Category Archives: The Flavour of Spite

The Flavour of Spite – Ten

Posted on February 19, 2015 by Helen

The yellow brick road is too bright too bright. The sky has a strange, doubled yellow glow, hurting the eyes. The rainbow is there, like she thought she heard someone say, and that’s calmer to look at. If she could … Continue reading →

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The Flavour of Spite – Nine

Posted on February 12, 2015 by Helen

  I placed the electrodes on either side of her perfectly skinned temples. I could see she was starting to realise what I mean by the journey, though she could not know it all yet, not really. Perhaps she has … Continue reading →

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Flavour of Spite – Eight

Posted on February 5, 2015 by Helen

Violet was frightened it seemed, and that was not my intention. I had wanted our first real encounter, in her new home, to be one of explanation, but slowly growing appreciation, even the first brief buds of joy. I had … Continue reading →

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The Flavour of Spite Seven

Posted on January 29, 2015 by Helen

She wakes from a dis-orienting dream, and the strange light around her – so unfamiliar, though as she wakes it is hard to fully fathom why – makes her blink rapidly. Her eyelids are butterflies frightened by the wind. She … Continue reading →

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The Flavour of Spite – Six

Posted on January 23, 2015 by Helen

I am a creature of meticulous research. While it would be wonderful to woo my love in the conventional sense and gradually bring her to our home to be through the more normal rites of romantic passage, I am realistic … Continue reading →

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The Flavour of Spite – Five

Posted on January 19, 2015 by Helen

  The readiness is all. I have a weakness here, I have to admit. My conditioning has had this impact, this effect, where my mind finds it hard to settle for long enough to truly plan and achieve. This has … Continue reading →

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Flavour of Spite – Four

Posted on January 15, 2015 by Helen

  A terrible night needs to be assuaged by pleasure. And now for me the greatest pleasure was a visit to my favourite patisserie. No longer just for the wonderful food, of which there was aplenty, but also in the … Continue reading →

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The Flavour of Spite – Three

Posted on January 11, 2015 by Helen

      I had the nightmare again. I woke shaking around 3am, the witching hour, the hour when most people suicide, according to some article I read many years before. It is the hour when the temperature is coldest, … Continue reading →

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The Flavour of Spite – Two

Posted on January 7, 2015 by Helen

In my first decade I lived in America, not the cold and ancient climes of London as I do now. My mother, Imogen’s sister Gwen, married a man named Ross who Imogen dismissively termed a ‘liberal’ as though in that … Continue reading →

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The Flavour of Spite – One

Posted on January 3, 2015 by Helen

The first time I saw her I wondered what her flavour would be. I was tempted to think crème brulee, for the hard, brittle shell and sweet softness within. Her pretty face was crumpled in a frown and she was … Continue reading →

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