brownos

She drove. She knew her escape would not go unnoticed. Not for long anyway. Her face felt as though it was being blitzed by a barrage of hot sandy air. Despite its velocity it seemed stagnant. Dead. Maybe the ability to move is not a sure sign of life: the faster you move the faster you die. Speed may mean freedom of the soul. But the soul only becomes free after it is spared the burden of its body. Sign posts flashed by too fast to read. The names were unfamiliar dusty shapes. Not that she could read. She used to be able to. But that was before… Twelve years without books. Almost 5 years without daylight. She could barely be considere

The clock struck twelve. The cracked bell chimed. The shrill yell of a young cat like child perforated the night's dignity. Footsteps quickened. Panting. Is that an echo? No. It's the sound of pursuit. The sound of death approaching. Too fast. Too melodic. Yet also too slow. The child's face is rocked with horror. Her features frozen in a moment of petrifying. She can run. She can hide. But she will die. Alone. Defiled. And empty.

Lobster lady Seats rattled. Heads lolled like ears of corn on a blustery summer evening. Wilting in the heat. All eyes shut. Occasionally snapping open during frequent attacks of severe turbulence. So bad you feel like the bus has lost a wheel and you are about to lose your lunch. The bus remorselessly ploughed on. Not that I was aware of any of this. Only Id took any notice. No. That is not quite true. The eye opening jolts from the bumpy road afforded me fleeting glimpses of reality. Glimpses of the obscure. Dreams of waterfalls and monkeys. Watermonkeys. Monkeyfalls. The previous night had only ended at 6.30 am. Now, at 9 am my thighs wer