Hotel of lost thoughts
finalist Globe Soup – micro fiction
Rejection hung from Ray like a smelly coat when he arrived at the Hotel of Lost Thoughts, last resort for the creatively bankrupt. His suitcase held only crumpled rejection slips and a half-finished manuscript. He would trade his soul for a spark of inspiration or die trying…
Miss
Martin is the center of everything. He is sitting cross-legged on the floor of his dressing room, eyes closed, his hands form a bowl in front of his chest. He breathes in deeply, holds his breath for five seconds and then slowly exhales. He repeats this exercise four times. He always does this before going on stage; empty his mind and manifest success. He envisions himself on top of a mountain, looking down at the masses. He is a God at the center of his own thoughts. Read on…
Café at night
longlisted for the AWC furious fiction contest
‘Bonne nuit, mademoiselle!’ The last customers pay their bill and reluctantly saunter off across the square. Closing time is her favourite time of the day. When the terrace and the square slowly empty of people and the day’s heat dissipates from the cobbles, a nightly calm seems to settle on the world, underneath the glaring light of the budding starry sky. When the city slowly starts to cool off she finally finds some space for thought.
Bloomingdale’s
‘What’s supposed to be so bloomin’ special about this place anyway?’ Ed muttered. ‘And what’s with all the checkered tiling? It’s like walking into a giant optical illusion.’
He kicked the floor. His shoe squeaked. The sound took Lily back to the stuffy high school gymnasium where she was a cheerleader twenty years ago.