EJ Ferguson
Bio
EJ Ferguson is a UK-based writer and occasional poet. She holds a BA in Creative Writing from University of South Wales, and is perpetually working on a debut novel. She is often found buried beneath soft blankets and two enormous cats.
Achievements (6)
Stories (17/0)
The Siren's Purse. Second Place in 2023 Vocal Writing Awards - Fantasy Fiction. Top Story - June 2023.
It was dumb luck that nobody was killed, though to hear the rivermen bragging over their spirits, it was testament to their rare skill. The siren had been wandering the silver gloom of the icebound estuary, weakened and alone. Had they met her in the seething wilderness of the open sea in the company of her sisters, their survival would have been a fireside tale wondrous enough to last them the rest of their lives.
By EJ Fergusonabout a year ago in Fiction
Nettleskin. Runner-Up in Christopher Paolini's Fantasy Fiction Challenge.
There is a place in the forest where the trees are more ancient than the land is. Each has a shape and a name and a presence of its own, like the letters of a sentence, though the secrets they spell are written for far older and stranger things than I. The gloom beneath the branches is perpetual and deep. Here, the mushrooms grow in rings, chill mists form at noon and midnight and bodiless voices murmur in the shadows. It is no place for a mortal to linger.
By EJ Ferguson2 years ago in Fiction
Bluebottle Express. Finalist in 2023 Vocal Writing Awards - Science Fiction.
In metal cocoons, the others wailed with infant voices. You did not. Why did that so intrigue me? I watched you through the glass pane in the iron womb as you thrashed in soundless rage. Even before you had formed ears, I whispered apologies through the air filters. Your first breaths were knotted up with my regrets. Is that what malformed you, so?
By EJ Ferguson2 years ago in Fiction
The Silversmith
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. In fact, if the townspeople were asked if there were any dragons within a hundred miles, most would ridicule the idea or cross themselves against the magic and curse against tempting fate. This far south, so close to the border? Ludicrous. It didn’t do to imagine such things.
By EJ Ferguson2 years ago in Fiction
A Horizon Lost
Frank’s proposal was not entirely unexpected but it was poorly timed. We had breakfasted together at the Cadena Cafe before RMS Titanic’s departure from Southampton, and it was the last time we would have together for six months for I was to journey to New York. The consequences that distance can have on a heart are often unpredictable, but even before we parted it seemed that Frank was feeling the effects - his gaze lingered through the steam from our eggs and coffee; his jokes were more frequent and his compliments especially earnest. I rather think he intended it to be romantic, catching my hands as I wished him farewell in the bustling street and saying: “Before you leave, Chrissy...might you do me the honour of promising your hand in marriage? For when you return, I should very much like to make you my wife.”
By EJ Ferguson2 years ago in Fiction
Why I Can't Call Myself Agender
When I was a kid, I forget how old, I went to the rugby club with my grandfather because he wanted a pint of beer. It was a familiar place to me because it's where all the birthday parties and seasonal discos were held. I'd been there many times for cake, cheap fizzy drinks, games of musical chairs and endless renditions of the Macarena.
By EJ Ferguson2 years ago in Pride
