Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

  • Tiny Cuts to Her Cuticles

    Moving the book aside, the partially squashed tube of paint patiently awaits her touch. When her fingers caress its scrunched-up body, the colour seeps into her skin via tiny cuts to her cuticles where it subsequently courses through her veins like the drug of love. Her veins are narrowed from smoking too much, and if… Read more

  • Worth Tasting Twice

    A plethora of colour catches her eye. She doesn’t know their names, but each shade carries with it a memory of some moment in her life that touched her sultry soul. Some of the memories she considers life-changing, while others seem to have persisted for reasons she can’t decipher. It’s strange how these small, superfluous… Read more

  • Hot Mess

    Picturing the sun-blasted pieces of sand that are in reality trillions upon trillions of tiny rocks, she can’t shake the image of Jasmine Rouge’s menstrual blood. Nor does she want to. It spins in her head like a washing machine; like millions of gallons of seawater dissapearing down a maelstrom. Licking her lips, she imagines… Read more

  • Menstrual

    The tube of yellow paint is in her left hand. The colour of it reminds her of butter, but not just butter. There’s butter in it for sure, but there’s also the shade of hair belonging to a girl she once sat next to in infant school. Charlene had been her name. She’d worn a… Read more

  • Two X’s

    The yellow tube of paint has a specific name. It’s a catchy one, too. Very exotic. To others, it holds importance, but not to Gretchen, for she has no interest in the names of different tones and hues, nor does she care for which hues are cold, and which ones are warm. The science behind… Read more

  • Frozen Pieces of Cloud

    Sucking on her cigarette until her asthmatic lungs burn like bacon, she coughs and splutters before gingerly getting to her feet. Her feet, bare from having earlier removed her shoes, are covered in paint. Walking in circles, she smiles at the footprints she leaves as if she were leaving them not in paint but fresh… Read more

  • Silently Seedy

    He’s perfectly polite, silently seedy, and yet altogether underwhelming. Gretchen thinks it’s the politeness that offends her the most. If he were more open with his seediness, she’d be more inclined to listen to his words and engage with him, but as it is, he’s one of those guys you just know is holding it… Read more

  • Queer

    Rolling onto her stomach, she pulls off her best Lolita impression and sucks on her cigarette the same way she’d suck on a guy’s dick if she were trying to impress him without meaning it. The leering eyes and pursed mouth belong to one of her tutors, and a pervert tutor at that. Thankfully, he… Read more

  • Fathom

    As the canvas looms over her, she turns onto her back the same way she did earlier in the morning. The sense of Déjà vu is uncanny. Feeling around for her bag, she slips in her hand and grabs the pouch of tobacco. Rolling a cigarette, she brings it to her lips and strikes a… Read more

  • Scrunched Like Claws

    On one such occasion, her father painted her face so that she resembled a tiger. She still has the photo, somewhere; a selfie he shot of her balancing on his shoulders, shrieking with a mixture of fear and elation as her fingers scratched at the cigarette-stained ceiling above her head. To tease her mother, he… Read more