Eleanor Horne

Joined August 2022

2 stories

Bio

Part-time earthling, full-time daydreamer.

London, UK

Stories (2)

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The Orange
I saw an orange at the Tate Modern, It was cast in polyurethane, Carved and hand-painted, Tender and untainted, An eager imitation of the mundane.
By Eleanor Horne3 years ago in Poets
Falling stars don't grant wishes anymore.
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But space is only held up by 62 miles of sky. And when those screams scrape their way down the clouds and embed themselves into the echoing soil - it’s pretty hard to tune out. I even had to put my hands over my ears. It might have been nice for it to have been quiet, the apocalypse carried in like pollen on a spring breeze. There’s nothing to hear now but smoke and static. I miss the hum of humanity.
By Eleanor Horne3 years ago in Fiction