S.K. Wilson
Bio
She/Her | Australian 🏳️⚧️ Author
My short form writing mostly falls into the absurd, strange and nonsensical. I enjoy writing micro-fiction collections, been dabbling in poetry.
Debut Arthurian fantasy novel out now! The Knights of Avalon
🩷
Stories (69/0)
Tales from the Cooinda Cycle: Memory Nine
I still don’t know how exactly we got on to the topic, but The Old Man talking about his various jobs as a young man was actually interesting. It was one of the better days in the cafe, not too busy, and so far nothing overly odd had taken place.
By S.K. Wilson2 years ago in Fiction
Tales from the Cooinda Cycle: Memory Seven
My head throbbed, the pain was nauseating and I felt as if I was going to faint, or throw up… or both. But I couldn’t do that, and I couldn’t stop. I was making the tenth free drink for the day, and trying to serve another that I had just completed making. There had never been this many residents at the cafe at one time, as well as the regulars around this time, there were faces I’ve never seen here.
By S.K. Wilson2 years ago in Fiction
Twisted Tales for Toilet Time: Volume II, Part IV
Four AM Once Upon an Hour of Time… It was 4 AM. The last rays of moonlight were shining down on a small pond. Inside the pond was Melvin the Frog, he couldn’t wait for the cold winter night to be over. He had made the mistake of going for a nighttime swim in the pond when the night temperature dropped below freezing. He got stuck halfway out of the frozen pond, waiting for it to thaw in the morning sun. As he sat and waited, he thought how lucky it was he could be frozen, and then thaw out, unlike the small rabbit next to him. Its legs sticking out of the frozen water, lifeless.
By S.K. Wilson2 years ago in Fiction
Twisted Tales for Toilet Time: Volume II, Part III
Midnight Once Upon an Hour of Time… At Midnight during the middle of the night, a large dark barn owl swooped down from a branch and dug its claws into a small field mouse that was scurrying across the ground. The owl returned to its branch and began offering pieces of the mouse to his fellow night owls that shared the tree. All kinds of reasons and excuses came out of their beaks.
By S.K. Wilson2 years ago in Fiction
Tales from the Cooinda Cycle: Memory Six
She mumbled incoherently at me, sitting at one of the tables in the cafe, it was a strain to hear her. For some reason she sat at the table the farthest away from the cafe door, only three steps from her room. Maybe she wanted to stay close to home, fair enough in this place.
By S.K. Wilson2 years ago in Fiction
The Triptych: Aggression
The three have now joined, they have become… one. They have become… me. I kept hitting. I couldn’t stop. Finally able to vent all the anger and frustration out on the person most responsible. The damage was already substantial and every further hit of my clenched fist inflicted more and more damage, the sound echoed through the darkness, as I continued smashing my fists into the solid brick wall over and over, and over.
By S.K. Wilson2 years ago in Fiction
The Triptych: Fear
DARKNESS, Sudden and complete DARKNESS… The power has gone out suddenly in the middle of watching a show, the whole house is dark and quiet, the hum of fridges and televisions silenced by the sudden outage. I freeze in my chair, no sound from my lips, not moving a muscle, as I listen for them.
By S.K. Wilson2 years ago in Fiction
The Triptych: Pain
Pain is an old, sometimes assuring friend, it lets you know you are alive, but Pain can also be the worst enemy we ever know. When dealing with physical pain there is nothing to fear, at least for me. Throughout the years it became clear that my pain threshold is quite high, again, at least when it comes to the physical. The time I sliced off the edge of a thumb in woodworking class and simply waited in line to ask the teacher for a band-aid, the chunk of pinky finger scooped out in a strange accident ice-skating, where once again, requesting a band-aid was all I did.
By S.K. Wilson2 years ago in Fiction