Author: Natasha Sinclair

Writer, Editor & Artist based in central Scotland.

Out of Colour

She was so incredibly vibrant, effervescent even. Life cascaded over her and she soaked it up; osmosis from grey to all illuminating colour.

They couldn’t know of the tortured girl hiding behind long straggly hair in the corner depths of her soul. Trying not to breathe, holding her head still between her hands and knees; frightened little anchoress within.

She painted the outside with hypnotic kaleidoscopic colour. Energy was electrifying and luminescent. Rich from living, a friend to everyone, my love.

After the years of youth though; too much mayhem and noise, too much of that painted face. Too many troubles to keep buried behind a smile, she ran all out of colour.

I see her try sometimes. Try to paint it on. Her skin only soaks it into the dead grey; cracking, peeling, painful and raw. Hermit grey, only shade in the shadows.

There’s barely any precious life left.

(C) Natasha Sinclair, All rights reserved

Subway

One cannot avoid eye contact when entombed within the old musky tube. Dank, dark. As if being underground wasn’t torture enough. Everything so close. Restricted air flow, foot flow, low flow. All so close to burying you alive. Suffocating amongst concrete, dirt, strangers and metal. Any second it could all cave in and one of them could catch my eye…

© Natasha Sinclair

Concoction – Haunted

Exciting Summer Anthology of shorts release!

“Just One More”

Early flight; foreign daze too bright.
Night draws with a bang.
Curtains closed, skirts up.
Old streets buzz with pimps and cheats .
Sex in the air; for a fair fare.
Her tired mouth, his wallet.
A classy bar, a sleazy toilet.
Part of the play, trip away.
Any old dud feels like a stud.
Pussy on the wind.
Setting up for good grind.
Getting low so you can’t go.
She lays her head to rest.
Holiday urge starts to spread.
He pushed her ‘til she was sunned down.
“Just one more."
Pretends he's not off to score.
Whore behind another door.
Sleepy head all tore with gore.
Slips in hours too late...
Stinking and slick from a professional date.
“Just one more,” he said.
Wet with mixed sweat.
A foreign scent had him spent.
Deceit on the forgotten receipt.
Deceit cheat never sleeps.
It’s always just one more…
Score.

© Natasha Sinclair 2019

Mindless Motions

Those rusty cogs turn, yawning inside that thick skull; a dying hamster on a creaky wheel.
Quietly waiting for the cruel rotations to complete their sedate lap around the globe.
Knowing there’s nothing of use to be churned out; still I wait, always, for you.
Waiting for that spark to catch; only crumbs of life left.
Wondering how much of you is still in there; amongst the rust and fumes.
Once it was astounding, fresh with abundant wonder and curiosity; almost dormant now.
Stuck mindless motionless.
Baby, do you even know your name?
Does such a thing even matter anymore?

© Natasha Sinclair

Concoction – White Sugar

‘White Sugar’ will be featured in ‘Concoction,’ this summer.

This short was first published in ‘The Whisky Stories…A few years on it and still going, a drunk love story’ by Andrew Taylor.