Phoebe Wilby
Bio
Hi, I'm Phoebe, an Ozzie currently living between Ireland and the UK. I've published two short story collections and a memoir. I write fiction in many genres, preferring to embellish real-life stories, which are loosely autobiographical.
Stories (9/0)
Return to Eden
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. ‘They’ also say you will implode or freeze, or both, if you spacewalk without a suit. When I first heard this, I had visions of crimson crystals of frozen flesh and body fluids, and pale shards of bone and gristle, shooting out in all directions in endless flight until they collided with a planet. Or an asteroid. Or a piece of space dust. I am not macabre by nature – not really – but I think that there could be a certain beauty in this. A way of being in many places at once. God-like.
By Phoebe Wilby2 years ago in Fiction
A Modern Faerie Tale
All faerie stories begin with the words "Once Upon A Time", and so we must begin... Once upon a time there lived a princess. She was not an ordinary princess and she did not live in an ordinary castle with servants to do her every bidding. And although her daddy was a king, he had died a very long time ago, and her mummy, the queen, lived in another kingdom far, far away on the other side of the world.
By Phoebe Wilby3 years ago in Fiction
Phoenix
There is non-seasonal rain. Thunder rumbles and lightning splits the clouds into streaks of silver, black and grey. It is a perfect day for a funeral. A classic; the weather I always imagine for my own funeral. It seems fitting to herald David’s curtain-call with such inclement weather. It pleases me, though not obviously, I hope.
By Phoebe Wilby3 years ago in Fiction
Point of View
Liberty I don’t remember ever crying before, but today, my tears flowed as freely as the dust that floated on the breeze and wafted across the harbor to my island sanctuary. O that my tears would be enough to wash away the misery! Alas! It was not to be.
By Phoebe Wilby3 years ago in Humans
Marigolds and Clover
By a cruel twist of fate, the sun was shining and the birds were singing the day we laid Clover to rest. For the world, her death will have gone unheralded. No obituary would appear in the paper. Nobody would tweet how sorry they were to see her go or provide accolades of her accomplishments. No bard would sing of her feats, no epic saga of her adventures would be filmed, no Wikipedia article would be written about her life, and no queen would posthumously bestow upon her a ladyhood - if that’s the correct term. She was just gone, her life an insignificant blip on a radar, a true nobody in the history of the world.
By Phoebe Wilby3 years ago in Fiction
Marigolds and Clover
By a cruel twist of fate, the sun was shining and the birds were singing the day we laid Clover to rest. For the world, her death will have gone unheralded. No obituary would appear in the paper. Nobody would tweet how sorry they were to see her go or provide accolades of her accomplishments. No bard would sing of her feats, no epic saga of her adventures would be filmed, no Wikipedia article would be written about her life, and no queen would posthumously bestow upon her a ladyhood - if that’s the correct term. She was just gone, her life an insignificant blip on a radar, a true nobody in the history of the world.
By Phoebe Wilby3 years ago in Fiction
