Hannah Moore
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Achievements (31)
Stories (271)
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Revelation 17:4. Winner in Through the Keyhole Challenge.
I wasn’t meaning to spy. But I didn’t want to get into trouble either. I have bad dreams. I went to look for Sister Angelica or Sister Sarah, even though I’m too scared to tell them I’m scared. Sister Angelica says that we who serve God need not be afraid, but I’m not afraid of God. Probably I’m lucky they didn’t find me first. I only looked through the keyhole to know they were there. Only Sister Angelica was there though, and Father O’Connell.
By Hannah Moore3 months ago in Fiction
Jointly and Severally
Alex We like the same things, Lexi and me. Similar things. Or rather, we enjoy the same things, but differently. Take shopping. I love those mounds of produce, skins of dimpled orange, crinkled green, shining red, round shapes, rod shapes, cone shapes, I love to imagine the ripeness of the flesh inside as I squeeze an avocado, or how it’s going to feel to slice into that aubergine, how the smell seeping out when I split open the cells of that leek with my knife is going to kick-start my appetite. I love planning out, in my head, what I’m going to do with all that goodness that I see in front of me. It kind of makes me feel alive. Lexi is the same, except she’s got her eye on the shoppers. Me? I’m dreaming of hearty vegetable stew, but Lexi, she’s more about stewing hearts.
By Hannah Moore3 months ago in Fiction
Before the rooster crows. Runner-Up in A Knock at the Door Challenge. Content Warning.
The latch clicked home with a metallic clunk that rippled through the door, into Martha’s fingers and up her arm, shrugging something free around her shoulder blades and returning her, in shattered pieces, to herself. She stood, spine sagging and cheekbones slipping into jowls, and listened for a silence ruined by her own breathing. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself, standing under the electric light, surrounded by the shit she had chosen to prettify plaster and concrete and the tawdry necessity of a hallway from which she was expected to come and go and come and go and come and go in pursuit of some sort of life worth living, and a shrinking nausea slithered through her gut. She slipped off her shoes, dropped her bag to the floor, and went through to the kitchen. Another day down.
By Hannah Moore4 months ago in Fiction
