Beth Sarah
Bio
We've been scribbled in the margins of a story that is patently absurd
Achievements (1)
Stories (36/0)
- Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge
Custos: Tyto alba/ White GuardianRunner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge
My father sent me to Kingshill Academy for a September start when I was fifteen. The school made the headlines that term – not for any educational achievement or cornerstone of prestige – but rather because one particularly hostile December night, a teacher there perished in a fire in one of the old outbuildings. It has been twenty years and still not a soul – except perhaps a quiet, lingering suspicion on the part of Penny Sanderson – has any inkling of an idea that I had anything at all to do with it.
By Beth Sarahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Black Lagoon
It wasn’t a drowning like the ones you see depicted in films; it doesn’t work that way. No flailing of arms, no spluttering. He simply seemed to vanish somewhere close to the centre of the pool. It was so dark they couldn’t be sure exactly, but at some point that strange, inky water had taken him, quietly and permanently.
By Beth Sarah2 years ago in Fiction
Pyrus Communis
I remember vividly the night on which Gabe correctly predicted his own death, though I have never told anyone about it. My grandmother’s birthday fell on 27 November. She was a quiet, humble woman - certainly not the type to relish flattery or attention – but every year she threw a party at her modest house as an excuse to ensure that the family got together at least once annually.
By Beth Sarah2 years ago in Fiction
May Rain
I remember where I was when the rain started that year. It was the fifth of May and it didn’t stop until June. When I say it didn’t stop, I mean it quite literally. There was no break; no smatterings of showers; no fluctuation in consistency. Just water and water and water.
By Beth Sarah2 years ago in Fiction
Into the Undergrowth
Between them had been established an understanding – instinctive and unspoken – shared perceptions and nuances of consciousness so aligned that it could have been seen to be very peculiar indeed. Thus they came again to be – inevitably – as though they themselves had grown up from the ground – within the secret world of the branches of the willow tree at the end of the common.
By Beth Sarah2 years ago in Fiction
