writing from
Scars Publications

Audio/Video chapbooks cc&d magazine Down in the Dirt magazine books

 

This writing was accepted for publication
in the 84 page perfect-bound issue...
Down in the Dirt magazine (v102)
(the January 2012 Issue)




You can also order this 5.5" x 8.5" issue
as an ISSN# paperback book:
order issue


Down in the Dirt magazine cover

Order this writing
in the book
It Was All
Preordained

(a Down in the Dirt
collection book)
It Was All Preordained (Down in the Dirt collection book) issuecollection book get the 320 page
January-April 2012
Down in the Dirt magazine
issue collection
6" x 9" ISBN#
paperback book:

order ISBN# book

Order this writing in the book
After the Apocalypse
(prose edition)

(the 2012 prose
collection book)
After the Apocalypse (prose edition) (2012 prose collection book) issue collection book get this poem
collection
6" x 9" ISBN#
paperback book:

order ISBN# book

By the pool

Ellie Stewart

    I was on holiday in Egypt, staying in an expensive hotel on the banks of the Nile. It was blazing hot and everyone was around the pool. As I lay on a sunlounger reading, a little girl wearing a pink swimming costume appeared in my line of sight. She stopped, looked around, pressed her hands together and let out a sudden and piercing shriek. Then she started wailing, shaking and gulping sobs. She began drumming her feet on the concrete and spinning around wildly, her face creased with distress, searching for someone, for something. The shuddering sounds she made were the wrenching howl of a person gripped by absolute terror. And it terrified all of us. Some of the women stepped forward with the tentative question: ‘where’s your mummy?’ But the little girl screamed and kicked violently at the air so they all stepped back, at a loss of what to do.
    Thankfully, a woman in a floppy sunhat came trotting over from the café, holding two ice creams in her hands. The little girl ran to her and threw herself at her body, wrapping her arms round her so tightly her knuckles turned white, her desperate wail replaced by muffled ‘mama, mama’ sounds. I thought of my own mother sitting in her chair, taking in her last rasping breaths, and the light fading from her eyes. I felt something aching inside me watching the little girl cling fiercely to her mother’s hand as they walked away to eat their ice creams. I listened to the children splashing in the pool. I closed my eyes. The sun was too damn hot. Danny would be expecting me in the hotel room within the hour, and I had to appreciate these last moments alone.



Scars Publications


Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.




Problems with this page? Then deal with it...