Author S. K. Nicholas

  Broken trampolines in overgrown gardens. Beer cans full of rainwater and dead insects in ashtrays. Bus journies that take us through towns we never knew existed and books stolen from libraries while drunk and greedy for mischief that now collect dust on the windowsill of her kitchen. The cinema is empty, as is the pub… Read more

  Exhaust fumes. Black stockings. A strong jawline and a mouth that has known many men. Sometimes we make daisy chains. We make love unaware of the rising seas and how one day all that we know will be underwater. It doesn’t matter, we’ll be dead by then, anyway. Those writers you hang around with- do you… Read more

  Greasy spoons and dreamcatchers hang in the window as we eat. I’m hungover and unkempt. My love is disguised by clothes that haven’t been washed in over a week and hair that hasn’t seen soap in far longer. The fingers on my right hand are stained by all those dirty cigarettes I’ve been smoking.… Read more

  A perfect circle of tongues with hips as petals and hands that itch and twitch whenever the moment comes to forget about the world and all of its vices. Stairwells in Manhatten. Streets that flow like rivers as we kick our feet and bite the air because we fear death and sex is our… Read more

  When I’m not working or writing I tend to wrap myself in a dressing gown and lie on the floor while staring at my hands. There’s flesh, but that’s what everyone sees. My secret desire is to see bone. Not because I want to but because it’s the truth and that’s the golden ticket… Read more

  This body of mine- it keeps ageing even though I tell it not to. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The contract I signed stated quite clearly that mortality was something that concerned other people and most definitely not me, and yet here I am. Meh. When we kiss, she places my hand on her… Read more

  She writes these letters to me. Each page is stained with her scent and when I hold them to my nose every part of my body tingles as if she’s right by my side. Among the pages are drawings of red dragons and butterflies and what appears to be expressionist portraits of her lady parts.… Read more

  At work, there was a sheet of paper taped to the wall outside the toilets informing whoever it may concern that one of the cleaners that had retired a few months ago had died. Derek was his name, and he was South African. Truth be told we never had much to do with each… Read more

  Remember that guy I worked with? The one who murdered his daughter? It was back when I was living in Hatfield. My shifts were mostly 2-10, and when I finished clearing those daily cages of pies and pasties and was upstairs in the locker room collecting my belongings, he was usually getting ready to… Read more

  Black tights, she wears black tights while her legs cross and uncross beneath the table as we patiently wait for our food. It’s Waggamma’s on a Friday night after work. I’m drinking bottled beer while she sips a cup of green tea. The evening’s young and while her body speaks to me in a… Read more