A.M. Mac Habee
Bio
A.M. Mac Habee is a non-binary, pansexual, disabled artist and author living and studying in the North East of England since 2017. They have a particular interest in multi-media, interdisciplinary and mixed forms that break with tradition.
Stories (7)
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Moving In
1. Because he owned all three houses, the backyard was huge. To the far left was a secluded flower garden for his mother, partially walled and wildly overgrown. It had an old-fashioned table and chairs, completing the classic English-Cottage vibe. If I could, I would have sat in that part of the garden and enjoyed the sunlight. But I wanted to respect her privacy and property, so I stayed away.
By A.M. Mac Habee4 years ago in Fiction
My Favourite Colour
1. I had to replace the contents of the first aid kit. The plasters had expired during that year and we hadn’t noticed until they all spilt onto the floor, soaking up the remnants of that morning’s shower. Water split the sterile seals and they curled up like toes when you call your teacher ‘mummy’. I bought new everything on Amazon and carefully refilled the kit, making sure it all had an appropriate home. I loved this kit, a St. John Ambulance fabric bag in pine.
By A.M. Mac Habee4 years ago in Poets
Last Day in Town
He came to see me off, my younger brother, or so I though as he extended one leg and twisted round to look at me. I wasn’t expecting to see him, his last words to me were less than kind. I knew his anger came from pain, so I told him I forgave him. That only seemed to make the tears come harder. We are the only two boys in the family. Fourteen sisters, most still living. He’s too young to understand that I need to go where the work is. He got on his bike and silently left me.
By A.M. Mac Habee5 years ago in Poets
Light of My Life
I never imagined an end when I was forged. When glass was laid into my grooves. When I was transported with the others. Some scuffed, scratched, broke their glass, but I arrived pristine. And I kept it that way for years. No bird dared. That I’d be alone as I lit a dirt road. Kids used this road for school, couples for courting. One man lent on me in a drunken stupor and I bore him up. Then the factory caught fire. At first, I thought I was lucky for my view, then it descended on me. I ended as I began, in the flame.
By A.M. Mac Habee5 years ago in Poets
Waves
When I was seven years-old, my parents sold everything they owned and bought a sailboat. They wanted us to see the world, before it was gone. The ship was an O’Day 37 CC manufactured in 1978. O’Day was one of the most successful sailboat builders in the USA. Founded in 1958 by George O'Day, an American Olympic and World champion sailor. But the company went out of business in 1989, thirteen years before we bought the ship, who we’d later name Starshine III. It had a centre cockpit (CC), with a cabin at the back for my parents, the main cabin in which my brother slept on the couch and a v-birth at the tip of the ship where I rested with my little sister. It also had a wooden trim that my parents adored. It contrasted the beige-white plexiglass hull. Our deep blue canvas covers looked regal next to the wooden accent, which was purely decorative, and framed the shape of our vessel.
By A.M. Mac Habee5 years ago in Wander
