The Geometry of Stars

terkthelastllamabender:

I finished the Season 3 finale of Warehouse 13 earlier and obviously I was flipping out and crying and all of that jazz.

Then I realized earlier in the episode Helena says “The last thing I want to see is the sky” when they were about to off her. And then she doesn’t get to see the sky when she dies. And now I’m sad again.

Well, fuck.

That just set me off again.

Reblogged 3 days ago from terkthelastllamabender 10 notes

Wine, an extract.

This one of the shorter pieces from ‘Songs for Emily’.

http://www.lulu.com/shop/joseph-stevenson/songs-for-emily/paperback/product-20116098.html

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The evening starts, as it always has done for Kate, with a glass of wine. A single, solitary glass full beyond sensible measure with a yellowish, almost clear poison. This was the norm for Kate ever since…

She shakes the thought clearly from her head. A sip and already she can feel her body unwinding; every muscle sighs in relief.

He left her. Others say it’s more complicated, but at the end of the day, that’s what it came down to – abandonment. Abandoned by the man she loved. No, the man she still loves. And each glass of wine is a testament to the effect he had on her life. Every drop of every bottle constituted a sacrifice in his honour.

Sat in her comfortable, worn red arm chair, Kate spins the glass in her hand with delicate fingers, imitating the sophisticates of all the films they’d watched together. Without another thought or any sense, she takes a swig; more than a swig – a gulp. The wine is gone in moments and she doesn’t feel that her beloved is satisfied. It doesn’t take long for the alcohol to rush through her head whilst standing up. Kate struggles towards the bottle, always put out of reach by her sensibilities – what little remained in those desperate times.

With so much alcohol available (and even more grief on tap) Kate doesn’t stand a chance and she knows it.

The glass is refilled, but then discarded, the bottle favoured instead. She begins to slowly dance with herself to their song, playing out loudly from the stereo speakers. To others, she would look like a mad woman, dancing alone with a bottle in her hand and sadness etched into every movement.

A photo is on display beside her chair – he looks out into the room smugly. In the photo they’re immortal and frozen in time. In that one, single moment, they can be young and happy forever. But now Kate is alone and haggard from nights like this. Tears have worn down Kate’s face like the rain carving out a cliff face.

Trembling hands clutch the photo frame, bring it close to her eyes as Kate takes another swig from the bottle and slows her dancing to a gentle, sombre sway. In the photo, they’re on holiday in France. It was the best month of her life; she was in love and full of life.

Those days are gone, and she knows it. Kate cries, spilling salty tears onto her wine bottle. The photo frame falls from her clutches as her hand surrenders by her side. Enraged and intoxicated with that same anger, she throws the bottle against the far wall, watching the glass splinter and fly in reaction. Wine drips down the wall. Kate, a bubbling cauldron of emotions, locks her front door and steps on a piece of glass, feeling it scratch at the flesh of her bare foot. This is the last straw and she finds the single solitary tear running down her cheek merely precedes a flood of many more. With her back against the wall, she slides down into a sitting position, a broken woman, sobbing drunkenly over the man who left her. The second glass of wine, poured and discarded, sits close by, not enough out of her reach. Kate takes the glass and sips the wine, her tears scattering across the surface. The evening ends, as always for Kate, with a glass of wine and a tear before bed.

# short story collection anthology songs for emily extract creative wrting book story

Posted 1 week ago