Dylan Nicholson
Bio
Writer of short stories.
London. Film person.
Owns far too many books.
Stories (10)
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Rumpelstiltskin. Content Warning.
“I am Rumpelstiltskin and I’ve come to eat your baby,” John Bourne said, spreading foundation across his cheeks. He paused and looked at himself in the mirror. “No! Blasted thing, what a damn word salad,” he said and picked up his script from the dressing table. He turned the pages slowly. “Aha,” he tapped a line of text, “I am Rumpelstiltskin and I’ve come for your baby. I’ve come for your baby.”
By Dylan Nicholson12 months ago in Fiction
Work Friends
He hadn’t come home that night, at least not when she’d expected him to. Tired of watching the front door, waiting in quiet shame for it to open, she started a new ritual. Checking the clock in the hall. That felt less neurotic than glaring at her watch every thirty seconds. She even conjured up menial tasks for herself: empty a bin that wasn’t full, tidy away a lone umbrella by the stairs, sweep around the telephone table; tasks specifically designed to take her past the hall clock so she could steal glances. But, as the faux tasks grew thin, and the time grew later, she fell back into her old habit of simply standing beneath the clock in embarrassment.
By Dylan Nicholson3 years ago in Fiction
