Jonnie Walker
Bio
Achievements (1)
Stories (16/0)
Beauty
Buckling blades; broken birdsong - become beauty, brave boy.
By Jonnie Walkerabout a year ago in Poets
The Warbler
It was getting late, and under the trim of dusk a smoky gloom had shuffled down the maddening hillside. I kept writing; time went on; the pen in my hand; dear, scrambling footprints, wary, daunted by absurd space; in the midst of absent thought, lilac veins smothered by cloud, cloud smothered by the lengthening dark.
By Jonnie Walkerabout a year ago in Fiction
Matinee
A final look at The crowd, beneath the cut of The falling curtain.
By Jonnie Walkerabout a year ago in Poets
The Grave Candle
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. I saw it that first night, only from the corner of my weary eye. I was perched at the bureau in my study, reviewing a set of missives received the same afternoon. I remember it well: the light came to me like a faded star of ochre, whispered across the lake from the shallow promontory on which the cabin stands. A sensation like cold metal clasped the nape of my neck, and as a child, I watched it dance with the blue mist above the water; I watched in bewilderment, nay, allurement, aggravated by some feeling I can neither describe nor forget.
By Jonnie Walker2 years ago in Fiction
- Runner-Up in From Across the Room Challenge
A Party
Sometimes you go to a party and you don’t know what the fuck to do with yourself. Hell, sometimes you’re on the way to a party and you don’t know what the fuck to do with yourself. There was me, in the middle of winter, haunting the booze aisle of a Tesco Metro like a spectre, not knowing what the fuck to do with myself.
By Jonnie Walker3 years ago in Fiction
The Joyce Affairs
There were two peculiarities about the affairs carried on by Miss Eleanor Stephens in the scalding New York summer of 1953. The first was that each of the two gentlemen involved were very much aware of the other’s existence, and had been from the very beginning. They had no knowledge, however, of the second peculiarity – for which the term perhaps does no justice – which was this: each man had been christened Henry by his loving mother, and both mothers, as it happens, receive mail addressed to Mrs Joyce.
By Jonnie Walker3 years ago in Fiction
Coffee and Cake
I thought that the waiter looked about the most boring man alive. Even calling him a man is a bit disingenuous, because there was something unformed about him. He had a little tuft of fine black hair, like Velcro fuzz, on top of a scalp that seemed to have never had any more hair to begin with; better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all, I thought. The scalp soon became the face, which was fat and round like an egg, and the face stretched tiredly over what must have been golf balls fused to the rim of his jaw, then down to the neck, down to the belly, and so on and so on.
By Jonnie Walker3 years ago in Fiction