I remember the first time I learned that people died. The first time that I considered how our skin yielded to the ravages of time, and our eyes popped from our skulls to be devoured by small maggots and all manner of tiny things with many legs. I was sat on the floor, tucked beneath the ironing board, as my mother flattened the creases from clothes in a compassionate act of steam and warmth, placing them eventually, neatly folded, on the white leather sofa. In the years which would follow, the sofa would become brown and the woman conducting the ironing would change, but this had very little to do with death in the literal sense. More to the point and perhaps more disturbingly, I would also became too large to fit underneath the ironing board and would spend most of my time instead sneaking crisps into the pocket of my dressing gown, so that I could eat them in my bedroom without fear of judgement, or indeed fear of human interaction. Continue reading “(Un)Familiar”

Pigeons Wear Top Hats

The corpulent pigeon landed upon a telegraph pole and surveyed the surrounding area. To the very edge of the horizon, where the distant hills met the purple clouds, the land was covered in snow- all white and cold and irritating. The pigeon scratched his eyeball with his left foot, having lost the toes on the right one in the great peanut battle of ’86, and thought about his strategy for the evening. The great, boring wintry nature of winter had attempted to scupper his plans, but as far as he could see there were no mice or men shuffling about on the sidelines, there instead was just a pigeon with a manky foot and intense dreams of Christmas dinner. Nothing could possibly annihilate his proposal! Nothing. Continue reading “Pigeons Wear Top Hats”

The Fourth Blog

I am sat on the stairs. The carpet adorning the steps below me is of a dark green colour, punctuated by amber diamonds, heavy in contrast to the lime green of the walls. Upon these walls there are many framed images; wedding photos of eight years past. Photos of a bride and groom, of bridesmaids and family, and friends. There is no photo of me. I am the singular image of myself, sat upon the dark green stairs in the lime green hallway. Continue reading “The Fourth Blog”