Joe Sheldon
Bio
A simple Brit living on the south coast of England. I spend sunny days outside, and the other 364 of the year I write and play music.
Stories (1/0)
A Garden of Rooks
How long had Smit been here? She felt like this moment had grown its own lifetime and existed for as long as she could remember; her mind had raced a thousand races whilst her heart had beat maybe once, or was it twice? She is acutely aware of an absolute existence and intricate senses, but they aren’t her own. At least, they aren’t her current senses. In her mind she is thirteen again, in her thirteenth winter; she could smell the sodden earth and hear the close, hard rain as her small home offered all the shelter it could. She could feel the forearms against her chest, and the thin breeze of Lysander’s own breaths against her neck. She had always felt close to him, and as they wore the dense night like a blanket he would be her cradle. He had weathered more winters than she had, this was her logic: he knew what he was doing. The safety swallowed her deep into its unconcerned trunk where she intended to remain for all her long and luscious life. Smit remembers how it always ended in the morning. Smit blinks, mud is pressing into her eyes, she hasn’t taken a breath for some time.
By Joe Sheldon7 years ago in Humans