beckiw

#13 This was hers. Words slipping between fingers and the smell of cut grass warring with the hum of a plane overhead. The log shed scraping against hurried palms on ...

#12 The lower barn was cobwebs on straw on cobwebs on beams, and on the days it wasn't that it was jars on shelves upon shelves and that little chunk ...

#11 She found the note tucked inside a cracked teapot, in the same cramped hand on jar labels and scrunched up shopping lists. It said only one thing— She knew ...

#10 He was the first melt. His brightness caused snow to lean away and ploughs to feel offended. Mrs Violet had many clients but his eyes were too full of ...

Every time I think about giving up someone comments so nicely! Thank you :) #9 This isn't the witching hour. It's that moment before waking, where what went bump in ...

#8 At night something whispers beneath the barn. But the morning is for rationale. Taking the sounds and placing them on the kitchen shelf. I am the ignored.

#7 The house was not one but two, lived in and lived outward— Comfort with orderly as the neighbour. The suitcase leaned against the door to orderly. Her toes found ...

#6 In here we keep the ones for slaughter, She once said. That’s the keys under notices due. Oh and the task fallen from your head. Use the broom. No ...

#5 £2 and a jar with an open window, a sheep bleating and the swell of a chest who feels belonging for a day. This is the pay for holiday ...

#4 Some memories don’t live neatly stacked on shelves with Mrs Violet’s harsh scrawl on labels. They make space underneath bits of broken bench, call hutches home and barns their ...

#3 This day one is a fake. The splintered sign that forgot her name and weeds and time and no time at all. These are firsts wrapped up in memories ...

#2 Mistake is calling… Or was it fear and self-loathing. No, it was missing the step, because it could be but it wasn’t and that was worse. You have one ...

#1 The farm was built for memories and it only knows how to remember. Even as it slumbers beneath an unseasonable blanket. Even when Mrs Violet could only forget, that ...

I, VIOLET HANSEL, do hereby bequeath the aforementioned property and all contents known or unknown to CARA THORNTON.

@TriSARAHtops here is your cover! I didn't manage to work in the reflection angle (It didn't look right >.