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Eloise Robertson
Bio
I pull my ideas randomly out of thin air and they materialise on a page. Some may call me a magician.
Achievements (1)
Stories (101/0)
Superhuman Expectations
Watching someone give every breath, every bead of sweat and every drop of blood for another person is something I am used to. At first, it was inspiring watching her be the pillar of strength that strangers need. The unbreakable wall, the softest touch, the sharpest blade, the gentlest spoken word, the fury of a thousand suns, the kindest smile. Everyone has a void in their life and she manages to fill it perfectly. I can’t imagine my life without her in it, but with each day that passes I find us being brought closer to the moment she will be ripped away from me.
By Eloise Robertson about a year ago in Fiction
Mirror Less Vigour
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. While my own eyes stared back at me in the silver layer nested behind the sheet of glass, the hollows which held them were darker and deeper than normal. Quite likely, it was the stress of organising a funeral which caused it; a lack of sleep and all. Stress. Grief. I prodded at the delicate purple skin beneath my eyes, poking the bones beneath, feeling reassured by the lack of pain. Not a black eye, after all.
By Eloise Robertson about a year ago in Fiction
Onward And Upward Into The Violet Sea
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Their soft luminescence outshone the distant stars and set the land awash with a gentle rosiness. During the dead of night, rural Australia was perfect to bask in the glow. The city lights polluted it into a murky brown, so Charli grew up with the muddy midnight sky, never understanding why her mother went cloud visiting instead of being at home. From their small suburban backyard, the sky was nothing to admire, so mundane.
By Eloise Robertson about a year ago in Fiction
We Watch
If walls could talk, I’d doubt they would tell stories fascinating enough to regale me. My life is simple; during my time inside the walls of home, I watch television, cook food, and sleep. My walls probably stopped watching me a long time ago and instead turned inward to the cockroaches and spiders inhabiting it. If it began talking about that, I think I’d move out.
By Eloise Robertson about a year ago in Fiction
My First Ghoul
I hate sleeping. Never had a problem with it as a human, of course. Sharing a coffin isn’t too great either, but my body doesn’t tire and get uncomfortable as it used to. For all intents and purposes this vessel is more akin to a slab of concrete than a bag of flesh.
By Eloise Robertson about a year ago in Fiction
The Pink Crocodile Match
A shoe isn’t a very spectacular thing. In fact, it is quite plain. A glittery stiletto left at a bar with its heel snapped might turn a few heads, but it is forgettable. A broken thong - ahem, apologies, flip flop - on a hiking trail might draw a laugh at the expense of someone’s misfortune. A dirty runner - *sigh* trainer - tied to a power line might beg the question of how it was tied without the ease of its partner to hang with. We have all likely seen one of these mentioned scenarios. They are, after all, predictable fates for the footwear of their kind. A shoe is very rarely a spectacle, therefore unusually considered spectacular.
By Eloise Robertson about a year ago in Fiction
My First Hunt
Six weeks my vampire life has lasted, and in that six weeks Mister has told me what to do but not how to do it. Sometimes I've doubted how good a mentor he is, and other times I've regretted not listening to the wisdom he offers (my eye still itches from the sun damage three weeks ago).
By Eloise Robertson 2 years ago in Fiction
Miro and Moch Dinas
Pain speared through the man’s head as he regained consciousness, rolling slowly onto his side. Waves of nausea threatened to make him sick when he opened his eyes as his vision shifted and spun. Limb by limb, he checked for other injuries, but only his head was wounded, with a slick, viscous substance dripping down from his ears.
By Eloise Robertson 2 years ago in Fiction
Flight, Fight, or Freeze
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It was a strange turn of events with the world now uninhabited besides this lonely, once-abandoned cabin. These four wooden walls protected one of the last living humans, a pitiful being cowering in a corner, no doubt.
By Eloise Robertson 2 years ago in Fiction
My First Rest
The weight of my chest crushes my lungs. I can’t breathe in. I am completely still, stiff and paralysed. An eternity has passed with me trapped in this tight space, incapacitated, speechless. A piece of me is missing while the rest of me is distant. There is a void in my torso, an endless dark, an absence of life that an existential dread has replaced.
By Eloise Robertson 2 years ago in Fiction
My First Dawn
My first feed didn’t go well. If it was an exam, I failed it. Mister watched from afar while I scrambled to fix the mess I’d gotten myself into. With the flesh of my roommate’s neck stuffed into my pocket and his blood all over my shirt, I made my escape. When emergency services arrived to extinguish the fire ravaging our apartment building, I couldn’t be found in the mob of residents on the street.
By Eloise Robertson 2 years ago in Fiction
Passageway
Somehow it looms while suspended high above me, yet I am crushed by the enclosing walls. The ceiling of the passageway is black as night, an endless void above my head, both vertically limitless to the eye and confined horizontally by the walls which hold it.
By Eloise Robertson 2 years ago in Fiction
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