Creative Writing, Flash Fiction


I placed my wine glass down before me. It clinked on the marble floor. Then there was silence again, and crakling.  The residue of the grape blood shimmered in the light of the open flames dancing wildly just beyond the brick placement in the wall. I rubbed my naked leg along the fur rug beneath me and licked my fingers. The crisp sound of the pages. My bible.

It had been a while, but not too long. I hadn’t had peace like this since, before I was married and then again just after the divorce. Inner peace is something that has always been so important to me. To me, it equates to freedom.

I did have freedom, but I couldn’t use it to my advantage. Now that would be wrong, I know that. So I didn’t,  at least not intentionally. It just happened that way. I was the happier one, and it made him unhappy. So unhappy, I was free and he was trapped in this unhappiness.

I am not entirely sure why it had to happen that way. But I am okay. It was my choice too, to end his pain. He left me all the good things.

He left me. He said, “I love you pet. But I’ve ruined you. I’ve lost you. I must go and let you be free.”

I was like a bird, he said, that had flown into a beautiful, medium sized room. And immediately the windows fell shut. At first I stood in a corner and examined everything, then slowly I stepped out of the corner. Once I had made it to the center of the room, I began to fly. I fell. I tried again. I fell. I tried again. I bumped backwards and forwatds off of the walls and panic set sharply in my puffed up little chest. I squarked and screamed and flew and bumped and fell. I had lost so many feathers, so much strength, but with that weakness only came louder, more painful shrieks.

And eventually he was so utterly dismayed with his new pet. He smashed through the windows and let her go. He did love her. How beautiful her songs were, when she was calm and kept to the corner he had prepared for her. But when she stretched her wings, the troubles began. But can you blame her for doing that which she was made to do?

I was okay. Besides the fact that I had wandered off with my thoughts again, and forgot completely about the fire and the wine and the bible.

I was standing on my porch, looking out into the face of the moon. I pulled my blanket tight over my shoulders. In all that darkness it still shone so brightly. The waves tumbled roughly in the wind, asking for me. I went out to them. I went.

I am a wanderer.


Creative Writing, Flash Fiction

The Swamp Game

SwampWe are all wading our way through life. It is a swamp where we are mostly sticky, but some parts are wet and some parts are deep. The waters are muddied so that we can’t see the dangers beneath but we are to keep careful on our way. There are some things, as such, that will always remain a mystery.

There are those that have learned to travel in the trees. It’s a struggle at first, but it can be done. Although many fail because they don’t really believe in their ability, or the strength of the trees.

Others have found dry ground, but they are scarce. When there is communication between them and everyone else they say their ultimate hope is for everyone to share a part in the trek on dry ground. It is easier, so they believe. It is safer, so they believe. The dangers on dry ground are as real as the dangers in the swamp. There are all sorts of wild, poisonous fruits.

There are some that create and build things, to help them along the muddied waters. But there is a wretched pain that comes with the knowledge that love is lost because things have taken its place. The danger for this group of ones is not the unknown under the muddied waters, nor is it the stinging nettles omnipresent on dry ground; it is all of the ones, who say all for one but mean one by one, will I fight to be freed.
We are all destined for the same place, and we know it.

There is one game and many players. Amatuers. There is no option to pass or to quit, and no matter how long you’ve been playing you’re never going to get it.

Moving forwards at different paces, or backwards – it’s all the same.




Feel –

Creative Writing, Flash Fiction, The Fine Line

Sarah Malingo

I’ve had those days, where I look at myself and a reflection of someone I do not recognise looks back at me. Then comes a slight resemblance. Some one I know very intimately reveals herself in glimpses.

Slowly, I become more and more comfortable with this new being before me. She’s here to stay a while so why not. We leave the sighting where we first met, each going in opposite directions. But she remains with me, closer.

I am finding that the music which used to penetrate my soul with electricity now merely numbs it. Where I used to be at peace with the meolodies and the harmonies and the spirits of it, I am now at a distance, hearing it only and feeling nothing.

The colours that used to seep into my heart and dance joyously with my spirit, they just – are. I recognised them, but nothing becomes of them, they exist just like everything else that does not matter. There’s white, yes, but it is very telling. It stains so easily. Then there’s black. It’s chic, it’s classy and it’s slimming, isn’t it.

The joys of life are what she lives for, what I live for. I have recently grown accustomed to not looking for them. That way when they come to me and I notice them, I can feel.

I have found the joy in simplicity, in moments, in pain. This will remain until she leaves. When I no longer feel her cold touch. When a new reflection surfaces along with the glimpses of myself.

Do you understand?

Creative Writing, Poetry, The Fine Line

My Vices

My vices get the better of me,

I am disobedient,
They tell me – be obedient,
But then I find that once again
I am disobedient

I hate my enemies,
They tell me – love your enemies,
And then, I find that, once again
I hate my enemies

I am drunk,
They tell me – do not succumb to drunkenness,
And then, once again, I find that
I am drunk

I lie, to hide the truth I lie,
They tell me – be honest,
And then I, once again find that
I lie

I take, take, take,
They tell me instead – to give,
And then I find, once again, that
I take

I am afraid,
They tell me – do not be afraid,
And then I find that, once again
I am afraid