Sascha Elk

Joined August 2021

0 stories

Bio

Writer of Future Fantasy, Erotic Romance, Crime Drama and all the parenthood struggles.

PANDA anthology 'Not Keeping Mum' availible at http://Blurb.com

Living respectfully on Boonwurrung land 🖤

Melbourne, Australia 📍

Stories (5/0)

Nomads
1. ‘Extinction is the rule. Survival is the exception.’ Sagan Scar wakes in the dark just before sunrise, in those moments when morning is passable for night. The air is still and hard, cold like stone, and infused with smoke. A single bird begins a song, stopping and starting as if testing the waters, seeing if anyone else is awake and ready to begin. The light grows, imperceptibly at first and then all at once, like the birdsong. Soon a cacophony of sound rings in the dawn. She keeps her eyes closed, and for a moment imagines she’s lying in her bed, when layered beneath the wattle bird coos and the magpie’s warble, there’d be traffic sounds. The road that ran by her house would be filling with cars. An endless stream. People. The cogs of civilisation. Such a far-away concept now. The bird call is too loud for her to fall back into sleep, so she opens her eyes and stares up at the looming trees. Their twisted bows swathed in orange, like warpaint against the rest of their snowy skin. Further down the mountain they don’t have that colour, and they grow straighter, yet both thrive. Sometimes in these moments, when everyone else is still a sleep, Scar thinks she can sense the lifeforce of these trees, feel the presence of their being. Their silent, eternal knowing. The leaves shift in a light breeze as she watches them, and when the same breeze reaches her she realises there’s a warmth to it that wasn’t there yesterday – hasn’t been there for months. There’s a scent too, something sweet breaking through the smoke and eucalyptus. Pollen. It must have swept up here on the night winds from the valley.
By Sascha Elk2 years ago in Futurism
Matter of Trust
There’s a spider on the ceiling, directly above me. If it fell it would land on my chest and, well, that would be the end of this.
By Sascha Elk2 years ago in Filthy
Mother
You cradle me, vacant. Your mind has been wandering lately, looking towards easier times, and looking back, mourning them. The life you knew is over, gone forever.
By Sascha Elk2 years ago in Families
Phoenix
Switzerland, 2029 Crisp snow crunches under the woman’s boots. It’s almost unbearably bright – the white plains of the lower alps reflecting the sun’s glare. It’s warm, though it’s meant to be the dead of winter; the ice is melting, the rivers surge through the Old City like they’re being chased.
By Sascha Elk2 years ago in Fiction
Real World
She opens the front door and steps out into the cold late afternoon sun. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Nan,’ she calls over her shoulder. They did their hugging and kissing inside.
By Sascha Elk3 years ago in Fiction