It’s that time again – get ready for some brand new writing! This month’s image was a photograph of the moon. Thank you to everyone who took the time to enter – it was a challenge in itself to choose our favourites from the variety of fantastic stories and poems.
Inspired to write? Check out December’s writing challenge!
Just a Phase by WJane Swan
You couldn’t make it up. They caught the guy who did it through his username in the online astronomy group. OK, before D.I. Zangpo joined the force, he was a Buddhist monk, right? So in the monastery they lived by the phases of the moon; New Moon, fasting and silence, 8th Day, Tara prayers and so on. Well, the D.I. noticed that all the offences were committed a few days after the full moon. Now, what’s that phase of the moon called? It’s called “waning gibbous”. So that’s how he nailed the perp. From checking out the astro-group members’ usernames – Wayning Gibbus!
A Brooding Moon by Steph Newham
There’s something crazy going on. The Staff Nurses’ Hostel is electrically charged. We give a collective sigh. The full moon’s waning; time for Dr Whites and sanitary belts. Boyfriends absent themselves; men faint at the sight of blood, they’re not used to seeing it. So why do we expect anything different from them? But we’re used to blood. Blood pumping from bodies, seeping from burst infusion bags; drip-dripping from a picked scab; draining tension. Our work, our own bodies bathe us in blood.
We eat ice-cream from tubs, gaze up at the mythical man glowing through un-curtained windows. We discuss the rhythm method, compare our lunar peaks while the moon and our hormones are in synch. We nurses, connected to the moon by our bloodied hormones, brood.
Moony-Eyed by Deborah Redden
Two elderly women sat in a bustling cafe, the plodding chords of ‘Sugar, Sugar’ taunting their ears, and the glare of midday sun making comfort impossible. ‘Course, my Bill sez it’s all a hoax,’ said the larger of the two, taking a healthy bite of a brimming cream bun and pushing the plate of similar fare toward her friend who sat opposite. ‘Sez, there’s no way a Man can land on the moon, and all those films were made in a Hollywood studio.’
‘Can’t say I’d agree, Aggie,’ said the other, her eyes full of mischief, her hands fumbling over a lemon-yellow fancy with a dark chocolate drizzle that dripped over the edges, plopping unto the table with an audible ‘plip’. ‘But, I do know this, I’ll not say no to looking at that Kennedy once or twice more! Thank God for the old Telly-Box, eh?’
Just a Taste by Laura Mason
I ran my finger over the smooth flesh, before gently teasing the skin with me tongue. A smile played across my lips, how long it had been since I had done this? I gripped the flesh firmly in my hand as my tongue slid across my canines, I opened my mouth as sunk my teeth in, my mouth salivating as the skin broke, and me bite sank farther in. Pulling away, I gazed at the apple in my hand. “Man, these taste so much better than I remember!”