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He enticed her with the mention of a pony: woodland stables, carrots and sugar lumps. Hand in hand they walked away, the CCTV losing them the second he ensnared her up the lonely path. She’d always wanted a pony.

Posted By Laura On 02.11.2012 @ 2:49 am

It was odd seeing him like this; secured, sedated, serene. They say he butchered twelve women in all, one had been found in the chest freezer with the fish fingers and peas. My Son. I picture him aged seven, in the garden, pulling the wings off a cabbage white butterfly.

Posted By Laura On 02.09.2012 @ 4:17 am

The walls of the old aching house mirrored her cracked, tired face. A million memories squashed inside this living room. The carpet stain under the sofa, the school photos of her three peas in a pod, the mix of collected treasures from decades ago; they all whispered their stories.

Posted By Laura On 02.08.2012 @ 12:15 am

A window to a different point of view. Giving emotions without seeing a face, hearing a voice or watching body language. Documenting life and history as it is. Simple.

Posted By Laura On 02.05.2012 @ 3:26 pm

Holy . . . cow

Posted By laura On 02.05.2012 @ 7:49 am

An overused adjective to describe everything from the spartans of 300 to the lamest of dubstep mixes. A word originally meant to impart the awe of generations but is now diminished to the “wisdom” of your average 14-year-old with an internet connection.

Posted By Laura On 02.02.2012 @ 6:45 pm

Her plans were quite simple. She would make sure that she was the most attractive and sensual woman there.

Posted By Laura On 01.24.2012 @ 11:47 pm

If only he could rip down the fences; he’s have such a better view of her window. He watched her undress and then dry herself after her shower, she had no idea he was there.

Posted By Laura On 01.23.2012 @ 12:26 am

Liberty Belle, legs akimbo and fat breasts, riddled his internet browsing history and wet dreams.

Posted By Laura On 01.19.2012 @ 2:38 am

He watched her walk down the runway, perfection in a yellow transprent dress. Striking, beautiful, long legged angel. Flyaway red hair and vacant eyes.

Posted By Laura On 01.21.2012 @ 7:17 am

I cover my ears and cower underneath my duvet. He’s home and, of course, drunk. I hear the low rumblings of his bellows, tinged with hysteria. I hear utter silence from my Mum. She knows better than to disgree with him; she’s still black and blue from the last time.

Posted By Laura On 01.16.2012 @ 11:23 pm

It was always the same. I’ve been having this dream since being a little girl. There’s a masked man in the centre of the room playing an accordion. The music gets faster and faster and I’m running around him in a circle. He laughs. Then the walls close in until I can’t move any more. That’s when I wake up.

Posted By Laura On 01.16.2012 @ 5:22 am

Tears trickled down her bland face. Oh she was good, very good. The best I had seen. But something remained to give her away, to whisper her darkest secret. There was one thing that her favourite mask could not conceal and that was how dead her eyes were.

Posted By Laura On 01.13.2012 @ 7:36 am

primitive, mean, ruthless, dirty, grime, harsh, survival, fearce, old, fight, indian

Posted By Laura On 01.09.2012 @ 5:00 pm

A dozen red roses on my doorstep. No card. Though I didn’t need one. I knew who they were from. My heart froze. He’d found me. Again.

Posted By Laura On 01.07.2012 @ 11:04 am

How can the apron strings be cut when they were never tied in the first place? I have my own children now and love them in an all consuming way. I understand my Mother less as the years go by.

Posted By Laura On 01.06.2012 @ 12:52 am

A rose between two thorns. The thorns shifting, turning, scratching, cutting, making her bleed. She would have to choose one of them eventually. The days were becoming longer and the nights were choking her.

Posted By Laura On 01.05.2012 @ 12:22 am

And then the police found her, bagged and taped in the trunk of his car. Mrs. Hall failed to understand at first and clapped her hands together. They had to explain that her daughter was very much dead.

Posted By Laura On 01.03.2012 @ 10:39 pm

Trunk of a car. Trunk of a tree. Elephant trunk. Trunk of a body.

Someone housed in a trunk kidnapped. A child swinging in the trunk of a tree. Out of time!

Posted By Laura On 01.03.2012 @ 3:13 pm

The champagne flutes clinked together, spilling fizz on to the cream carpet. It was New Years Eve and bodies were packed closely together.

Posted By Laura On 01.03.2012 @ 5:26 am

The glimmer of her red lipstick distracted him. He had stopped listening to her about 30 seconds ago, he just watched her sultry lips and wondered when he could kiss them.

Posted By Laura On 01.02.2012 @ 3:57 am

And then the estate would belong to her, finally. Just as long as they didn’t find Papa, buried underneath the new fish pond.

Posted By Laura On 01.01.2012 @ 7:59 am

This reminds me of my pap. He loved cowboys and he loved us. I miss him in little ways everyday. I hope he’s found peace.

Posted By Laura On 12.29.2011 @ 11:20 am

Dry, dusty, Barren. But life is hidden within. Beautiful sometimes. Blooms in surprise.

Posted By Laura On 12.29.2011 @ 9:55 am

As the thunder startled the horse, she let go, allowing the crazed animal to gallop into the stormy night. Lightning illuminated her beauty for a second, her pale skin and sharp fangs.

Posted By Laura On 12.20.2011 @ 7:04 am

She traced the deep scar across his cheek, the skin felt so different there that she almost pulled away. She tentatively rested the palm of her hand, covering the scar, protecting him. Leaning, her lips met his. Rousing him from sleep, his tongue found hers and kissed her deeply.

Posted By Laura On 12.19.2011 @ 4:24 am

it’s a tiny dark spot on your tomato. you want to get rid of it but it’s too late, it’s already been bruised. you’re bruised, with tiny blemishes all over your skin. you try to get rid of them but it never works and all you’re left with is disappointment. this is what you feel and how you will always feel.

Posted By laura On 12.16.2011 @ 11:43 pm

Flawless. Not a fault. Not a blemish. Not a hair out of place. I ached to see her messy one day, without perfectly applied cosmetics and the superior glare dead from her mascara eyes.

Posted By Laura On 12.16.2011 @ 12:44 pm

It just wasn’t like the films; she’d never be a Disney princess.

Posted By Laura On 12.13.2011 @ 1:30 am

His fingers stroked her crimson gown, the urge to pull at the restrictive corset made his head swim. He had to taste her coquettish scarlet lips.

Posted By Laura On 12.12.2011 @ 2:47 am