Miss Riggie
Bio
Artist | Writer | Lover | Fighter
Born in Sydney, Australia, I write about what inspires me, to inspire others. Poetry, stories, deep introspective works, the lot! MUSE POWERS ACTIVATE!
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Stories (19/0)
The Roundabout Stage. Content Warning.
Shaken awake by the potholed road, I force my eyes open as the hiss of the night bus lurches and stops. Groggy from the night and the hour from which I wake - only 2 hours away from sunrise. I begin my trek from the terminal. It might not be midnight, but there are plenty of streetlights from here to home.
By Miss Riggie8 months ago in Longevity
Close To My Chest
Tobacco and bourbon heavy on his breath and a hand gently tilting my chin up to meet his stubbled lips, he kisses me softly. He was the sweet, passionate type you lose yourself to if you get high enough, but I keep my eyes open, focused. This is nothing more than a rescue mission; a second attempt to correct the mistake I made.
By Miss Riggieabout a year ago in Fiction
Panagiakis Row
Cathy's mother used to take her to the necropolis where her relatives were buried. All the aunts and uncles that had migrated from Greece after the war and lived their lives on Australian soil, now had their bodies encased in it. Each grave had her mother’s maiden name engraved on the slabs, and they stretched across the plot with room for more. The staff at the cemetery jokingly dubbed it ‘Panagiakis Row’. How ironic it was, she thought, that these uncles and aunts and cousins all managed to make the family name known to the new country in such a way. As hard as they worked in life, eventually, the only way they earned their place in the family was to lay beside them six feet under.
By Miss Riggieabout a year ago in Horror
Mirror in the Sky
Every night at midnight, the purple Clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Twirling in clusters to the rhythm of the busy city streets, of party-goers and late-night commuters rushing home. They carried on with their performance despite their audience going about their nighttime activities, and there was little they could do to grab their attention. The program for tonight was one of their easier routines, one they had done a million times for each and every passing generation. Still, they carried on their good work, sharing their ancient art with the world.
By Miss Riggieabout a year ago in Fiction
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