He was her rock. I’ve always thought that was an odd thing to say about someone. To me, a rock is an object that is hard to move, especially if it’s the size of a human. Does that mean he was always firm with her, never backing down, and that somehow that gave her strength to stand by her own decisions and opinions? Or maybe it just means he was steadfast and true. That’s what I’d like to think. Don’t you think a rock sounds very masculine? Certainly not delicate and feminine

Bonn slumped in the airseat, head held low. “I didn’t mean to cause worry. You and Puter are so wonderful to me. Without you I would have never survived here. But I am the only one, I am alone. I-I-I am matchless!” Mother blinked gently. “My boy, you are carbon-based, as are all animals and plants on this planet. I understand you want to know someone like yourself. Cuddles is your constant companion; this is good. I am delving into how to reconstruct your especial

It was freezing. Cynthia pulled her jacket around her neck. She scrunched her neck down into the collar like a bird scrunches into its feathers. If she breathes into her collar then that freezing air won’t get into her lungs and make her cough. God how she hated this winter. Her unknown companions stood around the bus-stop vaping. What is it with these people she thought. Can’t they stop this ridiculous habit. The sickly-sweet chemical smell of their vapes wafted into the bus

Testing his pulse, feeling his breath, wind in his hair, on his face. Blinking, shaking his head to make sure this isn’t some dream and he will wake. He runs the blade across his palm just before it draws blood. Musingly “Yep, feel that”. He lifts his head to the darkening sky; suns sitting on his horizon, blankets of stars begin to shine. Through tears “I KNOW!!! I am alonnnneeee” he bellows to the stars. Cuddles joins his guttural cry. The scream of melancholy echoes

Us women who have danced on earth with nimble feet now curled who have buried untold pain with sturdy bones now brittle who have cradled life with welcoming hearts now timid Us women are the tally of our trials the sum of our scars the wealth of our words the measure of our memories the scale of our strengths the heft of our hearts

We’re trying something new, the other half and I. He bought a guitar, I got out my mandolin. Alone, we sound just fine Our tunes when matched Are out of kilter Peeling decking prepped for paint Same tin, the perfect match But new-spread patches darkly smooth Weathered layers in faded shades Match my skills to job requirements They’re such a perfect fit But apparently I’ve weathered: They want fresh paint If all the warehouses Of crippled dreams Should accidentally burn

‘Do you know this man?’ ‘Know?’ Her eyes open wide, and her fingertips touch her sternum in affronted shock. The man indicated raises an eyebrow at her. ‘Why, I’ve known you since you were born, and Mary knotted the lace for your christening gown. Of course you know me!’ She turns to him, a stiffened pillar of moral indignation. ‘Why, Sir, were one to play fast and loose with language, one might carelessly term an acquaintance, even a family friend, as such. However, on

Ashera looked over at her husband. Oh, for goodness sake I wish he’d cut his hair and beard. It doesn’t suit him and he looks messy. What is he trying to prove? Is he trying to look younger…or eternal even? He looked across at her and said ‘What?’ ‘Can you cut your beard and hair please?’ ‘No people like it like that. It’s what they expect.’ ‘Shouldn’t you be wanting to maybe do what I like for once?’ He stared at her, not understanding. It wasn’t about her. It was

Wandering aimlessly through purple grass fields, a flutter of blue bow butterflies float around his legs resettling onto nectar grasses. He usually bouncers fast and wide across the valleys, grasping the wonder of landscapes, but today is a lazy wander with Cuddles plodding and grumbling softly beside him offering gruff short moos and cat-style purrs. Being unique here, Bonn tries to assimilate with nature; to tie himself to the ebb and flow of this valley, pulse of the lan