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Weekly Contest #276
Contains sensitive content relating to mental health & abuse. On paper, Edward was everything I wanted. Since then, I have rewritten, burned and sprinkled the ashes of that paper all over the very idea of “a type”. If a type can be flattened to paper, the likelihood is the embodied personality will be two-dimensional at best. At worst, they will be an Edward. We were set up by my parents, so I suppose there was a baseline level of trust that was unwarranted. For the most part, Mom and Dad had stayed far away from my love life but ...
Shortlisted for Contest #264 ⭐️
My sister and I always had wildly different approaches to love. Despite the neutrality of our upbringing, I found the role of hopeless romantic a natural fit. In contrast, Kate, ever needing to define herself from her older sister took up the mantle of the romantic sceptic. Our mother, a salt-of-the-earth woman who favoured practicality, made one odd exception for frivolity. She religiously enjoyed soap operas. Kate and I would return from school to pragmatic plates of jam sandwiches, baby carrots and soap operas playing in the backgrou...
Weekly Contest #262
The swallows dipped and dive-bombed, feathered pilots dog-fighting across a cloudless sky. My skin was sun-kissed, burnished gold in the unexpected July heatwave. This was England. Temperatures above 21 degrees Celsius were not something we understood. There was nothing to be done but spend the long days wearing a big hat and big glasses, posing by a turquoise pool in a motif reminiscent of Golden Age Hollywood. This glamourous visage was in fact staged in Surrey, in a corner of lush growth tucked away in the garden of England. The onl...
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