have a few moments alone to enjoy this?

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Hidden Within: Short Story

Wandering the streets, searching for some different images to capture. I have walked this way so many times, that it seems pointless. Then I realise that I have never stopped for any length of time here. It is such a weird and wonderful image, how could that even be possible? So one day I did, I took the time to take it in, not just to make an image, but also to let my imagination wander. What could this be? What alternative purpose could it serve? In another world, or perhaps in this one? And, so, a story began…

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Why We Read Fiction

It can be an addiction for some, and for those it can be hard to understand the aversion that others seem to hold for it. Many people fall somewhere between these two extremes, most people do it in some form. But, why do we read stories?

Many people say reading fiction is an escape. Going into another world, which is different to our own. Is our own world so bad? For some it is and therefore books must seem like a raft taking them to safety. Most of us have a fairly comfortable life, but with comfort often comes monotony, then we are searching for the different. That could mean magical worlds filled with mythical beasts, or it could simply involve being transported to distant lands that we wish we could visit.

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