“You should plant those little pots of basil and parsley they sell in supermarkets. You know, stuff that has grown already.” I suggest, touching the fabric of a pair of trousers I haven’t worn in a while.
Category: Word of the day
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“You want to come?” It’s the sudden question Lennard posits me while chopping some leek.
“I… where?” I take time, even if I’ve understood what he means.
“To the new year’s party. Unless you have other plans” Zeke intromits. Bastard.
“I think…”
Lennard is looking at me. He knows I don’t have other plans.
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She scoured her whole denim dress, to understand where the unbearable itching was coming from.
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Theresa thought she had no time for that, so she just smiled.
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I was alone; yet safe.
That’s what I thought until the noise of something moving in the bushes reached my ears.
Someone, as I detected cadenced footsteps.(Excerpt from a soon to be published short story)
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He shared a morsel of his pastrami sandwich with the stray cat via his chalk-powdered hands.
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She loved she knew what anthropomorphic means.
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She opened her mouth but then decided to say, “It’s okay for me”.
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She had to come across town.
She had to walk out her door, pass by the sport shop she once bought some stupid protein powder, she needed to mirror herself in a window full of jewellery, cross the road in fear of the homeless man yelling at his dragging feet. She had to listen to four songs for fifteen minutes and ten seconds, the last word being “you”, the last piece so pleasing yet versatile to deserve a place in her 2020, Karaoke beasts, and Running playlists.
She needed to feel dizzy and stop for a soda from the conveniece store. She had to prefer the zebra over the underpass. She had to stop on a bench in the park even if her uncompromising workout scheme could not allow that.
But she needed to be there.
Over, under.
Looking up, towards the sun filtering through the leaves of the same, yet different, tones of green. A single ray escaped that flexible gate, landing over her naked arm.
So much light.
Evident. Secret.
Who wanted to witness that amount of flesh? Surely, not her.
She strived. She bit her lips, immagining blood flooding out of them, the amount of matter she desired to get rid of.
She had her eyes closed. The roaring cars in the background, the sweeping dead leaves, her saliva descending her throat.
Then, she had not moved.
Claudia Delicato 