Bohemia Village Voice  Bohemia Village Voice

For bohemians everywhere

Terra Firma by Ephrim Nichols

This story won the third prize in our ultra-short story competition earlier this year. The judges’ comments included ‘nicely written’, ‘very original’, and ‘loved it!!’

Tessa loved to walk. Some days, when the weather was right, she would leave before sunrise; pull on stiff, heavy boots over thick, woollen socks, waxed green coat over worn grey pullover, and walk in whichever direction the birds sang loudest. Tessa found it was most often on the left, to the side of a tired, nondescript store that never seemed to be inhabited. From here, she would walk for as long as she pleased, although this would never be less than an hour, and seldom longer than five.
 Tessa didn’t like order. She compared her habits to the falling leaves of autumn; they are inevitable, of course, but the colour and pattern in which they settle can never be predicted. Tessa wanted to be anything that flew. The greens, golds, and reds of October would do – the stray leaves that mocked their downward journey and lingered for as long as they could, soaring on a passing breeze.
 The birds that sang might be nice – she imagined spreading great, glossy black wings instead of her arms and fingertips, and taking flight. She would sing the joy of anything and everything – whatever made birds so cheerful – as she climbed to the heavens. Tessa knew she had to land, but she didn’t care where or when or how. For her, the beauty would be in the ascent, the sky, the height. Tessa was on solid ground. Tessa walked instead.

NEXT MONTH

Sophie Farrington’s
December Morning

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