projectandromeda1

Seclusion.

Margot was hungry. She trundled down the stairs of her apartment building, hoping she would meet no one. As she opened the door, she wondered how many people had touched the knob. At the store, she looked for something healthy. Carrots: gone. Celery: gone. She spotted a sandwich. The cashier who was wearing gloves andContinue reading “Seclusion.”

Symmetry.

She slid into the aisle seat. The middle-aged, well-dressed man between her and the train window was staring into an e-reader. She wondered whether the man had ignored her. Was his book an escape or was he contemplating ordinary details of life while blankly staring at pages? Who did he live with? Did he missContinue reading “Symmetry.”

Construction.

He was surrounded by boxes. Most of them were full. That morning he dismantled the furniture that they had built together: the dining table on which they hosted brunches, lunches, and dinners; the wooden shelves they had carefully selected from that antique shop; and the sofa on which he had spent many nights in pastContinue reading “Construction.”

Histories.

“My grandfather built the foundation of this house. After he passed, my father (your grandfather) and his brothers lived here. I grew up in these corridors with my cousins. The house grew with our family. A cousin added some rooms; an aunt built a terrace. I feared that our family would fight over this house.Continue reading “Histories.”

Alleyways.

Short breaths. Quick turns. As she zipped through the narrow alleyways, she could hear them close on her heels. She could see them from the corner of her eye. She was gasping for air, desperate for rest. Pain shot through her thighs as she ripped through the dingy streets. She couldn’t stop. They would getContinue reading “Alleyways.”

Chairs.

“This chair has seen everything,” he said. “It watched me through university. It was in my first apartment and then my second. It knows what my roommates did in my absence: things they don’t want me to know about. It knows my friends well and now it knows you. This chair has seen my differentContinue reading “Chairs.”

Tunnels.

She stopped short of picking up her phone. Should she call? She remembered his visit. Fireworks, beers on the beach, and torrential rain. It was glorious. She remembered her bad review. Tears, reflection, and rationalisation. It was comforting. She remembered many conversations about other friends and lovers. Racy, shady stories that should not be shared.Continue reading “Tunnels.”

Home.

She stretched out her body, book in hand, letting out a low purr. The warmth and safety of the fleece sheets were lulling her to sleep. Time for bed. Suddenly, she heard a noise. Her heart stopped. She turned pale. Quietly setting the blanket aside, she took a deep breath and tiptoed in the darknessContinue reading “Home.”

Mirrors.

Deep lines furrow her dusky forehead and cradle her circled eyes. Her dimples have company; dark ravines making their way from her sun-spotted nose to her chin. Mirrors scare her: with every glance another grey. Mirrors reveal how little she has accomplished. Not today. Today, her worn forehead and tired eyes are the long workContinue reading “Mirrors.”

Island.

She stood nervously in the skirts aisle. Customer sounds surrounded her: the groans of sizes too large, laughter associated with funny fits, grunts of people squeezing into small sizes. The store assistants looked overwhelmed, doing their best to tide through the holiday season. She gripped the skirt and walked with determination to the girl siftingContinue reading “Island.”