Author S. K. Nicholas

  Naked and horny like a toad, there are people in the garden I don’t recognise yet who recognise me. Looking down at them through the window, they wave in my direction, but I duck out the way. Wiping the sweat off with a handful of dirty curtain, the night is still young, but I’m already… Read more

  The sunset’s quite beautiful and as the hours pass, I become progressively drunk, which is even better. There’s a barbeque with lots of people I don’t recognise, each with their own agenda. Laughing and smiling, they look so content, and as they talk among themselves about the jobs they have, it feels as if… Read more

  If you want, we could grab some pizza, or maybe fly around the sun. It’s up to you. Those we have no need for, they busy themselves attending poor quality music festivals and dancing in clubs while drinking heavily to escape how terribly insignificant their lives are. Whenever I drink, it’s because I’m trying… Read more

  On a road next to the beach, a truck ploughs into a swarm of happy French souls and crushes them like insects, and among the broken bones and squashed heads, there lie the bodies of several children. On their bloodstained faces that glisten in the moonlight, a distinct lack of dignity is visible. We may… Read more

  Watching Shaun of the Dead, I’m wishing for the end of the world so I don’t have to go to work tomorrow. If everything fell apart, I’d stay in bed working on the journal until it matched what’s in my head and my heart. Granted, there would be no one left to read it,… Read more

  In a room where none have stepped foot since before the great fall, two lovers cuddle beneath a blanket. They watch TV and talk about this and that. It’s not their first time, and it won’t be their last, either. In years to come there will most likely be many others, but they’re happy despite… Read more

  The summer isn’t even a summer; it’s just one long grey afternoon that seems to go on for months on end. The quarry calls my name, but without the sunshine, walking it just never feels right. The year has been swallowed by words. Writing, editing, editing, writing. I can’t complain, though, for I’m moving… Read more

  We are delicate spheres of water and dreams, and our histories are both beautiful and superfluous. In between each blink of my eyes, the days fall like the hairs from my chin, or perhaps bridges that once connected lovers between bubbles of their retrospective dreams. Searching my face in the mirror, I notice my… Read more

  A blind man waits anxiously at the pizza counter in a supermarket. He’s clutching a walking stick in one hand, and in the other, he holds onto a shopping trolley to steady himself. Someone who works there is going around with him, but they’ve walked off, and now he just stands not knowing what… Read more

  There’s a list of words pinned on the wall next to the bed, and whenever we fuck, my eyes are inevitably drawn to them. Written in French, they describe every one of my failures right down to my lack of interest concerning the current global climate. Fuelling my rage, I lift her arms above… Read more