scribblingwren avatar

Ward 13

by

The blackened bones of skeletal trees have been painted with a thin brush on a Wedgewood blue sky. Orange wisped clouds puff across an empty carpark from the incinerator's belch.

Notice of demolition pinned and flapping in the breeze.

The door has been shut but is unlocked.

The interspace between our worlds is ill defined. It’s easy to get lost.

Forgotten.

Trapped one side with no means of return.

A narrow corridor.
Locked doors lining its walls.
A small window.
That won’t fully open.
Squeezing.
Closing in on you.
Desperation to leave embraces you.
Takes over.
Even I suppose possesses.

3 comments add one below

  • avatar

    Drew Martyn over 1 year ago

    This is frighteningly, ferociously bleak and hopeless. I find the line "Written in 1989 by a boy here to kiss a girl in the desertion" resonates back and forth through the series. Superbly evocative and atmospheric, Lisa, it's been an absolute pleasure (I think that's the right word ;) ) to read.

  • avatar

    Lisa Williams over 1 year ago

    Thank you Drew for your unfailing reads and comments.
    Do so appreciate them X

  • avatar

    Drew Martyn over 1 year ago

    Sounds daft to say "my pleasure" but that's why I read them :)

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