- Follow crispina kemp on WordPress.com
Copyright Crispina Kemp and crimsonprose 2012
Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site is strictly forbidden.
Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Crispina Kemp and crimsonprose with appropriate and specific direction to the original content
Very Inspiring Blogger Award
Tag Archives: Mostly Micro
“Look at them.” “Look at who?” “Them. The humans. Litter-dropping, nose-picking, smelly-farting…” “Hey, you, lay off them. They feed us, don’t they?” “Can’t stand them. Always putting us into pigeon holes.”
“Guess nobody lives here anymore.” “But this is the right address.” “Yea, and no one’s used those steps in many a year. Tell me again what he looked like.” “Old. Gnarled.” “And green?” “What’re you implying?” “A short little cobbler, … Continue reading
Mercy was her nameTo the door she cameA nurse, she wore a maskThe look she gave me, I was scared to askIn truth, I didn’t dareDoes Stephen King still live here?
I didn’t expect to find such a thing here Not in my hometown Nothing magical here. That’s why first off, I thought it an underpass. Yet… what was that I saw beyond it? Red? Red trees, red bushes? What was … Continue reading
A nightmare, I know it is I’m LUCID dreaming I can wake from it I struggled to wake I woke in my bed NO! Not my bed I’m dreaming again I struggled to wake I woke in my bed NO! … Continue reading
He said my suggestion was asinine. I asked him why. He said it doesn’t conform to the accepted theory. I said what if that theory is wrong? No, he said, that is truly asinine. But what about that body of … Continue reading
Grandma’s house. But Grandma was dead, that house was now mine. It wasn’t set in the village, wasn’t easily accessible. It sat at the end of an overgrown footpath, all nettles and thistles and brambles. Grandma’s goat had kept it … Continue reading
George opened his eyes with grudged reluctance, disturbed from his Sunday morning slumber by her downstairs. Who was she talking to, all ‘sweetness’ and ‘petals’? Next door’s cat, most likely. He had told her… and here she’d got it in … Continue reading
Remember Grandma’s feather bed? I remember her feather pillows. Remember her shed in the yard? I remember that’s where she did the plucking. Remember the mess when the cat snuck in? I remember we were the ones to sweep it. … Continue reading