Kayleigh Turner
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Stories (14/0)
Curious about the Man
I kick off my biting heels and collapse onto my bed. “Go to sleep, you’ll feel better in the morning. I promise,” she whispers as she closes the door. And I fall asleep to the sound of faint footsteps climbing up and up, into the space above me.
By Kayleigh Turnerabout a year ago in Fiction
Living a Lie
Between the outlandish parties and the eccentric people, he now accommodated himself with, I was little more than an after-thought. It wouldn’t have mattered how endearing I made myself to suit him, he would have become consumed by his need for the bohemian side of life all the same. He was the type of man who could never be pleased and always hunted his next pleasure. He liked the unorthodox and craved the zany. The zanier, the better.
By Kayleigh Turnerabout a year ago in Fiction
Devoured by Winter
The frozen bench crunched under the weight of me. A piercing wind slapped me gingerly before it wrapped around me with a mighty force. A deep chill sunk into my bones, it numbed me to my core. My body was past shivering. I cannot remember when I first clenched my teeth to stop them from chattering, for I had been exposed to the cold for such a length of time that it had been lost on me. I nursed my aching jaw, massaging out the tension with my gloved hands. Beneath the gloves, my fingers were stiff, for the cold of the night had seeped into my knuckles.
By Kayleigh Turnerabout a year ago in Fiction
A Slice of Chocolate Cake
It lay before her, almost afloat the marble on a raft of fine china. Her weapon of choice; a dainty, three-pronged trojan. It glinted and gleamed in her grasp. She paused a moment, contemplating dropping everything and wilfully leaving the room in search of less fattening ventures. She shooed the thought away as quickly as it had appeared. The temptation was far too great.
By Kayleigh Turnerabout a year ago in Fiction
Happiness is Hungry
As I sit here, watching a movie I don’t understand and eating banana chunks off a fork, I realise something. I realise that even the 80’s ballads emanating from the kitchen, on the other side of the wall, can’t draw me from my shell. This shell of mine is a defence mechanism; a protective barrier and it’s the only thing sheltering me from dangers outside. Outside of my own bubble the dangers of the world taunt and tease.
By Kayleigh Turnerabout a year ago in Fiction
Waking to a Dream
“Wake up, darling,” his voice a childish purr to my ears. A smile spreads across my closed lips, lopsided and sleepy. My hand dances in patterns by my side, absentmindedly stroking the still warm but vacant space beside me. I roll over, observing the left side of the bed, confused to see nothing but crumpled sheets. Warm beams of light, transcending through the open window and trickle down the opaque drapes; delicately floating on a warm sea breeze, soak the ornate bedroom in an angelic haze. Rich, floral scents and coastal sea birds in rhythmic chorus invigorate my senses.
By Kayleigh Turnerabout a year ago in Fiction
The Past is a Foreign Country
It’s 1933. I sit on a slick, black leather car seat. The city lights and star-spangled sky above blur across my vision. My eyes are wide and absorbing. Wind pulses through my hair and dances across my bare arms, erecting tiny goose bumps with its light touch. My suitor, a tall man, with strong facial features, stares ahead into the night. His hair is smoothed over to one side and his classic tuxedo remains creaseless. His hands grip the steering wheel at the suggested 10 and 2 positioning. He is clean, serious and inescapably boring.
By Kayleigh Turnerabout a year ago in Fiction
The Walk
We walked, teeth chattering, calves burning and fingers so cold, they couldn’t really be used as fingers at all. Other than the occasional clumsy bumping of shoulders – due to my unreliable balance – we never touch. I focus, measuring each stride. Every time I dare to lift my eyes from the fresh layer of leaf cover, towards the canopy’s mysterious upper reaches, my face absorbs what feels like the full force of the phantom wind. It whispers and flutters around my ears, sending delicate waves through my hair.
By Kayleigh Turnerabout a year ago in Fiction
Waking up with You
I wake up mumbling and groggy. The right side of my face feels squashed from sleeping face-down on my pillow. I slowly bend my fingers; they are numb and feel alien to me. My legs are stiff, the aftershock of a night one can’t ever forget. After our early dinner at Coco’s and a fine bottle of Cabernet franc, we eased into hours of dancing, our bodies close, in crowded hotspots around the city. I smile at the memory of how we were; how we laughed, how we looked at each other, and, how we kissed. I tentatively stroke my lips with delicately-stepping fingerprints. I remain in my nostalgic haze for a moment longer, a sweet reminiscence that only foreshadows future moments to come.
By Kayleigh Turnerabout a year ago in Fiction
A Taste of Beauty
February passed bitterly. I was left alone for long hours. When the night came, it brought with it a loneliness that only the most alienated from society could understand. A deep pain settled in my chest for a brief moment, before an erratic anxiety engulfed me. I sat and sat, paralysed by grief. My limbs grew colder and my thoughts grew darker with every passing hour. I could feel myself growing older.
By Kayleigh Turner4 years ago in Poets