Eloise Robertson
Bio
I pull my ideas randomly out of thin air and they materialise on a page. Some may call me a magician.
Stories (108)
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The Pink Crocodile Match
A shoe isn’t a very spectacular thing. In fact, it is quite plain. A glittery stiletto left at a bar with its heel snapped might turn a few heads, but it is forgettable. A broken thong - ahem, apologies, flip flop - on a hiking trail might draw a laugh at the expense of someone’s misfortune. A dirty runner - *sigh* trainer - tied to a power line might beg the question of how it was tied without the ease of its partner to hang with. We have all likely seen one of these mentioned scenarios. They are, after all, predictable fates for the footwear of their kind. A shoe is very rarely a spectacle, therefore unusually considered spectacular.
By Eloise Robertson 3 years ago in Fiction
My First Hunt
Six weeks my vampire life has lasted, and in that six weeks Mister has told me what to do but not how to do it. Sometimes I've doubted how good a mentor he is, and other times I've regretted not listening to the wisdom he offers (my eye still itches from the sun damage three weeks ago).
By Eloise Robertson 3 years ago in Fiction
Miro and Moch Dinas
Pain speared through the man’s head as he regained consciousness, rolling slowly onto his side. Waves of nausea threatened to make him sick when he opened his eyes as his vision shifted and spun. Limb by limb, he checked for other injuries, but only his head was wounded, with a slick, viscous substance dripping down from his ears.
By Eloise Robertson 3 years ago in Fiction
Flight, Fight, or Freeze
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It was a strange turn of events with the world now uninhabited besides this lonely, once-abandoned cabin. These four wooden walls protected one of the last living humans, a pitiful being cowering in a corner, no doubt.
By Eloise Robertson 4 years ago in Fiction
My First Rest
The weight of my chest crushes my lungs. I can’t breathe in. I am completely still, stiff and paralysed. An eternity has passed with me trapped in this tight space, incapacitated, speechless. A piece of me is missing while the rest of me is distant. There is a void in my torso, an endless dark, an absence of life that an existential dread has replaced.
By Eloise Robertson 4 years ago in Fiction
My First Dawn
My first feed didn’t go well. If it was an exam, I failed it. Mister watched from afar while I scrambled to fix the mess I’d gotten myself into. With the flesh of my roommate’s neck stuffed into my pocket and his blood all over my shirt, I made my escape. When emergency services arrived to extinguish the fire ravaging our apartment building, I couldn’t be found in the mob of residents on the street.
By Eloise Robertson 4 years ago in Fiction
Passageway
Somehow it looms while suspended high above me, yet I am crushed by the enclosing walls. The ceiling of the passageway is black as night, an endless void above my head, both vertically limitless to the eye and confined horizontally by the walls which hold it.
By Eloise Robertson 4 years ago in Fiction
My body isn't mine
Since I was young, people have told me that my decisions and feelings are irrelevant. In the end, I don’t have a choice. A horrible puppeteer lies in wait within my body, as it does within every woman. Any day now, the beast will wiggle its arms into mine, step its feet so its pace matches mine, and force my mouth into a smile. My body wouldn’t belong to me anymore. At a certain age, the monster steals my freedom of choice and forces the idea of children into a positive light. With the puppeteer come parasites living in the folds of my brain. They will take over subtly, so insidiously, not even I will notice how I’ve been manipulated.
By Eloise Robertson 4 years ago in Viva
Uncanny Valley
When a person like me goes camping or hiking, it is a guarantee that I would wander lost. I accepted this fact, assuming that I’d only be lost for an hour or two before recognising a gnarled tree, or happen upon the path again. Just like getting lost while driving, a familiar landmark always steers me in the right direction.
By Eloise Robertson 4 years ago in Fiction
Little Crowns and Larger Claws
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. The sun's light wasn't always so rarely seen, or the open roads more dangerous than the unfamiliar city streets. There wasn't always a lord regent ruling in lieu of a king, but a lot had changed in such a short time.
By Eloise Robertson 4 years ago in Fiction
