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31 Posts

Creative Writing

Original, creative writing from TheNeverPress. This is where you will find poetry, short stories, epiphanies, musings and all sorts of strange and beguiling work. This will be a mix of old work and also new writing - and, some of it will be given away to all, and others will be for subscribers only. To get access to this lost-and-found treasure trove of thoughts and ideas, simply subscribe with your email and then dive in like Scrooge McDuck.

TheNeverPages ⸱ Graham Thomas

Chapter Twelve

Baby safe, I’m safe! Survived the Tsar’s apocalypse! Angeline gone! Gone! Turned to dust! Here’s what happened. Apologies first, I am so rattled and too panicked to write coherently.
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Short Stories ⸱ Graham Thomas

Christmas Without Miracles

A wee little short story for you all in this festive period that is, as they should be, happy and sad and back again. With love, GT
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TheNeverPages ⸱ Graham Thomas

Chapter Eleven

Paisley’s leg is twitching. Must be dreaming. Hope it is of happier times. Playing with his master. Chewing a bone. He is a great companion. Love him dearly.
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TheNeverPages ⸱ Graham Thomas

Chapter Ten

Angeline could not recall to me her life and so instead she recalled to me a dream. The smoky cataract in her ‘good eye’ cleared. She smiled. I glimpsed her wooden dentures. Around me the replicated diners and waiters went through their routines.
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TheNeverPages ⸱ Graham Thomas

Chapter Nine

Night-time within the embrace of the Exxon Valdez. The woman is sleeping with her head on my lap, the bustle of her dress a maroon waterfall. Her lace collar is undone, exposing her neck. Clear sign she is comfortable. No rings on fingers. Loose ringlets in hair. Slender neck. Old and young.
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TheNeverPages ⸱ Graham Thomas

Chapter Eight

Woke up a few minutes ago to sound of scraping. Sitting up on bench, huddled in coat (cushion provided no dream). Scraping was soft. Almost a slide. A note under my door! I am staring at it. Still folded under doorframe. Peeking through the edge. Paisley is fast asleep.
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Poetry ⸱ Rosie Cook

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Who am I when not loved? Floating in the hands of others, Cradled and cupped, Their eyes and how they see me making me light. Without it I could drown  Wash up and waste away - Then I could be anything  Inanimate, Empty with everythings  They keep me full.  Who
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TheNeverPages ⸱ Graham Thomas

Chapter Seven

Door slid open effortlessly. On rails. Odd. No handle, just on rails. Only one bench inside, facing sliding door. Nobody sitting on it. Window above it. Maroon-coloured blind drawn. Picture of a tree on blind – very fine embroidery, like the ivy on the hem of sister’s dress.
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Poetry ⸱ Rosie Cook

nothing

Living is looking forward  to nothing, Looking forward to everything,  means actually to,  Look forward  to nothing.  In that to look forward  is to abandon  the moment, The most living and ferocious real everything we have, Because what’s forward  is nothing  Nothing  - and I mean a white hazy
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Poetry ⸱ Rosie Cook

sediments

Things are settling now The sediments of life breeze into a space  You once inhabited -  I, empty  out as it fills. Perhaps,  It is pieces of me that are taken  to fill in this gap.
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TheNeverPages ⸱ Graham Thomas

Chapter Six

Dog is sitting by the door licking the black paint. Coating appears to be wet. First thought was that it was wet paint. But no, it is water. Tasted it. Salt water. Resist licking door. Tell dog to stop. Dog shakes head. Can hear bullet rattling around in dog’s skull. Cannot remember dog’s name.
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TheNeverPages ⸱ Graham Thomas

Chapter Five

Left Mr H_ sleeping on his front. Can’t hear his breathing from the corridor. Soundproofed carriage? Doesn’t seem likely as I can see through the edges of the doorframe. The light from the room seeps under the crack below the door. Sound must only exist within its own borders.
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