“There’s sharks in the river!” screamed Ray.
Our elders set out to kill them, men and women. No one returned.
The army tried next. They dynamited everything, then drained the river. There wasn’t a shark or a villager in sight.
“I lied,” confessed Ray.
“So did our parents,” I replied.
Thank you for reading
Richard
–
Photo by Wynand Uys on Unsplash
She made sweeping changes, everything from burning the curtains to killing the cat. The outside faired no better. She had the garden walls knocked down, the fountain plugged, even the old willow tree hacked to pieces. She did all this with a smile on her face and an unwaveringly airy disposition. Next, came me.
She made sure I saw everything, every last detail. She stood there bold as brass, hands on her hips and announced in a voice so sick as to be sweet exactly who she was, this woman who’d bought it all, my business, my home, myself.
“I’m your half-sister,” she purred.
“Half-sister!”
“Uh-huh. The worst half.”
Father had never said a word, and now he never would, after all, she’d disposed of him first. Apparently, it hurt less than the cat, and on the plus side, saved me a job.
Thank you for reading
Richard
Author’s Note
In my usual ‘I can never have enough writing apps way’ today I tested — hence the title — out an app that is also a website. I’d never heard of it so didn’t have great expectations. The idea is, you write something, anything, from a poem to a story, click analyse, and it tells you which literary great your writing is most like. I quickly wrote the below to test it out, so please forgive any mistakes. The great thing was, it worked. I was very pleased to be compared to Ursula K. Le Guin and Neil Gaiman on something longer that I can’t share yet. For those who are curious, the app is called ‘I Write Like‘ and is available to download and use online. Hope you enjoy it if you do.
Richard
There was never so much to worry over than this. For every man, woman and child in the arena, a beast licked a lascivious tongue. For every dream, there was an equal nightmare. I knew. I was one of them.
The lion-man roared a defiance, one great club of a paw sweeping his children towards him. The she-unicorns lowered their heads beside this king of a false jungle as an impenetrable rack of thorns. The snake-men hissed. Banshees screeched. We, by which mostly I mean I, remained unmoved.
The signal came and went, for we had already fallen upon those unfortunate almost-men and women. They never stood a chance. When the carnage settled, he spoke.
“I did not make them, thus, they were unmade.”
He said nothing else, not a word.
God shrunk in my eyes at that moment. His golden radiance dimmed, whilst his demeanour flowed from becalmed to vitriolic tempest. This was the change, the signal, the call we’d heed. The question would become, was our God ready for us?
Thank you for reading
Richard
PS Unfortunately, I have absolutely no connection to the above app or website, though if they’d wish to pay me a very large sum of money or gold for mentioning them, I’d happily take it. ;p
It was an unfortunate situation, she and I, an overlong affair. We had our good times, or hours, or first moments, which were longer than most. I should have counted myself lucky, really. Honestly, I should. But I didn’t, and neither did she. Shame! After all, she was my mother.
Thank you for reading
Richard
Unsatisfactory, these moments,
these supposed snowflakes of bliss.
differing as they swirl before me,
never once the same.
They tease at the ground as though coating
before endlessly melting away,
a perpetual circle of almost,
promises lost in a kiss.
If forever can hear me
and eternity has something to say,
I wish they’d speak a bit clearer
like the snowflakes that tumble my way.
This obsession with winter
is now all I believe,
as the cherry blossoms distract imagination
with springtime promises.
For the summer shall never venture,
nor even attempt to loosen mind’s strings
whilst still this ‘almost’ persists.
I am lost in it. I am done with it.
Lost in false tranquility, I’ll remain.
Thank you for reading
Richard
The empty mirror hurt his eyes.
Thank you for reading
Richard
Image courtesy Zoltan Taso on Unsplash
A thin veil of mist delays the dawn. The stars sense it, blazing a trillion semi-permanent goodbyes. Glitter applied to the night, a decorative destiny, the bats fly higher as the swallows awaken, but neither feels fulfilled. A familiar feeling, one I’ve known far too long.
I love these moments, these hints of the beyond. My own private purgatory without having to suffer the indignity of demise, I inhale the damp air, laugh as it laps at my lungs, imagine the soil above me. Somewhere, a barren soul remains as arid as ever.
The spiders have the right idea, hanging their nets to capture the moment. They toil in relentless circles, the dew doing nothing to dampen their spirits. If spiders have spirits, that is? I really ought to know.
A blood-red sun emerges like a sliced tomato atop a decaying salad. This distant giant pulses through the clouds, pours through the mists and fruits in tangerine as a dispelled dawn. My grey nowhere is gone.
I hide in the shadow of an ancient oak. Well, ancient compared to most, anyway. Here, where night’s shawl lingers in a cool kiss, I observe the sparkling gold between the leaves. Like drifting embers, I think. Like the world’s burning. But burning isn’t my job. Never has been. That’s for someone else entirely.
The first arrives later than usual after most people have had their coffees and lunch. She is followed by more, a steady procession of once life. I greet them with a sickle smile and a hollow hello. This is the best I can muster. I try, though. Really, I do.
The rest of the daylight hours are busy, bordering on suicidal. I manage them as I always have, with grim determination.
There is no respite at night, if anything, it’s worse. It’s like they await obsidian in the same way I do grey, intensifying their efforts at self-persecution, war, murder, capitulation. But who am I to judge, as that’s the job of another. Who am I? Yet, I do. This is what they’ve made me. Me! This is what I’ve become.
Dawn, and all is still. I breathe in every peaceful moment whilst the night dwellers tuck themselves in to sleep and the day roamers rub their eyes. I wish I could stay here forever, stood between the sun and the stars.
The tears pool in my amphitheatre caverns.
I am the one you all must meet. I am the darkness glimpsed through the mist. If you hear me, you’re elsewhere. If you see me, you’ve arrived. I will welcome you as best I can, but the truth is, I couldn’t care less.
Yours forever.
Death.
Thank you for reading
Richard
Lost in moonlit moments, we walked along the creaking pier, as wicked surf stripped the ancient wood of yesteryear’s memories.
“We’re ocean bound,” I called to a nosey seagull. He cawed a warning, one we chose to ignore.
We held each other as we drowned, no longer lost, just smiling.
—
Thank you for reading
Richard
Green and blue
Blue and green
The colour of
This perfect dream
A gentle window
Born of stars
Don’t ruin this
For yours and ours
—
Blue and green
Green and blue
The colour of
This perfect view
A blessed bauble
Amidst the night
A wondrous gift
Keep Gaia right
Richard M. Ankers - Storybook 
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