Hannah Moore
Bio
Achievements (31)
Stories (267)
Filter by community
In the Bleak Midwinter. Top Story - December 2023.
A yellowed dusk is mellowing the day outside my window. Inside, fairy lights, like pin pricks of hope in red, yellow, blue, green and gold dot the lamp lit room, and a cat presses herself to my thigh, purring. For a moment, just a moment, all is calm, all is bright, and I am at rest.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Motivation
Thirst Trap
The photographer was painfully slow. To be honest, I would have declined the shoot but I needed something a little more wholesome than collagen injections to explain why my skin was looking so fabulous, and the offer was timely from that perspective. So there I was, trying to look serene while four snails left trails of slime across my face and a photographer, lighting technician and my assistant all fussed about positioning them at optimal angles to one another. Out of shot, my fists clenched and my toes curled in revulsion, but I’m great at giving good face, and my brow was as smooth as sleeping ten year old’s. It helped that my brow couldn’t actually move much, to be fair, but I take some credit for my mastery of my own face. I meditate. I’m quite good at it. I could probably have surgery without anaesthetic.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Fiction
Purgatory. Top Story - November 2023.
If you’re lucky, you might to see the cortege. Black plumed Friesians, all harnessed muscle and gleaming life, drawing the dead in their wake. Or the partygoers, black-clad and not a bad word to say, whole hearted in their commitment, just for the day. You might see the mourning, drizzling, raining, pouring, whilst the earth is thrown down, scattering into earth, the grievances buried to offer handshakes and hugs, sandwiched with platitudes and before it grows boring, they’ll be on their way. If you’re lucky you might see the furnace, flames hidden from sight behind automated curtains and music you’ve chosen, where comfort is woven into funeral rites. You might see a parting so love filled, so heartening, that you regret more than ever that didn’t leave more in life. If you are lucky.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Fiction
Forgotten: The Story of a Story. Top Story - November 2023.
I was born of passion. Yearning, burning thirst, in the greening flush of a deluge after the parched silence of drought. So many moments aligned to enable my conception, moments of pain, moments of intimacy, a moment of unworded joy. But perhaps, after all the drama, the moment of my conception was one of quiet happenstance, the dervish whirling well beneath the surface for a change. Probably, my mother didn’t even know, in that moment, as her head lay warm on her lover’s chest in the amber light of a waning afternoon, or as she sat behind the wheel of her car, eyes anchoring her wandering mind to the glazed glow of tail lights in the quickening dusk, that the zygote had formed within her. I don’t know when that dawning realisation came for her, I suppose it is different every time, but I do know, I know with certainty, that I was met with tenderness. With love.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Fiction
