Hannah Moore
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Achievements (31)
Stories (267)
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A Tale of Two Speeches
I peer into the mirror, no trace of your face returning my searching look. There never was, and I know that won’t change now. Your legs, however, hold me up, your feet, your toes, your….actually you laid this floor, didn’t you? On your hand and knees, refusing to wear a mask, working late even when I grew fed up and impatient to stop the clatter and rest, knowing that tomorrow I wouldn’t thank you all that much, but that I would walk every day on this floor you laid and not even notice how thankful I should be. I look down. Black socked feet against the now tired laminate. There is a gap, where the door frame curves and the square cut edge does not meet its bending. It’s filled with a built up cloying grime I can’t seem to keep at bay.
By Hannah Moore4 years ago in Families
Just Right
My favourite summer food is chocolate. This is because my favourite food is chocolate. In the winter time, chocolate is warm hued riches, a gratifyingly fatty sparkle of the exotic, a hug tinged with eroticism even as it holds you safe like a loving parent. In the summer, chocolate is….the same. But also, a little sickly and prone to melting. Like me, chocolate was not made for hot climates, and I, alas, was not made for chocolate, every dose plunging me into hours of lying still in darkened rooms, my head splintering in ultra slow motion. This is not an optimal way to enjoy the bounty of summer, and so let me turn my attention to other foods, if not rivals, then other runners, worthy of note.
By Hannah Moore4 years ago in Feast
The Quiet Ones
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. A long time ago, the wide delta lay spread below table top ridges high above, oats, corn and wheat patchworking the land, embroidered with pockets of peas and beans, and trimmed with fruit trees which blossomed pink and white each spring, and mellowed to yellow as the men and women of the valley turned the rich, silted soil ready for winter planting. Feast days in the valley, where food was never scarce, were richer in music, dancing and song, as no one feared the hunger of the coming months. No one remembered that now. There was no one to remember it. The story was that after the Silver Wars, the twelve dragons of Lashkan had been banished to the island, where they had lain down side by side and end to end, and with one spell so fierce it had used up all the magic left in the world, been turned to stone. An eternal punishment for an eternal slight. Never mind they had all been on the same side.
By Hannah Moore4 years ago in Fiction
