M.K. Lee's Blog: Telling Tales, page 15

Hello all! I hope life is being kind to you and that good...

Hello all! I hope life is being kind to you and that good things are on the horizon for us all.

A little writing update from me since it’s been maybe a month since the last one? Something like that. See below for details of a new book coming soon, amongst other things!

An update from Mallowham!

Raife and Dexter still live in my head rent free (or maybe I am now a resident of Mallowham and just didn’t realise; that would be lovely actually). They haven’t had much of an update...

The Building

This building is old. It has worn many identities, been both home and safe haven, yet also a horror for some of its occupants. There have been fights, failings, fortunes, and famines. Laughter, love, and so much life. But there has also been death, and despair, the everyday demands of what it is to be living. The building has seen so much that it is almost as though the building lives itself.

Some people remain with the building. Walk its halls, peer out its windows, long after they have...

Hold The Floor

So you’re holding the floor with your
Audience in rapture.
A score’s breath held, anticipating more.
Your words set a springing trap
And those weak-willed are captured,
While those with opinions fall through the gaps,
Down which your derision pours.

The skill of weaving tales
Is not one that you’ve mastered,
Your train of poison derailed
As wheels separate from track,
Cruel words sparking, lies paving way for disaster,
As the cables took for granted snap
Under the strain of your self-pity wail.

© M K ...

Answer

Gautam’s heart is in his throat, the tension in his stomach a hard, gripping knot. Kunnar’s eyes are growing rounder by the minute, and his fingers flare wide down by his side; just as Gautam’s seen them do on so many occasions when Kunnar has been stuck for words.

Gautam begs – silently – for him to answer. At this stage he’ll gladly take any words from him, good or bad. Kunnar shifts, licks his lips, then gives a smile that says he’s ready to speak.

“Are you sure about this?” Kunnar asks...

Baggage

This room is bare now. The stripped bedding lays at the foot of the bed, the curtains sit drawn back into their ties, and the thick pine wardrobe looms ominously as though it will topple at any moment.

My luggage is packed and out in the hallway, and the tied-up bin bag waits to be deposited in the refuse bin at the end of the gravel drive.

I sigh, and reach my hand down to the baggage at my feet.

“What are you doing with that?” you say, accusation in your voice.

I feel my throat...

You Are

You say broken.
But I say, fractured, and lovingly restored
With delicate fingers and inner strength that is all yours.

You say, shattered.
But I say, reborn, from pain and loss
Into someone who protects others at all and any cost.

You say, hopeless.
But I say, you are hope. You are the focus that keeps us all going.
You are the light that never fades, and the puzzle worth knowing.

You are so much more than you allow yourself to be.

© M K Lee

Galactic

It was a galactic war. The war to end all wars, they said, as had their ancestors before them.

At least the fight was in the stars, the planet fully united by a common cause; avoiding annihilation. Though the same prejudices were there, only transferred to another species. Derogatory names repurposed to breed the usual misunderstandings and hate.

But they were the ones who came here, claiming our home as theirs. Attempting to colonise us as we have always colonised. Perhaps we were just ...

Stay

The dent of the mattress, the rustling of sheets. These aren’t the things that wake him, nor the cool air blasting in from the window creaked open in the middle of the night. It’s the wrapping of arms around his waist from behind, the sigh of home that’s breathed into his neck, and the soft kiss to the back of his ear, with the mumble of, I didn’t mean to wake you.

“Ross,” Adam says as he stretches against him, curling into his heat.

A hand squeezes firmer around his waist, then presses flat a...

Romance

Romance is dead.
He died a long while ago at the end of a blade
That carved deep into his skin and left his foolish heart flayed.

Romance is dead.
Immortalised in verse and token gestures of the heart.
A mocking caricature of mortal fervour turned art.

Romance is dead.
Do not disturb his condign slumber. Instead,
Heed the warnings on his scarred corpse, worn from heart to head.

Romance is dead.
Reanimation through the toils of a lively imagination will, at most,
Breathe life into a ghastly imit...

Reasons To Stay

They both look up when the light flickers, turning to the window to see the rain hammering own. “Stay,” Luke says, absent, the back of his hand hitting Toby’s thigh since he’s sprawled across most of the couch.

“You sure?” Toby asks.

“You can’t go out in that,” Luke says, hauling himself up.

He’s so close, arm draped casually across the back of the sofa, half leaning in. Toby imagines a crackle in the air between them for the look on Luke’s face, but tells himself he’s projecting, see...