“Know thyself,” a moribund maxim: even the neighbours consume an idea of themselves which is make-believe.

For no reason at all, she thought about her youth. She remembered when couples slow-danced at the local hall and when it was so cold you could barely feel your feet and when parents took their children for ice cream near the water. For no reason at all, she thought about great big cargo ships and waves and tears.

The room is still. I want him to make a quip: to break the silence that began in peace and now festers between us. He begins to play a study that I do not know.

I had my first kiss beneath one of these winged stairwells. I learned how to love here. Guided by this passion and chaos, I learned to love here.

I gasped in air and stared at the stupid fucking goblin who had gotten me there. “Get us out of here!”

On thinking of wicked and nasty schemes.

Ellie Taylor on disability rights.

Gemma Lucy Smart pens a poem.

I hate these thoughts, just hate them, so I figure I just need to puncture the back of my head with a hole the size of a ten cent coin and the pesky imps will come spilling out.

The gnome introduced himself as Clodwick, and asked if I could proffer but a few copper coins to see him do his gnome dance.