S. A. Crawford

Joined June 2018

213 stories

Bio

Writer, reader, life-long student - being brave and finally taking the plunge by publishing some articles and fiction pieces.

Achievements (15)

Stories (213)

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The Dancers
Russet and golden, dancers in the Autumn wind. No longer stuck fast.
By S. A. Crawford4 months ago in Poets
Life in Miniature
Life - written on leaves, Veins like ours falling slowly. Mirror our short lives.
By S. A. Crawford5 months ago in Poets
Five Legs
We are a creature on the edge of the abyss - Five legs, three hearts, one racing mind on a mountain path... and each corner is a minefield.
By S. A. Crawford5 months ago in Poets
Bealach na Bà . Runner-Up in The Road Drops Here Challenge.
Bealach na Bà - The ghost of cattle pass in pairs, shaking the car as gusts of wind, and spread in the shifting grass.
By S. A. Crawford5 months ago in Poets
The Lives of Others. Top Story - September 2025.
Like millions of other people, I commute daily; an hour on public transport each way to the nearest large city. I've taken the same bus journey so many times I recognize the drivers and their schedules and I can sleep most of it without missing my stop. I can see the fucking road with my eyes closed and I swear I have developed a sixth sense for when and where a traffic jam will occur, what buses will be late, and when I'll struggle to get a seat (always when the University is in session, always - I swear some of the students think their book bags have a ticket too the way they seat hog)...
By S. A. Crawford5 months ago in Humans
A Day on the 'Hill. Runner-Up in This Is How I Remember It Challenge.
You were so rich - inlaid with truth and humour, like seams of gold and silver. The poverty of the surroundings could not change that.
By S. A. Crawford6 months ago in Poets
Running on Empty
Bunched like wires pulled from a box, muscles and tendons, pulled taut over brittle bones. I am made of dust, held together by spite and willpower alone.
By S. A. Crawford6 months ago in Poets
Short Drop
It grows still, first, then heavy. Silence like lead, and a fire under the skin, burning as it spreads... How could you have been so stupid?
By S. A. Crawford7 months ago in Poets
Solus Iterum
A vanishing act like no other - Here's how it starts. First you wobble - a bump in the road, a misstep on the path, then you tumble.
By S. A. Crawford8 months ago in Poets
The Last Hour. Content Warning.
I love you, but please - just pass. No one can say these words, but when your hand is like doughy fire in mine, your forehead webbed with pained lines,
By S. A. Crawford8 months ago in Poets
The Petals That Fall
We are taught that flowers bloom only for display, but they grow wild and windblown, in crags and cracks, between slabs and in edges roughed by salt spray.
By S. A. Crawford8 months ago in Poets
Her Voice
Her voice welcomed me into the world in soft, tired tones and it has been there ever since. My mother is a private person, so I won't tell you much about her life other that it has been too hard for such a soft, kind woman. She's tough, my mum, but raw; she feels everything so deeply, cares so intensely that I sometimes wonder why she was burdened with a daughter like me. We are chalk and cheese. I am often hard and unsentimental to the point of callousness, level headed in a crisis but not good at being open or soft day to day. I feel, but do not speak while she showers those around her with love and care in abundance.
By S. A. Crawford9 months ago in Longevity