Dear Diary

11th August A knife. A trembling hand. A sweet-scented candle. Vanilla, I think it was. Or was it tropical flowers? Whatever… details. I can’t recall that scent. I feel it, but I can’t quite place my finger on the name of the aroma. Anyway… where was I? Oh, telling you about my day, dear Diary.

Getting away clean

Her freshly manicured, colourful nails were full of dirt. But that did not seem to bother her. She kept on digging into the ground, not caring about her designer clothes getting dirty. Not caring that her perfect hair, wrapped up in a bun, was beginning to loosen up and a few strands were messily falling

Mission accomplished

‘Anthony…’, she whispered his name in the dark. It startled him to hear her say his name like that. It’s been seven years since his wife last called his name so sweetly, so gently… and so husky. He smiled while turning around in bed, being more asleep than awake, to face her side of the

Burial

Six months of hard work had finally paid off. She held back her smirk, even though it required much effort. The rain was falling around her and everybody else at the ceremony, as if the sky was crying instead of her for her lost lover. People who were making visible efforts to hold back their