Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
The Southern Cross
Appetite 1. The Fowl Feast It was the smell that clung to her clothes. It grew hotter inside the chicken coop, reeking of hot feathers and sour-sweet manure as her…
Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
The Hand of God
Act 1 THE CHORUS: “And so there the watchmen stood In crooked bow and gloomy mood Tumult and thoughts in silent brew In shadow, amongst the stony few.” “Vigil” in…
Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
in root, rot and bloom
Howard McFarland kissed the little crown of his daughter’s head and stroked the soft brown fuzz of her hair. She didn’t stir. She was sprawled in her crib with a…
Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
The Looking Glass
7.42 PM Chloe Carter leant against the white edge of the alcove between Rooms 11 and 13, breath grey and misted, as she itched for another cigarette. She scratched her…
Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
Last Snowfall Of A Dying God
He did not feel it, as eons stretched and all that remained was the stardust in the abyss of the universe. He knew only the death of life - it…
Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
In Eulogy of a Pelt
I woke up in a cornfield. The first thing I saw were the stars. It pulsed - that dotted swirl of remote diamond light, flush against the abyssal black. The…
Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
Dead Letter Office
Memory is like a moth. It flutters. It drifts. It finds an abandoned wardrobe of precious clothes to nest and gorges itself, leaving behind the gift of dust and scraps.…
Posted inCreative Hall Short Stories
Ask the Angel
“Ask the angel.” That’s exactly what Nina did. Her companion’s expression didn’t change from where he towered over her abuela’s grave—he stared stony and gray, with the chiselled edges of…
Posted inCreative Hall Poems
The Fervour of Breath
John Doe From the veil, birthed, I was blind Lost - from night to night - unkind Ash or clay, that clad my heart I did not know, the end…
Posted inCreative Hall
What Remains
The pigeon still watched him, that blasted thing. It cooed like a rat, snow white wings fanning out against the dilate horizon. He’s reminded of something sinister, unnamed and hungry. …