I’ve been writing quite a few short stories of late and I thought, given it’s been a while between posts, that I’d share a few lines from them….

He realised he was telling himself the same thing he told his patients. Grief was no more than an addiction you had to let go of.

His crying woke me up in the middle of the night. I went to wake Mummy to try and tell her, but she was too asleep. The man was standing in the backyard, crying and singing, but his singing sounded a lot like moaning. I heard the word Allah again and wondered if he wanted his God.

Melissa saw Josie Miller’s smiling face inside her head. She seemed so nice, so happy; until she came to this place. Now Melissa would join her in madness.

The cries were a symphony to Doctor Edgar Harding, a howling song that struck the soul with the certainty of a tuning fork.

The witches visited her more frequently, sometimes three times a night. The women were little more than shadows, their gowns loose shrouds barely keeping their dark souls together. 

Share some lines from your work (or works) in progress in the comments. 🙂