Packing Up
I packed up the bastards shit yesterday. I was thinking of being all cliche and throwing it out of the 3rd floor windows. Apparently the feeling is sensational. Alas no, I acted as an adult and packed it away neatly into black bin bags - obviously leaving out anything I'd bought him. He turned up at 2, bang on time, something he'd never managed in the 17 years we'd been married. The ferrari was parked at the front of the house and I could just make out the 6 foot Swedish silicone breast in the front seat, draped in a jacket of baby animals. Whore.
He didn't look at me the entire time. Just mumbled a pathetic 'Thanks' and ran off to find his balls. I couldn't explain the feeling I had after I closed the door and listened to the sound of my husband and his mid-life crisis roaring off into the sunset. I had just faced the man who had broken my heart and not let an inch of the hurt he had caused me to even flicker onto my face. I could picture the ladies at the tennis club patting me on the back and congratulating me for not letting him 'win'. As if there were any winners or losers in this kind of situation. But there is one thing that still puzzles me to the point of keeping me awake at night: if I am so much better off without him and if I have come out of this whole thing the better woman, then why do I feel so decrepit and alone and why can't I say his name?
End of the Year
The slow repetitive tick tock
Tick tock, tick tock
Of the oval clock
Seems to mock
The silence echoing around
The room of neverending sound
I knew they were bound
To leave, she mutters, eyes on the ground
The time just seemed to fly
I'll miss them all and, God knows why,
Marking the work that made me want to die
But I have to release my students to the sky
And let them learn to flap their wings
And enjoy their 6 week summer flings
And with the autumn September brings
Comes the room filled with the rings
Of laughter and life of my students dear
But then comes the usual nagging fear
Of getting them through another year
If only their was an exam paper seer
Tick tock
Tick tock
Robyn
Flash Fiction: Identity
Sam ran through the trees, bushes, plants and shrubs, tripping and stumbling but never slowing. Sam could hear the pirates murderous shouts and tried to figure out how far away they were; they weren't far enough. An arrow whistled past Sam's ear, cried out and fell to the floor to the sound of cheers.They circled the small boy lying face down in the ground with the arrow sticking out of his back. He was wearing a woolen hat and his navy sailor uniform had deepened red. A pirate knelt by the boys head, turned him on his back and pulled off his hat. A murmur of confusion went around the group and the Chief Pirate pushed his way to the front.
"What's going on? What's wrong?"
The pirate held out Sam's hat to the chief.
"It's not the boy, sire. It's that peasant girl they had with them."
The Pirate Chief roared.
"Where is he? Find him!"
"It's not the boy, sire. It's that peasant girl they had with them."
The Pirate Chief roared.
"Where is he? Find him!"
The pirates spread out among the trees, leaving Sam's body for whatever might find it.
Robyn
Instinct
This feeling
of complete emptiness
and loss.
Like a whole,
that will never be
filled again.
I wait for the right
piece
to finish my puzzle,
and pray I don't loss another.
This feeling
of complete tragedy
This really isn't
new to me.
I wait for someone to build the other side,
given up hope.
Been years since
I last cried.
I sit in my carriage,
a circle carriage of fate.
Wonder how long I'll have to wait...
of complete emptiness
and loss.
Like a whole,
that will never be
filled again.
I wait for the right
piece
to finish my puzzle,
and pray I don't loss another.
This feeling
of complete tragedy
This really isn't
new to me.
I wait for someone to build the other side,
given up hope.
Been years since
I last cried.
I sit in my carriage,
a circle carriage of fate.
Wonder how long I'll have to wait...
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