This was my first published work of fiction, written just before I graduated from uni. I wrote it in about an hour and entered it in the Women’s Words Competition run by the university union. Needless to say, it didn’t win.
Yesterday, my lover left
in a fit of calm before a tableau of too many words left said—best in the shadowy space of unexplored truths—a trousseau of deceit and subterfuge and niggling little things that all of a sudden translate into failure. And little else left silent and secret and precious. Continue reading