- 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
Marilyn prided herself on her swimming abilities – twice she had swum St George’s Channel – so when Daphne down at the White Swan challenged her to swim Dickerson’s pond she treated it as a bit of a joke. “You … Continue reading
So many jobs Louisa had had, and each required a different set of skills. In each position she learned something new, many times undertaking fresh training. Yet there was a degree of overlap. By the time Louisa composed her retirement … Continue reading
Freddy opened the small canvas-seated fishing stool his grandson had bought him five Christmases back and set it firmly on the woodland floor. From his satchel he pulled out his props – a sketch pad and pencil. The fabric creaked … Continue reading
I wasn’t sure about answering Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt this week. Since moving, time seems always in short supply and the wordcount is high. Moreover, though I rake through my mind, nothing crops up… unlike the weeds in my new … Continue reading
He asked me which I’d rather see, the sun or the clouds. I said clouds. And so he gusted up a storm and blew the thick clouds over me.
Who would suspect him, a monk ten years in holy orders?Although he had already lived 150. His weapon of choice?Not a blade or poison.A chord of increasing volume.Delivered within a Gregorian chant.Crescendo. 37 words written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: … Continue reading
It was Adam began it. Look around you, said the Lord, at the trees, the flowers, the fruits in this garden. What will you name them? For without a name, you cannot know them. Then the Lord said, look around … Continue reading
“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?