Amalie watched the speaker for some time. The burn of static had stripped the paint from the speaker where it had embered, the wooden cabinet below left greyed with atrophy as it had died. She had seen the static; she had almost brought it into her station. Frantically the station operator began checking the receiver … Continue reading A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 5
Tag: short fiction
🪔 Lundra: The Falling Rain – Part 1
It was raining. It had always rained in Lundra. Chroniclers, distracted by the steady drip of untraceable leaks, would be heard throughout the annals of time, crying out in lament as another drenched manuscript lay ruined and in the need of redrafting. Water in the inkwell, again; damp settling into the air and turning important … Continue reading 🪔 Lundra: The Falling Rain – Part 1
The Copperpot Inn: A Forgetful Friar
The Friar loved the wavering nature of day. Sweeping sunsets so expansive that they spill from the edges of their easel. A skyline so basked in resplendent orange that no man or god could prepare a sonnet to fully describe its lustre. The fading light that swells with the passion of fire and then solemnly … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: A Forgetful Friar
A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 4
Amalie…Amalie! Light returned in a concussion of noise, confused vision crackling to life behind tired eyelids. The wavering talk of people close by was muffled and made Amelie feel as though among friends. There was laughter; smells of lamp oil and frying fat intertwined with the humid air; a vague sweetness settled underneath her awakening … Continue reading A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 4
A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 3
The Port was a small cut of land. A single street of roughly hewn timber and dark tile. Brick chimneys lain on occasional rooftop and standing in contrast to a place built more from necessity than comfort. Lining the snow-covered road where a row of steps, haggard and worn. They lead into each house and … Continue reading A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 3
A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 2
She hadn't slept. A grey light washed its way onto the frigid shores of port as the fragmented voice still lingered just beyond the edges of static. Every radio was alive with noise, twelve channels open, the switch unattended and scanning freely. Every patch bay was full, every speaker had been plugged in and was … Continue reading A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 2
The Copperpot Inn: As a Candle Burns Low
The night was new. Velvet had rolled across the sky as the flicker of candles filled the hills with a light that felt as though it had drawn a breath of quietude. The ambling valley of Huxley-shire seemed to be cradled by this night; a purple shade of memory that lingered upon the silver lined … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: As a Candle Burns Low
A Place of Fog and Morning: Part 1
The echo of static, noise, light. And so, it was as it had ever been. A quiet town that had forgotten that sun lay below as dark clouds coiled endlessly across the coastline. A heavy grey seafoam lapped against the wood covered beach in languid pall as the grey rock of the harbour stood next to … Continue reading A Place of Fog and Morning: Part 1
The Copperpot Inn: On Millers and Highwaymen
Two friends sat by a flour cart in a dampened glade of hanging willow and watched as the distant sun made its way for the lantern of the moon. The day became warm as the rain slackened, and a soft light now filtered down into the grassland, moving about the shadows gently as if it … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: On Millers and Highwaymen
The Copperpot Inn: A Tax-collector Approaches part 3
A small scream was barely audible over the heavy tumble of the rain that fell in puddles upon the farmstead of the Dryfords. It was a laughing scream, an oscillating wail of such conflicted emotion that many ears would have scarcely believed it to have come from the small rat clutched in the talons of … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: A Tax-collector Approaches part 3
Sunday Short Stories 