C.S.Barnes
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A writer's life for me...

On Writing: Free writing

11/24/2020

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Picture
​It started with the taste but then became the touch. The cold skins, muddied by the earth, that lay warming against the treated wood of the bench. I felt the moss fleck away from their pulled roots, watched the soil drop back to where it belonged. It occurred to me that I might eat them, then; hold each firm around the trunk and rip my teeth through their tops. You would want to cook them, though, and make a meal of kindness. But these days I would happily have them raw, and after. 

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  • Home
  • About
    • Dear Listener
    • Writer in Residence (The Swan Theatre) >
      • Flash Fiction 101
      • Online workshops
    • Worcestershire Poet Laureate >
      • Hard times happen
      • Home - with Amnesty International >
        • 'Windows' by Ellie Walsh
        • 'For Walls' by Polly Stretton
        • 'A place of safety' by Brian Comber
      • Truth and Confession
  • My publications
    • Forthcoming publications
  • Editorial services
  • Tutoring services
  • Blog
  • Contact