Emily Herbert, fresh journalism graduate and sweetly earnest, like some sort of pound puppy. Beach bummer, sarcasm touter, sangria slurper, sleep monster and generally a delightful, confused human being.
Category Archives: Short Stories
A few little wordlings that have sprung out of the compost heap that is my brain.
The heart, is an organ on fire.
He heard that terrible keening, like a creature writhing in the air a bleating undercurrent that rattled the very motes in the air. The hairs on his earth brown hands stood. Damn foxes, he thought. They had been into his … Continue reading →
The mermaid.
He ran his blunt fingers through thinning hair and watched the deadened waves roll over each others in their hurry to break against the sand, fragments of shell and crunched driftwood adding to the tumult. The storm had been unlike … Continue reading →
The love.
they floated on colour, streaks cracking the sky open so the delicious vibrancy bled through, stinging their eyes and their mouths with it’s warmth. below them lay the parched earth, arms spread wide. her scalp gleamed clean, its gentle pallor … Continue reading →
Roll the dice.
She had cropped hair that was meant to give her an angry look but only succeeded in making her look even smaller. Eyes smudged to the cheekbones with kohl she had a fine spray of mascara on her nose like … Continue reading →
Revolting coffee bought on impulse.
so there was a small man who answered to garth who frequented laundromats and the like to sit amongst lavender scented mounds of material and think thinks. he was small in stature and small in thinks, who relished his triangular … Continue reading →
And thats when she inhaled the peanut!
brigid was a typical child in many respects. she despised brusell sprouts and spelling quizes, bed time curfews and the oh so loathsome baths. brigid chewed with her mouth open and picked her nose in public, and often when requested … Continue reading →
