Courtney Harris
Bio
Mum, writer, artist, teacher. Thirties, hurties and surviving. Quirky lady. I don't have a niche, I love writing thrillers, romance, articles about mental health, poetry, whatever takes my fancy!
Stories (55)
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Journey to Jahennah: Chapter One
Nothing out of the ordinary ever usually happened when Lila went to her grandfather’s house. More often than not, she would sit and listen to him tell stories about his life and complain when she dunked biscuits in her tea. However, during this visit, everything seemed different. Perhaps it was her family squeezed into the cramped living room, either squashed onto the sofa or perched uneasily on rickety stools, brows furrowed and talking in hushed voices. Perhaps it was the weather, which, with its overcast sky and brisk, bitter wind, was unusually cold for July. Or perhaps it was her grandfather, who was normally so calm and cheerful, but now sat twitching and mumbling incoherently to himself in his oversized, grey armchair.
By Courtney Harris4 years ago in Fiction
Coming soon: my first book!
In 2016, I noticed something strange about the clock in our bedroom, the one that been on the wall for at least a year. It was a simple clock, brown with black Roman numerals, an uncoloured picture of a house in the centre. But this time, I realised the clock had a flaw. The Roman numeral for the number 8 was backwards; the III was in front of the V. A thought popped into my head.
By Courtney Harris4 years ago in Writers
Silencing the Guilt
I stared at the heavy glass bottle and wondered how much force it would take to break my hand if I "accidentally" dropped it. Not a horrendous break, just a little crack on the back, or a couple of broken fingers. Enough to send me to the hospital, not enough to endanger my life. I shook my head and put it back in the fridge. Stupid idea. As I closed the door, I looked at it for a few minutes, wondering how hard I would have to hit my head to knock myself out, or give myself a mild concussion. Not hard enough to cause irreparable damage, just enough for a few days' rest.
By Courtney Harris4 years ago in Education
We'll be seeing you soon
Streaks of red splashed across the sky as Eve prepared for her first hunt since the eggs had hatched. Otis had brought them food the last three weeks, but now their owlets had grown their down and could keep themselves warm, she was ready to fly. She stood on the branch outside the hollow, listening for the tiny sounds that betrayed her prey, but was distracted by a clicking from her home. The owlets were hungry, climbing all over each other. She hooted softly, reassuring them that feeding time was near. A pang of doubt shot through her but she ruffled her feathers and shook her head. Of her five eggs, only these three had survived. They were strong now, their chirps loud, their wings growing. They would be fine.
By Courtney Harris4 years ago in Fiction
Person first, teacher second
Tuesday has always been my least favourite day of the week. You'd think it would be Monday, but you know Monday's not going to be great, and you can still reminisce about the lovely weekend you've just had. But not on Tuesday. On Tuesday, you've done a full day of work already, you're tired, you're not even halfway through the week, and any reminiscence is about the previous day, which, of course, was Monday.
By Courtney Harris4 years ago in Education
There's something under the boat
Friday 5th March 1993 22:30 I don't know why I agreed to this. I like camping as much as anyone, but my birthday is basically in the winter and I'm freezing. It was snowing last week for god's sake! And now here I am, wearing three jumpers and my waterproofs, freezing my tits off. I should have said no and told my friends to save the partying for next year. Eighteen is an age actually worth celebrating.
By Courtney Harris4 years ago in Fiction
