Susannah Twine
Stories (3)
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Cape View
She’s a blazing peach in the shimmery heat of the day. Still a long way off, propped up between ‘Old Blue’ and the sailor’s shack. Not a bit different. And your throat aches because you had always been a little in love with that sunkissed sandstone and white-trimmed cottage. She’s not even much of a cottage, you realise now – just one of the few, stout beach houses dabbled along the cut of bleached gravel that fringes the sand. But she was always a lovely thing, fragrant with the lavender and marigold that frothed down her side yard, and combed by the east winds that blew off the sea.
By Susannah Twine4 years ago in Fiction
The Unbound Self
There is perhaps nothing more beautiful than a soul wholly in love with themselves. I mean that breathtaking, sparkling, radiant lifeforce that speaks through the eyes. Dances between gazes. The selfless kind, free of ego yet wrapped in confidence.
By Susannah Twine5 years ago in Humans
We See You
We see you. Weary faces and kind eyes, “how’s it going, sir”, sometimes answered and most times ignored. Foot on the accelerator, and the mirror on your windscreen describes empty seats but for the bleak-eyed man with the briefcase, and the girl who takes shifts at the hospital. Five o’clock mornings and eleven at night, but the routes must be followed, the schedules unchanged. It’s a spectral sight; so few bodies to lurch, wave-like, as you pull away from the stop, and the quietness of the usual fifty different sets of earphones plugged into fifty pairs of ears made somehow quieter by no earphones at all. Yet faithfully you crawl the vehicle through suburbs and city, by sunrise and sunset and the minutes sheering midnight. Drivers in uniforms, piloting buses, trains, taxis and trams; the faces behind windscreens that deliver our journeys. Lonely trips they are these days, but heroes, you don’t go unnoticed.
By Susannah Twine6 years ago in Journal
