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Hannah Moore
Bio
Achievements (10)
Stories (189/0)
Home
They say, when you walk into your home, you know. You can look at ten, twenty, thirty houses, and then, you pull up to one more, stand on another kerb, look up at another frontage, step through another front door…and recognise that you are home. It was like that the first time I saw you. The shelter had taken out a double page ad in the paper, it’s motley crew of furred friends-to-be arranged around the page, and you, meeting my eyes from the centrefold. I had been flicking through, taking a break, not looking for love, but there you were. I knew. I took the paper home, and I showed you to my mum. I knew that she knew too. I showed you to my dad.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Petlife
Passing Lights
The light was astonishing. He gasped, and screwed his eyes against the brilliance of it, the shock of it. He began to panic, flailing limply, crying out, desperately floundering, and failing, to take control of himself. A woman’s voice, bright and clear like colours under a mid day sun, but gentle, soothing, lulling…the train rocked and he drifted back into sleep.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Fiction
The circle
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Let’s cut to the chase here. Inside, there was a ghost. A spirit if you will. You know that already. The interesting thing here the what and the why. For this story, I want you to reach out and take my hand. You’re going to want to. I want you to. It’s dark beyond this circle of light. Here we are, like sitting ducks, bobbing in a little ring, while who knows what lurks in the depths beneath us. Which dark whorls are the swishing tail of something bigger and sleeker and faster than water? Which sudden cold creeping currents carry horrors and flailing limbs and gasping lungs and dwindling, dying, drowning light? The darkness behind your back is full of fear, don’t pretend it isn’t. The night is a time of dying and by morning the corpses are devoured. Just because you’re human doesn’t mean you won’t be taken. We are all just flesh and blood. Everyone serves a need here. That prickle in your spine is telling you something. The way your ears can hear so much more right now, that’s your brain, that raw, unevolved part of your brain, just trying to keep you safe. They always say listen to your gut. You know why? Because you know more than you want to, deep down. Keep facing inward, keep facing the light, don’t – no don’t – look behind, into the dark. Your body knows already what eyes might reflect the firelight from out there, in the dark. You’re gut feels already that you’re not so very safe. So let’s close the circle. Take my hand. Feel the press of our fingers against the bones and tendons and muscles of one another’s hands. Keep hold. Let’s go together.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Horror
A Tale of Two Speeches
I peer into the mirror, no trace of your face returning my searching look. There never was, and I know that won’t change now. Your legs, however, hold me up, your feet, your toes, your….actually you laid this floor, didn’t you? On your hand and knees, refusing to wear a mask, working late even when I grew fed up and impatient to stop the clatter and rest, knowing that tomorrow I wouldn’t thank you all that much, but that I would walk every day on this floor you laid and not even notice how thankful I should be. I look down. Black socked feet against the now tired laminate. There is a gap, where the door frame curves and the square cut edge does not meet its bending. It’s filled with a built up cloying grime I can’t seem to keep at bay.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Families
Just Right
My favourite summer food is chocolate. This is because my favourite food is chocolate. In the winter time, chocolate is warm hued riches, a gratifyingly fatty sparkle of the exotic, a hug tinged with eroticism even as it holds you safe like a loving parent. In the summer, chocolate is….the same. But also, a little sickly and prone to melting. Like me, chocolate was not made for hot climates, and I, alas, was not made for chocolate, every dose plunging me into hours of lying still in darkened rooms, my head splintering in ultra slow motion. This is not an optimal way to enjoy the bounty of summer, and so let me turn my attention to other foods, if not rivals, then other runners, worthy of note.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Feast
The Quiet Ones
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. A long time ago, the wide delta lay spread below table top ridges high above, oats, corn and wheat patchworking the land, embroidered with pockets of peas and beans, and trimmed with fruit trees which blossomed pink and white each spring, and mellowed to yellow as the men and women of the valley turned the rich, silted soil ready for winter planting. Feast days in the valley, where food was never scarce, were richer in music, dancing and song, as no one feared the hunger of the coming months. No one remembered that now. There was no one to remember it. The story was that after the Silver Wars, the twelve dragons of Lashkan had been banished to the island, where they had lain down side by side and end to end, and with one spell so fierce it had used up all the magic left in the world, been turned to stone. An eternal punishment for an eternal slight. Never mind they had all been on the same side.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Fiction