http://slow.writerscafe.org/HDollie The original writings of author HDollie en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776039692 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15  It hadhappened again. She knew as she pushed open her heavy eye lids, still filledwith sleep and dreams, that the room she found herself in wouldn't be her own.She tried to lift her tired, pounding head from the bare pillow, yet almost asif an invisible hand had forced her back dow.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HDollie/1013229/         She was doing the front crawl when ithappened. Her fifteenth lap up and back again, fighting against the cool waterand its deep ripples she had created herself, with her frantic speed. Theseripples urged her forward to the next length to overtake her sister Vic.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HDollie/1013228/ Lyingin this thick darkness we’ll call the nightin bed alone; except for you beside me.The midnight masks what I can’t see,but as you sleep beside me I hear you.I feel your breath slow and steady,I think I almost hear, your heartbeatecho through the gloom.So peacefully co.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HDollie/1012787/ The silent drops of silver fall,gently, hardly not at all.They brush my window, kiss my pain,their patterns seem to hush my name.I crave the drops upon my skin,her watery body; on my own,to drench and wake me from this slumber -no one else can make me stir.I long to dance in fields o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HDollie/1012786/  ‘Just five years old’, he shook his head,And read the words inscribed in gold.‘Another flesh to turn to dust,Another soul to join the sky.’He swept the leaves and strolled betweenThe endless rows of black and greyAnd noted words of grief .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HDollie/1012784/ My neighbour across theroad is a pervert; I see him watching me from his back garden as I’m gettingundressed. He doesn’t try and hide it, sometimes he even lights up a cigaretteif he can see I have a lot to take off. Once we made eye contact and it was peculiar;I felt guilty, the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HDollie/1010222/ The boy sat smoking a cigarette. The sharp, coldair hitting his face every now and then, reminding him he was alive. He hadn’tmeant to smoke that much tonight, but he didn’t know he would be sharing themwith her. The air had got colder and the temperature had dropped. Most of the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HDollie/1010216/ Growingolder is like the passing of seasons �"The leaves turning brown, like hair turning grey.The chill in the air, like a shiver on fragile skin.The crinkle of leaves, like the wrinkles round old eyes;the sun that fades from cloudy skies.Like a lost spark of youth when th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HDollie/1010211/ Thick green shirts; the cotton’s cheap andmass-made for purposeeach with a string of numbers, five digits in bold black ink on the pocketthat’s stuffed with strange white cigarettes; cheap and French, weak and unusual to the coarse British pallet; accustom now to rock-like br.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HDollie/1010209/