Lacey Dearie
Bio
Indie author π Blogger π» Humanities student π©π»βπ Editor of the 27th best blog in Scotland apparently π Unapologetic daydreamer π Natural introvert/selective extrovert ππ» Member of the Cat Writers Association πββ¬
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Stories (21/0)
Red Blooded Woman
The conversation is perfect. The bubbles in the Prosecco feel so tickly. They are intoxicating: the conversation, the bubbles and the eyes you're looking into. The flowers on the table are so heady. The candle burns and flutters like the butterflies you have in your...
By Lacey Dearie12 months ago in Fiction
The Ruby Mine
Sharon was within touching distance, but she had no idea. All she knew was that she had been mining rubies for years. Every single day, without fail, she mined. It was all she thought about. She obsessed about it. Until one day, she realised that it was a lost cause. She put down her tools, walked away and got an office job that paid clean money and gave her respectability and achievement.
By Lacey Dearie12 months ago in Fiction
Blue
My wife knows now. I wish she didn't. I lather up for the fifth time. My skin is dried out and it stings. That's hotel soap for you. No matter how hard I scrub, I still feel blood on them. I can't get the image of my hands covered in her blood out of my head. It's trickling over my knuckles, up my wrists and the cuffs of my sleeves are damp from the assault, despite changing my top. I can forget her screams easily enough, but my conscience won't allow me to forget the blood.
By Lacey Dearie12 months ago in Fiction
Night Sweat
It was a dream to begin with. I dreamt I was swimming. My brain created this image, almost a memory, of the day on honeymoon when we skinny-dipped. Then I remembered we got divorced and when I looked over at him, I saw no face. It frightened me and I woke up, still wet from the sea. I took a shaky breath and threw the covers off. He was gone. My youthful hope was gone. My libido was gone. My periods were almost gone. I felt loss, even though I had gained wisdom and candles on the cake.
By Lacey Dearie12 months ago in Fiction
Cargo
I didn't need to be on a ship to feel the waves. It was almost as if I felt empathy with the water, lolling back and forth, swishing towards the sand to kiss it and then run away again. Despite the stomach-churning motions, I waited for the ship that would bring an end to our famine. Perhaps they might even bring some rum from their travels to help us celebrate life and the end of our misery. Then there it was, on the horizon, with the sun setting behind it. My stomach groaned, relieved, as if it knew.
By Lacey Dearie12 months ago in Fiction
Poor Tree
The empty branches made no sound in the breeze. They hadnβt shed leaves in over three decades. Each summer I visit this place where, as teenagers, we experienced passion for the first time under the shade of the leaves. I touch the now diseased trunk and whisper an apology each time I come, before I sit down and let the copper nails he used scratch my back through my shirt. It wasnβt the treeβs fault. It was mine. I was the one who cheated. But you donβt go to prison for exacting revenge on a tree.
By Lacey Dearieabout a year ago in Fiction
The Queue
I'm not sure how it's possible, but my hands feel even dirtier after I've washed them. I always feel this way after using that sink. I dry them and once I get downstairs, I reach for the hand sanitizer that we keep on the counter. It's supposed to be for customers of the bank, but we also use it since our job is to handle cash. I turn to Jean. She's busy balancing her till, but looks over at me, raises her eyebrows and gives me one of those close-lipped smiles that tells me she knows exactly what I'm thinking right now - that we need a new cleaner. I open the email software and bash an angry email to the boss requesting a meeting. Somebody needs to speak to him about this.
By Lacey Dearieabout a year ago in Fiction