Another aspirant writer, roving the Scottish Highlands. Animal-lover, Tolkienite, Oneironaut. Probably actually about fifteen magpies in a trenchcoat pretending to be human. Shh!
Humble Banana Bread (with a twist)
I grew up in Australia, spending the majority of my free time climbing trees, tearing around fields, and getting absolutely pummelled by waves in the surf. (Also riding kangaroos to school, naturally.) And to fuel all that activity, I practically ran on fruit - a whole range, from mangoes and mulberries to figs and lychees. But the banana was my trusty companion in day-to-day life. Breakfast before a test? Banana. Energy booster before a school cross country race? Banana. Snack on the go? (To be eaten halfway up a tree, of course.) Banana! But in the sweltering Aussie heat, they ripened fast, so even in a household full of voracious appetites, we'd end up with bunches of them freckled liberally with more brown than yellow. Happily, my Mum's a wizard with a wooden spoon, and brown bananas are the best for baking with, so we enjoyed a plethora of baked goods - banana muffins and bread in particular were household staples.
Dreamer, Dancer: Pas de Deux
My love is in dreams, for I'm awake in my sleep, with a mind still aware when dusk turns to dark, in wildernesses untrodden, beneath uncharted stars.
- First Place in Teen Angst Playlist Challenge
How to Disappear Completely
I'm standing in the shadow of the most staggeringly imposing building I've ever seen. I have to crane my neck painfully to see the grotesque, stone-carved gargoyle faces adorning the walls, the tops of the imposing gothic spires stretching skywards above me. The castle is an awe-inspiring, commanding presence - and I live a stone's throw away! I'm in a new city, on the cusp of a new life, alight with possibility. Tomorrow is my first day of school. The weight of expectation on my shoulders feels heavy, but I can bear it - I can bear anything. I'm a Bright Young Thing, ready to take on the world and win.
The Water Horse
“There is a monster under your roof.” Florie chokes on a strangled gasp at the shock of icy water against her skin, and the sea loses no time in rushing forth that it might replace the air gone from her lungs. She fights to recover her breath as unseen currents tug at her legs.
The cottage sits low on the hillside by the great shining expanse of the lake, nestled amidst a wilderness of overgrown vegetation. Twin dormer windows framed in grey slate lend the impression of eyes, but not consequently of life. There’s a queer veil of stillness about it, giving it the air of a recently dead animal – resigned and lifeless, waiting for nature to reclaim it.