“Johnson’s become a liability.”
Intrigued, she carefully cracked open the cover, mindful of the brittle pages, so absorbed with her find that she never noticed the gently blown dust forming patterns in the air, or the increasing chill causing her skin to goose bump.
We’re alive, but not living, not really. We’re stuck in some endless play and can’t find our way from the stage.
Snow freezes, seeping into your bones, swallowing sensation and suppressing your instinct to survive.
When he woke in the woods in the dark and cold of night, he’d reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him.
A small, unacknowledged, part of your heart despises the serenity, welcomes its transience, eagerly awaits the coming chaos. Before the war, in the world-that-was, you despised the cold spread of adrenaline. Now you crave the exhilaration and terror of combat, the struggle to eke out one more moment of existence.
You perch on the side of an overturned Coles truck, carefully scanning the crumbling homes and weed-choked footpaths for any sign of movement. The air is oppressively still, the silence palpable. Almost painful. Your ears strain for any hint of life. You desire movement and you dread it.
The alleyway was damp and narrow. Slivers of sunlight filtered through drab stone buildings, creating shadowy alcoves, concealing the clandestine dealings of thieves and cutthroats.
How much can change in sixty seconds? An idea. A thought. A text received. A text answered. A life can end. A life can begin. A proposal – the beginning of a lifetime together. Perhaps the apocalypse could happen in sixty seconds.
I took a course at uni entitled Writing Apocalypse: Histories and Speculation. Our first assignment was to write a 500 word piece with the theme of ‘apocalypse’ inspired by, or in response to, our course readings and tutorial discussions. We were allowed to interpret the word ‘apocalypse’ rather broadly. This is my piece as it was submitted. Next week, I will re-post this piece incorporating the changes that were suggested by my marker. I recieved 76% for this assessment, but I personally feel like I should have scored much lower because I failed to convey to my marker that the piece was meant to be a person mourning a loved one killed after texting and driving, rather than a conventional apocalypse.
Magpies strut, did you know? They carry themselves with the arrogance of the snottiest aristocrat, prancing about as though the very ground beneath their feet was laid down with the sole purpose of them one day gracing it with their presence.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: Harry was known by many names throughout his life, but he always held to one constant. No matter what, he would do what was expected of him. Harry/Ginny; Harry/?.
Mama’s face lit up when she spied me through the old screen door. “Well hello there, Sugar.” She said. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” “Hello Mama.” I replied. “May I come in?”
Terry waited for Julie to pass before emerging from the shadows. “Hello, Michael.” he said coldly. “Terry! But you… you’re…”
Tick The room was quiet, oppressive. The sound of her own breathing filled her ears.