Entries By Libby
Displaying 1 To 30 Of 120 Entries
Bread. Hot out of the oven. It was perhaps the one smell I cherished the most. Nothing but the smell of a freshly-baked sourdough could bring back my memories of working at the bakery with John. John had definitely become my best friend in those years. Or something close to that.Posted By Libby On 03.29.2013 @ 2:36 pm
Now. A word that is a cue to do so many things. To say the words you have wanted to for years, plunge into the water you have been dreaming of swimming in for hours, or just say, “Now, its time to relax.” It’s a trigger for the guns that are our bodies. We have lightning fast actions and thoughts, and they all happen from hearing just one syllable.Posted By Libby On 12.26.2012 @ 8:08 pm
The scenes flashed past the window as the train relentlessly carried her toward her doom. First her beloved seaside scene gave way to intensely green trees and fields, populated by fat sheep, then the trees thickened into a wood and quite settled within the train. She waited.
Then she felt tense and her skin became clammy with fear as the trees gradually fell away to the reveal flat, red earth with rickety fences and underfed cattle. Her claustrophobia tightened. No water. Nothing green growing. Not even sand… just the hot, backed earth and sparse yellow grasses as far as the eye could see.
She began to cry quietly.Posted By Libby On 10.06.2012 @ 1:46 am
When I woke up, all I could see were the walls. Not just 4, like a normal room. There were hundreds surrounding me. It was the biggest room I’d ever seen. I was in there alone. I was petrified. On one wall, I spotted a door. I automatically ran towards this wall but it kept getting further and further away. Then a thought hit me, that scared me beyond belief. I was going to die here. Alone. Surrounded by the walls.Posted By Libby On 10.05.2012 @ 7:46 am
So many words, so many letters, names and instructions, swirling around in front of him into some kind of unholy soup of black ink. He’s frightened, trapped in the ballot box with nowhere to run to and everything to run from. He is unable to leave without voting, he must vote. He’s not allowed not to, his government won’t let him, but in spite of all the reasons he must, he just can’t make sense of the marks on the paper.
His dyslexia cripples him.Posted By Libby On 09.30.2012 @ 6:01 pm
It wasn’t that she had told an untruth. No. And it wasn’t that she had stood before her peers, those who believed they knew her to be a pure and honest beacon, and lied. No, indeed. The guilt, the sickening guilt, came from her father, who knew of her lie. In whose good opinion she was now blackened.
No trial could be greater for her, no mountain higher, than the loss of her father’s love.Posted By Libby On 09.21.2012 @ 7:57 pm
The letter was indeed as damning as he had been lead to believe, but as it concerned his son, the old man turned a kind of wilful blindness to it. He knew that it distressed his wife to see him denying what their child had become, and his daughter disapproved of both his behaviour and her brothers, but even their feelings could not persuade him to take the necessary steps to control his boy.
He could not bring himself to hate his only son and so he took the knife and blinded his common sense.Posted By Libby On 09.15.2012 @ 11:50 pm
The trees of steel and glass stretch up into the sky, penetrating the clouds and disrupting the path of aeroplanes… or, at least, that is what he thinks they must surely do, because he has never seen anything as enormous as these shiny, transparent towers. They dominate the city in a way a country boy could not understand and intrigue him in a way nothing has ever done before.
They are like human ant farms, the boy thinks.Posted By Libby On 09.11.2012 @ 8:51 pm
There was nothing binding about their friendship. There was nothing constant, or frequent, nothing that obliged her to be there when her friend wanted or required her to come when her friend called. No promises of eternal love had been made, or were ever likely to be… and yet… and yet, she could never fail her friend. The mere thought brought bile to her throat.
Perhaps they didn’t need to be welded together with passionate exclamations of their attachment. Perhaps from the first time they saw each other, they were simply bound.Posted By Libby On 09.10.2012 @ 6:11 pm
Everywhere he went, the presence of bubbles indicated he should be cautious when approaching. No place required this caution more than his sister’s spa. The nastiest, smelliest fish could be found there most afternoons, lazing about in the sunshine. His sister called the fish ‘Robbie’, but he was certain such a vile creature had no name. Every time his sister got close, the fish began to eat her face. He had tried to save her, but the fish just pushed him away. All he wanted was his sister back! He hated the nasty spa fish.Posted By Libby On 09.09.2012 @ 8:40 pm
The mother octopus flexes her tentacles, reaching out from the small cave she had chosen into the open sea. She unfurls her limbs, letting them swish gently in the current.
Then she feels a movement, and quick as lightning she is back in her cave, tense and waiting.Posted By Libby On 09.07.2012 @ 8:59 pm
He couldn’t quite manage to sustain the fear. Of course, unexpectedly having things appear in front of him was surprising, but the haunted house was just not scary enough for him to even pretend to quiver in fright. Severed heads had never bothered him, skeletons were commonplace in his line of work and clowns just never did if for him, despite their oversized shoes (which should frighten anyone).
His psychologist turned to him and he shook his head. Not this time either.Posted By Libby On 09.05.2012 @ 3:26 am
…and then The Miracle happened. It was small at first, but rapidly grew until it was a white-hot light, swallowing all the darkness and burning the long-fingered shadows, until nothing remained but their dusk on the cold concrete floor. It touched the souls of those around it, not purging exactly, but soothing away the fears and anxieties.
And in that moment, they knew it’s light would burn calmly in their eyes forevermore.Posted By Libby On 09.03.2012 @ 11:04 pm
Helene was intellectually dehydrated. Her mind felt prickly, scratchy, like that woollen jumper your grandmother made and your mother always insists you wear when she’s visiting but you hate because it itches.
She stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders, shook her head and cracked her knuckles, but the irritating, uncomfortable, niggle remained in her desert of a mind.Posted By Libby On 09.01.2012 @ 12:19 am
He was five when he first realised that Salvation was not an ordinary name for a little boy. He was seven by the time he fully grasped just how mental his parents must have been to name him something like Salvation. He was, amazingly, eleven by the first time Salvation caused him problems at school. For him, life just went downhill from there, until, at the age of thirty-four, he met her.
“You’re my Salvation,” she said. And he was undone.Posted By Libby On 08.30.2012 @ 2:47 am
He clips the magazine into his Kalashnikov. Taking a breath, he calms his nerves and turns his full attention back on the enemy. He has never met them – these enemies – yet for the Homeland, he will kill this other man, given even half a chance.
Out of the trench, across no-man’s land, into another trench, and there another man watches and waits. He too has a Kalashnikov and he too thinks of enemy he has never met. He too will kill for the Homeland.Posted By Libby On 08.28.2012 @ 10:36 pm
After fiddling with the keys for five minutes, she eventually managed to wrestle the door open, and nudged a box of books out of her way. The whole apartment was covered in stacks upon stacks of books, in every size, language and subject imaginable. She admitted freely and fully that she was somewhat of a hoarder when in came to the written word and glossy magazines, newspapers and binders full of printouts could also be seen scattered throughout the rooms of her apartment.Posted By Libby On 08.28.2012 @ 10:27 pm
Oh woe is you, poor unloved carbon. They look on you with loathing.
Oh woe is you, sad and shunned element. They turn their accusing minds to the task of removing your stain from this world.
Oh woe is you, desperately needed enemy. They are taught to abhor you.
Oh woe is you, poor reviled carbon. Why do they not see your diamonds?Posted By Libby On 08.27.2012 @ 12:35 am
The chain smoker shifted away from the crowd spreading from the crosswalk like a swarm. He always felt bad, puffing away on his fag, letting the smoke drift up into the air. So he stood in the corner, down the alley, close to a nameless concrete building, anywhere just to feel less poisonous.
Not far away, down the street or across the road, another man does exactly the same.Posted By Libby On 08.26.2012 @ 2:39 am
Rain beat down on the muddy field. A tractor lay on its side, the only feature in a barren landscape. Rust gnawed at the yellow paint, causing it to curl away from the metal like two positively charged magnets.
The tractor remembered with a fondness the days when golden wheat filled the pasture and its skills had been of assistance to the farmer.
Now it lay quietly abandoned, toppled on its side, and remembered.Posted By Libby On 08.23.2012 @ 11:55 pm