purlock

Primary tabs

TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
CollectionVerse Indeterminate purlock011 years 7 months ago
CollectionPurlock's Progress purlock011 years 7 months ago
StoryThe Falling purlock011 years 8 months ago
StoryThe Abandoned Plot purlock011 years 8 months ago
StoryThe Funnel purlock011 years 8 months ago
StoryRules for Email Etiquette purlock011 years 8 months ago
StoryDreams purlock011 years 8 months ago
StoryThe Dinner Party - Judy Chicago's Plates and The Woman of Spheres (ed) littleditty914 years 1 month ago
StoryAn Ode to a Joint seannelson115 years 4 months ago
StoryExits purlock416 years 1 week ago
StorySpeaking of the Dead purlock216 years 1 week ago
StoryTim Clare For Regent rokkitnite416 years 1 month ago
StoryThe Islanders purlock516 years 1 month ago
StoryYour Name Has Been Randomly Selected purlock316 years 1 month ago
StoryThe dreaming valiswaverider516 years 2 months ago
StoryNo ABC span316 years 2 months ago
StoryHush HaiAnh316 years 2 months ago
StoryProfessor Jones Lectures on Death and Dying poetjude116 years 2 months ago
StoryLarge Collider Brooklands716 years 2 months ago
StoryThe Art of Hunting purlock416 years 3 months ago
StoryHead space purlock216 years 3 months ago
StoryOn the brow of the hill hoalarg1216 years 3 months ago
StoryAnother interesting way to die that I'll never experience Brooklands416 years 3 months ago

My stories

The Falling

When the supplies ran out we turned against the environment that bred us. When everything stopped we took the furniture inside: bollards and all. We lived in the rubble of the big ideas,

The Abandoned Plot

All the clues were in place: I felt the constant in/out flow. We heard of a spate of logos, unmanned desks, gyratory reworked into an accident waiting to happen; the smell of shellfish
Cherry

Exits

We moved through the place like ghosts, really, wearing oversized coats, the petrified stares of stuffed mammals as masks. We crept backstage, rearranged the things we thought

Dreams

At the dead centre of a dream where X marks the spot the light switched off, or would have; at the end of the garden where the wild badger stirs in his sett and the alley, damp with fox, hexed

The Funnel

I sunk a borehole deep into the city. A rolled-up wedge of cardboard inserted in the ear. A face appears at the window, needing something from the morning, conversation maybe

Pages