Alex Hawksworth
Bio
Full time History teacher and part time writer. I try to write the kind of stories I would like to read.
Achievements (1)
Stories (17)
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The Rough Country
When I was a little girl – lil’ sprog, my mammy used to call me – we lived way out in the middle of nowhere. Real back of beyond territory. You know, no electricity until the Sixties – or so that’s what they say – and still no cell network. Never mind Netflix, the folks round there would be hard pressed to tell you what Blockbuster was. Often in places like that there’s a real raw beauty. Nature, left right to do its thing. That wasn’t the case where I grew up though. No, this was all crags and weeds and plants with more spikes than flowers. Rough country, my mammy called it. Rough country for rough people. That’s who we were.
By Alex Hawksworth4 years ago in Fiction
The Tree of Life
We planted a pear tree when our son died. I dug the hole myself, shovelling dirt and lifting rubble until the pit swallowed me up to the waist. Then we scattered the ashes there, holding each other in silence. That grey powder, so bright against the black earth, was all that remained of our boy.
By Alex Hawksworth4 years ago in Fiction
Lessons I learned from Vocal's Summer Fiction Series Challenges
So, that's that. I've now submitted a story to all eight of Vocal's Summer Fiction Series Challenges. Don't worry if you haven't - at the time of writing, the Green Light, Long Thaw, and Pear Tree challenges are still open.
By Alex Hawksworth4 years ago in Journal
Hard Ice, Dead Hands
The frozen surface of Darkmoon Pond never melted. Even in the height of summer its black mirror face, overshadowed by an honour guard of dark pines, remained solid and cold. Big enough to be a lake, the townsfolk of nearby Pilgrim’s Rest, only spoke of it to warn others away from its icy shore. It was unnatural, they claimed: an abomination. No footpaths or hunting trails led to its paralysed waters; no maps marked its location. It was a dark secret that made people shudder when they thought of it, as if touched by its depths.
By Alex Hawksworth4 years ago in Horror
Green Thumbs
I have a passion for plants. Nothing brings me more tranquillity and satisfaction than time spent in the garden. Some people see gardening as little more than manual labour: all sweat and toil. They think of shovelling compost and earth, of tearing up deep-rooted weeds, of a great struggle with nature. They are wrong.
By Alex Hawksworth4 years ago in Humans
