Beth Sarah
Bio
We've been scribbled in the margins of a story that is patently absurd
Achievements (1)
Stories (44/0)
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 Sarah3 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 Sarah3 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 Sarah3 years ago in Fiction