‘When did you realise for you the first time that you weren’t immortal?’

The blonde’s face flashed into his mind and he thought about the way she’d spoken with a smile, showing off the bit of apple stuck in her teeth and the crooked incisor that he’d noticed her poking at with her tongue during their entire meal.

‘Pardon?’ he’d replied, staring at her over a forkful of salad. ‘What sort of question is that?’

She’d blushed and shrugged.

‘It’s just a first date sort of question,’ she’d said. ‘You know, a sort of tell me who you are type question.’

‘Oh,’ he’d said before eating his forkful of salad and forgetting about it all together.

Now, now he was thinking about it though. Or more accurately, about how he’d never assumed that he was immortal until the day he’d found out that he actually was and being immortal was nothing more than a massive ball ache for all those involved.

‘Here we go again,’ he sighed, gripping the window sill with both hands and heaving himself to his feet.

Eight floors down the gaggle of neatly dressed police officers leapt to attention, the one with the crackly microphone shouting something up in that calm, measure way that one speaks to an insane person.

‘Poor sap,’ Thomas thought. Groaning, he stretched upwards, popping the kink from his shoulders. With a final glance down he shoved his leg back inside and ducked his body beneath the sash window. He landed solidly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he scanned over the living room and decided that yes, everything was most certainly being left behind and screw the price of furnishing from scratch, he’d earned more than enough over the years.

‘SIR! OPEN UP!’ The voice accompanied a series of heavy thuds which rattled the front door.

‘Great,’ Thomas muttered, straightening his tie and brushing off his sleeves. In three long strides he was stood in front of the door, handle in hand and face smoothed into what could be considered a welcoming expression.

‘Really,’ he said, swinging the door inwards, ‘can a man not enjoy his own window sill in peace these days.’

Just a random, quick free-write in response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Finite Creatures.”

Last Term Of University

Staring at me,

with a black flickered glare

is an essay half done

that I don’t want to finish.

Filled with bullcrap ideas,

half-arse quotations

stagnated thoughts

and mid-sentence endings

I know the lambrini

is not alone in the blame.


April brings storms

that rattle and shudder

against windows

with winds

that howl and whip

past the trees.

Pressed close enough

cheeks can feel fingertips

of something, someone

not quite there.

Pattering and scampering


along the whirls in the glass

traced on the lazy afternoons.

In this room,

in this house,

all gods are welcome.

With hands around latches

there is no need of prayers

to call them here.

In the morning

the carpets will be spongy,

damp beneath feet,

and the curtains slick

to the touch.

Tonight however,

calls for bare faces

turned upwards


to the skies.


First Sight

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Georgia Koch


“Your grandfather used to run coal up and down this canal,” said Elizabeth’s grandmother, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her coat and they squidged through the muddy footpath side by side.

“My father was a farmer just over there. One day there was a knock on the door. There he was, covered in soot and wrestling this poor, soaked ewe into submission on the doorstep. Well he looks up at me and says mam, you need to fix your bloody fence. The canal is not a ship dip trough.

I dam near asked him to marry me then.”


(100 Words)