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Emma Donovan
Stories (4/0)
The night that shines brightest
In the depths of nature, and far removed from the traces of civilisation, there was a rare purity. Creatures meandered through their serene, frosted landscape without concern for time or space. The air carried the essence of the wild and the lushness of the vast forestation seemed to resound vitality. At the base of the stark mountain range, the hills rolled out to a small clearing. Nested among the surrounding pine trees and deposited upon the snow, there was a charismatic, wooden cabin. Smoke puffed with slow repetitiveness from the chimney and rose to a higher atmospheric level.
By Emma Donovan3 years ago in Fiction
Dreams, the green, and men with machines
Dusk always fell into the night impatiently. The lilac haze would fade into a grey gradation without any attachment to those pillows of cloud and intertwined sheets of pink and blue. There was such vitality present during the day, but the night held a greater promise of wonder and interstellar possibility. If the sun and moon were eternal lovers caught in a relentless dance, seeking the collision of embrace, then, it would help to explain how time just continued to eat away into the future. Zavier would look out across the river at the city before him, his eyes taking in the juxtaposition of iridescent beauty and matte shadows. Ivy tendrils ensnared the concrete, urbanised jungle. Living in the grey, where there was no absolute truth, felt comparable to watching an old film of a circus performer walking a tightrope.
By Emma Donovan3 years ago in Fiction
The way we grow
Each day, and at varying times of the day, Sienna would stroll up and down The Terrace. It was a ritual of hers to wake in the dark and to feel the abyss of time. To have the privilege to roll out from beneath the sheets, stretch her limbs and then to feel the connection of the earth underfoot. She would dress exactly how she felt (in shades of black and blue), sweep her hair into a ponytail, and apply a natural, slightly ethereal-smelling fragrance. Sienna strung a golden chain around her neck that had small constellations and the sun engraved into the pendant. Next, she would grab her buttermilk-coloured reusable ceramic coffee and bound out the front door of the plain house.
By Emma Donovan3 years ago in Fiction