Update and Fiction (6th of June, 2016)
Hey there!

So it's June and I've been gone a few weeks. Unfortunately for myself I was quite sick. I'll be fine but in lieu of my illness and the release of Overwatch I decided to take a few weeks off to get better and play some games.

This week I'm back with a fresh week of flash fiction. Enjoy.



Ruby Red-light, not a name she aspires to. She earns it by meeting them down by the mosque-side markets where the men gather. The poppies blossom along the waterways she wanders, unable to get them out of her mind.

They meet her down by the mosque-side markets where two in a crowd blend in amongst the sable and satin of the souq’s stalls. Merchants hawk goods to them as they meander together, their eyes meeting for just a moment.

To see red is to see them together, to see love and passion lost amongst a sea. Ruby Red-light and her paramour.


The aesthetic was ascetic, bare and minimalistic. The weight in her limbs was too great to overcome, her knees and elbows locked in place as her paramour took centre stage.

The space between them filled, yellow with spirit and sun. Their fingers never touched her, aching at the elbows and knees - resistance crumbling. Kinetics overtook her, she fell into their arms and shed her skin. They never touched, her body aching - the spark between them filling the air, knowing they can never join and barely grazing. Yellow, like the sun - like the whole they cannot form.


Waves travel through a medium, energy imparted at a point dissipating out through space - absorbed piecemeal until it disappears entirely and the energy is lost.

Resting my head against your heart I can hear your energy, I can hear the moments after love slowly fade into the medium of your form - your body trapping our waves within one another.

Down by the canal, lapping waters and wistful whispers turn ships and encourage lovers. The voices holler out your name, husky men by the docks and the mosque where bells toll the end of service. Indigo ladies cat-calling.


Cafe tastes of coffee cake and orange juice, a slice of toast slightly burnt and smothered in lemon butter. The oils stain my tongue - polished wooden blinds with citrus and the citron sheen of your lip-gloss.

Memories of cigarettes and salt linger on my tongue, not yet shrouded out by the espresso in the cake. I asked you earlier if you were interested in that little cafe down the street, so here we are. The inevitable answer seems to be, no.

The coffee is bitter, the lemon butter too sweet and the mood has soured.


I’m seeing red, but feeling blue - and feeling blue means thinking of you. Of holding hands down by the cerulean seas where the salt dyes mix into the soft cotton. The rough sandstone grazes my legs as I climb up to watch you work - the indigo women toil against the waves.

The day ends, no longer blue - I venture down to the markets amongst the men, their bodies jostling against mine as I pass through crowds to feel the sapphire stain of your skin. The warmth within and the raw nerves our last meeting stirred, insurgent.


Consumed in high violet, the violence is odious. Absolutism flooding through her veins, a sickening of her brain in this strange space. The spices and lavenders aromatize the markets, their perfume still lingers in that cramped space - stained to the hairs in her nostrils. It is cloying and ever-present, mixed with that iron scent. Sulphur and cyanide, like almond milk against your skin.

Consumed in high ultra-violet, the entire market lights up purple from another kind of stain. All other senses lost amongst the torpor, no more taste, touch, sight, sound, only the haze of cigarette smoke as the men gather.


We become one, lost. The leaves are turning, balancing in the wind. Fresh flowers bloom, new buds grow. In the decay of one dream, new hope may swell. She sits down upon the docks, her name long forgotten to the crowd passing by. Upon the precipice into the emerald sea, where kelp forests rise against the ebb of a weak tide - the moon is gone but the sun grows stronger.

All things are in equilibrium, except for her. Torpor comes and goes, but she can’t deny what she is. Ruby Red-light, the name she aspires to, draped in green - a stranger to the men she walks amongst.