Moths
Two of us, either side the kitchen counter, the light above us buzzes over the dead night’s quiet. And outside there’s nothing but a dark void that the moths keep floating in from. The oven clock is three minutes behind, and ticks over to 2:17am. We swirl tea around big mugs and whisper between mouthfuls of toast. The only time I’m not afraid of moths is when I’m sitting here, slightly drunk, listening to Mum’s gossip. They hover at the ceiling and around her head as if she’s admitting light.
[about]
Emily Faulkes is a queer twenty-year-old writer based in London and is currently studying a Creative Writing Degree. Previously, she has been published in her university’s online magazine ‘The Brunel Draft.’ While she has no current genre preference, she enjoys writing thought provoking pieces of both poetry and fiction.
Fish Barrel Review 