He was there on the celing like a fly, walking around on sticky feet. I called out to ask how he got there and what he thought he was going to accomplish wandering around up there, and if he fell he was going to hrt himself a lot, the floor is a long way away in these old places. He just buzzed a little cleaned his wings with his back legs and his face with his from legs, and continued on wandering around on the celing like the world was all alright and outside there weren’t armies marching through the streets and planes flying over dropping bombs.
There was no ceiling, in fact. There never had been. The room was domed by open sky, by endless stars, by soaring comets and brilliant nebulae and all sorts of cosmic treasures. The room had no floor, either; there were only endless miles of green, of blue, of brown and red and yellow– trees and fields and oceans and rivers, mountains and hills and canyons and caves, plateaus and tundras and deserts and dunes. What were walls, to a world. What were borders, what were boundaries, what were limits? What was a ceiling but a nonsense word, a nonexistent cap on an infinite climb, a vertical ascent stretching out beyond the atmosphere? There was no ceiling, there never would be, and life rejoiced for it forevermore.
I am looking up at the ceiling and watching spirals of shadow take over the space above my head. I think the shadows are just a trick of the light. But just as I’m thinking it, I see them stop and change direction, creeping slowly closer until the ceiling has all but disappeared. I try to scream, but I choke on their beach water taste.
She looked up. There it was again, the black dot in the corner. She shivered. No, she wouldn’t be able to sleep with that thing in here. How was she supposed to. How could that happen? Why weren’t all openings covered?
Fran Hunne
She stared up at the fan spinning lazily in the heat. It was barely making a dent in the suffocating heat in the room. She exhaled loudly, hoping that the temperature might hear her dissatisfaction and change it’s tune.
Nothing but the dreaded glass ceiling, and if she stared hard enough, shards of contemptuous indifference would drop and cut each side of her jawline. She will then be rendered speechless, perhaps, for good. It was where they resided, and also where she never would be.
Issie Kay
‘You need to leave, now.’
This was not looking good. I felt boxed in, even the ceiling was closing over my head.
‘How can I negotiate with you when you have a single-minded intent to block everything before we can discuss it?’
Look above your head, and you will spot Sammy crawling across the ceiling again. She doesn’t need the skills of Spiderman to do it – look, the skin on her hands naturally adheres to the plaster, but not too much, so she can move quickly. Try not to scream; this is normal in our household, and at least Sammy is never bored. It gives her poor mother a break.
Belinda Roddie
The ceiling was crawling with bugs. Worst nightmare, and that was the point, wasn’t it. Torture wouldn’t be anything without worst fears. Okay. I’m breathing now. They’re bugs. They’re not even poisonous ones, I don’t think. They don’t want to kill me, after all. They want something from me and they think torture will wear me down.
He was there on the celing like a fly, walking around on sticky feet. I called out to ask how he got there and what he thought he was going to accomplish wandering around up there, and if he fell he was going to hrt himself a lot, the floor is a long way away in these old places. He just buzzed a little cleaned his wings with his back legs and his face with his from legs, and continued on wandering around on the celing like the world was all alright and outside there weren’t armies marching through the streets and planes flying over dropping bombs.
There was no ceiling, in fact. There never had been. The room was domed by open sky, by endless stars, by soaring comets and brilliant nebulae and all sorts of cosmic treasures. The room had no floor, either; there were only endless miles of green, of blue, of brown and red and yellow– trees and fields and oceans and rivers, mountains and hills and canyons and caves, plateaus and tundras and deserts and dunes. What were walls, to a world. What were borders, what were boundaries, what were limits? What was a ceiling but a nonsense word, a nonexistent cap on an infinite climb, a vertical ascent stretching out beyond the atmosphere? There was no ceiling, there never would be, and life rejoiced for it forevermore.
I am looking up at the ceiling and watching spirals of shadow take over the space above my head. I think the shadows are just a trick of the light. But just as I’m thinking it, I see them stop and change direction, creeping slowly closer until the ceiling has all but disappeared. I try to scream, but I choke on their beach water taste.
he tried
each time
to climb
just a little higher
if not himself
then maybe
his children could
someday,
they might
reach
the top
if not them
then maybe
theirs…
She looked up. There it was again, the black dot in the corner. She shivered. No, she wouldn’t be able to sleep with that thing in here. How was she supposed to. How could that happen? Why weren’t all openings covered?
She stared up at the fan spinning lazily in the heat. It was barely making a dent in the suffocating heat in the room. She exhaled loudly, hoping that the temperature might hear her dissatisfaction and change it’s tune.
Nothing but the dreaded glass ceiling, and if she stared hard enough, shards of contemptuous indifference would drop and cut each side of her jawline. She will then be rendered speechless, perhaps, for good. It was where they resided, and also where she never would be.
‘You need to leave, now.’
This was not looking good. I felt boxed in, even the ceiling was closing over my head.
‘How can I negotiate with you when you have a single-minded intent to block everything before we can discuss it?’
Look above your head, and you will spot Sammy crawling across the ceiling again. She doesn’t need the skills of Spiderman to do it – look, the skin on her hands naturally adheres to the plaster, but not too much, so she can move quickly. Try not to scream; this is normal in our household, and at least Sammy is never bored. It gives her poor mother a break.
The ceiling was crawling with bugs. Worst nightmare, and that was the point, wasn’t it. Torture wouldn’t be anything without worst fears. Okay. I’m breathing now. They’re bugs. They’re not even poisonous ones, I don’t think. They don’t want to kill me, after all. They want something from me and they think torture will wear me down.