A Decade Short: Stories

Her face left vapour trails every time I think of her, eyes shut, then out of the darkness comes her.   I’m in love. The closest to love I’ve felt in years, the love people say is a myth out of countless attempts at trying and failing.   I swear if I had her in my arms right now I’m squeeze her so damn hard that she’d have no other choice but to kiss me.   It’s a painful love.   The love that grips you and tells you your life has been wrong up to this point, love that alters your perception and all your better inhabitations.   I’m wrong and I’m so happy to be wrong. The worst part is? I’ve never even met her.   It started out when I was walking home, looking at my feet crossing each other, seeing the yellows of the streetlights take over the street.   The moon three times its normal size.   It was a night.   I walk down this garden and it goes on forever, it must’ve been trespassing I swear. Anyway, there are cobwebs all over the place and each one seems ot be lit with blue light from

Lazarus Bethany hated his home. All the houses looked old and every fence outside them had wood that was rotten.   He would often play with the fences, picking apart their fibres. Each flake would snap and partially crumble in his fingers. ‘It’s a piece of rubbish’ he thought. He hated anything old. Old wasn’t interesting, old just was there, like a little sister that wouldn’t ever go away. Old was annoying.    That was until his Mum had to move house.   As soon as he got to his new neighbourhood he missed Old, the rotten fences and the old houses, the familiar smell of musk and damp.   He quickly sought out anything old, filling his room full of old books that smelled and had yellow pages, old dusty guitars that wouldn’t keep tune, old rusted tins that had pictures, ones that had once had biscuits, and some that were so small he didn’t even know what they could be used for. His new house was the only thing he liked, it was old. As it’s already known, Lazarus liked old things.   There