Author S. K. Nicholas

Documentaries on YouTube regarding folding time and space while scoffing a burger, drunk and in love with the memory of you falling into some bushes after a bender in town. As the memory sparks, locusts try their best to get in through a gap in the window. The world is collapsing. Darkness deepens on the Read more

The streets are the same. They lead you in circles. The circles are the same, too, just like those belonging to crying eyes. Eyes that cry in silence, at the foot of a tree in a cemetery where they’ve buried so many of your own. You wipe the tears on the cuff of your jacket. Read more

In the early hours, I remember leaves hitting the windows of the bus as it passed from leafy town to leafy town, with time of no consequence to anyone. I remember the mittens on your hands as the fireworks overhead blossomed the same as your body as we showered together not long after we finished Read more

As I mentioned earlier, there’s a version of you out there somewhere, drunkenly playing an imaginary piano. You couldn’t even play sober, so I dread to think what it might’ve sounded like if the plinky-plonky sounds were real. The two of us were sat at a table in some posh, French restaurant awaiting our food Read more

I’m bored by most things, but not everything. Before work last week, in the smoking shelter at a quarter to five in the morning, I spied a tiny mouse trying to eat a Pringle. The Pringle was twice its size. No one else was there. It was just me, the mouse and the Pringle. And Read more

When it’s dark, and I glimpse the stars, I think about the fourteen or so billion years that existed before I came to be and the almost infinite amount of time that will pass once I’m gone. Such thoughts make me realise how utterly small I am, and when the wind whistles through the branches Read more

In the store, I forget my lines as the guy serving me attempts good-humoured conversation. His words make little sense, so I stand dumfounded by what should be the most straightforward of exchanges. I know exactly where I am, and yet it feels like I’m lost at sea. Memories have become realer than the objects Read more

One Sunday evening in the bowels of winter, we visited some Indian restaurant next to the doctor’s surgery where I once collected my happy pills. It’s not there anymore. The doctor’s surgery, that is. The restaurant is. I can’t remember the name of it, though. Neither can I remember what you were wearing. This, I Read more

You got off the phone with your mum in tears. Ugly crying. The worst kind. You were hungover. We both were. Burying your head in my armpit, you shrieked and kicked your feet as the acid in my belly threatened to creep from my throat and burn my tongue. The day was Sunday and dust. Read more