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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)
My body isn't mine
Since I was young, people have told me that my decisions and feelings are irrelevant. In the end, I don’t have a choice. A horrible puppeteer lies in wait within my body, as it does within every woman. Any day now, the beast will wiggle its arms into mine, step its feet so its pace matches mine, and force my mouth into a smile. My body wouldn’t belong to me anymore. At a certain age, the monster steals my freedom of choice and forces the idea of children into a positive light. With the puppeteer come parasites living in the folds of my brain. They will take over subtly, so insidiously, not even I will notice how I’ve been manipulated.
By Eloise Robertson 2 years ago in Viva
Uncanny Valley
When a person like me goes camping or hiking, it is a guarantee that I would wander lost. I accepted this fact, assuming that I’d only be lost for an hour or two before recognising a gnarled tree, or happen upon the path again. Just like getting lost while driving, a familiar landmark always steers me in the right direction.
By Eloise Robertson 2 years ago in Fiction
Little Crowns and Larger Claws
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. The sun's light wasn't always so rarely seen, or the open roads more dangerous than the unfamiliar city streets. There wasn't always a lord regent ruling in lieu of a king, but a lot had changed in such a short time.
By Eloise Robertson 2 years ago in Fiction
The Selection: Communion with the Mother
The tension pressing down on the teenagers in the room was palpable. They swallowed nervously against the maroon striped ties at their throats, some hid their clammy hands deep into their lint-filled pockets, and some recited a calming incantation to keep their emotions in check.
By Eloise Robertson 3 years ago in Fiction
Billions of Destructive Moments
Do you ever find yourself driving down a highway, with trees speeding past in your peripheral vision, when suddenly an insidious question spears straight through to the front of your consciousness: what if I just turn my wheel and drive into the tree?
By Eloise Robertson 3 years ago in Fiction
An Arctic Curse
I promised my wife that it would be my last voyage, but I said that intending to come home. It was a foreboding thing to say. I wonder if she now resents me for those words. Those simple things strung into a sentence are like a curse hanging over us. Well, hanging over me.
By Eloise Robertson 3 years ago in Fiction
The Bird House
"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window," Jonathan's voice hissed from the darkness while he told tales of horror passed on from his older brother. Three months ago he told that story, and it still sticks with me today.
By Eloise Robertson 3 years ago in Fiction
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