Tallulah loved flowers; they always seemed so happy
Yet their relationship was a rocky one. She could never settle, could never commit. One week she’d bring home bright red Tulips, another week she’d return with some Hydrangeas. If she went through men at the same rate, she’d either be knocked up by now or have an STI or three. Anyway, whatever the species, they always seemed happy, and Tallulah like this.
The irony was, poor Tallulah would spend the majority of her days being generally unhappy. ‘How ironic,’ she’d think to herself, whenever the pungent aroma of that week’s Lilies would tickle her nostrils, reminding her of their presence, sat there quietly, minding their own business, watching Tallulah go about hers. She’s even been known to stop what it was she was doing to indignantly address the offending flora: “How ironic that there you sit, gleefully soaking up the sun and making everyone feel better, yet I’m just stuck here, tending to your every whim and getting progressively more miserable?”
What irked Tallulah even more was the wall of silence that so often met her complaints. The flowers never responded. They never spoke, never acknowledged her grief. They never even did her the courtesy of looking at her.
Sometimes Tallulah would tell the flowers her troubles. For instance, she once purchased a tin of Tesco value tuna (albeit inadvertently). Never having sampled such delights, she was most taken aback when confronted with the grey, soggy disappointment inside.
And did those Geraniums care?
What do you think?
Glass / Irreconciliate / Preamble
By: Lydia Crow
A single shard of glass, as multi-faceted as a diamond, shrieked in the dying sunlight; it’s voice reflecting the burnt sky. At this, the end, it was hard to remember how it had all begun; it was impossible to recall the dazzling spectacle from which this wounded creature was derived. Yet it was that statue that had acted as the visual preamble to the entire nightmare.
The sun sunk low amidst the distant hills, sprinkling darkness upon the valley.