General

She wasn't a girl anymore and she never would be again. No longer did she hang on mom's words or want to be just like her. Now their similarities irked her and she was determined to be as different as possible. One March three years ago she bagged up all of her clothes and took them to the thrift store, coming home with a whole new bunch – black, black and more black. A few weeks later her waist-length blonde hair became a two-foot mohawk, pink with blue tips. Her mother quickly learnt not to try to be similar or bond on the same issues, each attempt simply drove her daughter to new extremes. Mom started eating meat again so her daughter could scowl at her and call her a hypocrite, “Let her have the vegetarian badge,” she thought, “better than the 'drug-addict' or 'pregnant at seventeen' badge.” Her mother stopped wearing make-up and let her hair grow grey, if her daughter wanted to “win” she'd make the contest real easy...let her be the victor while she still had a future.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), January 22, 2015.
General

...She was the kind of girl that women loved to hate. She was an adult I suppose, but so young that she still had the exuberance of youth. She had that movie star look, not overly tall and willowy, but more like an action star. Her muscle definition was perfect and she walked with the confidence of someone a decade older. She wasn't just flawless in her bone structure, her skin was like silk over glass and she radiated an intelligent beauty.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), January 25, 2015.
General

Some people never escape their childhoods, not really. It's like a part of them just doesn't feel safe in the adult world. Joanne was like that, always in clothes that never showed her shape and prints that would be more suited to a teenager or younger. She had a thing about "Hello Kitty," often wearing it on her shirts or bag. Always her hair was in a pony-tail and her face was free of make-up. Sometimes we'd hook up for lunch and go to the canteen, it simply wasn't worth the trouble to try to take her to a bar. Always the conversation turned to horses, to soup recipes and musicals. She was the most childlike adult I'd ever met, but talking to her was so refreshing. She lacked the guile and complexity of my other friends, what you saw was what she was.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), January 25, 2015.
General

The traces of the girl she had been lingered in Lara's smile and the thinness of her body. Another year and her curves would fill out just a little, just enough to give her her adult shape. She had the trappings of womanhood already, the cute clutch purse and the healed shoes peeking out from under her frayed jeans. On her brown skin was just the right hint of make-up, enough to show she wasn't a kid but not so much as an older woman would wear. The world still excited her, she saw opportunities ahead, a life of good fun and good health. I think that's why Rory loved her so much, she was everything he wanted, he idolized her. I suppose that's where the problems began, they'd known each other since childhood and she saw him more like a cousin than a love interest. When they moved off to university together to share a condo near campus it was with mindsets that couldn't have been further apart...

By Angela Abraham (daisy), January 25, 2015.
General

Leanne had had that shy look young women often wear, but it was never morose. Always behind those slightly pursed lips was a smile just waiting to be tempted out. I never wanted to guess where she was from in case I got it wrong; I liked her. Sometimes she'd look my way and I generally pretended not to notice, too much interest and I think she would have run. But when I did return her glances I didn't have to try to smile, it just came naturally. In those moments she would blush ever so slightly and I'd imagine her being my girl. But some people are worth the wait and she was of them. I didn't even know if she was allowed to date a white guy. But that day I took a chance and invited her to the movies I saw something flicker in her eyes that I never wanted to die...

By Angela Abraham (daisy), January 24, 2015.
General

The young woman held herself like her upper spine was rubber, shoulders falling forwards in a way that would be more befitting a grandmother. On her porcelain skin was heavily applied blusher and her lips were as red as any 1950's movie star. But the rest of her was all so old fashioned. Her dress was a primrose cotton and styled in a way that suggested it was homemade, and not by a skilled hand either. Her mid-length chestnut hair waved, but not naturally so, more like she'd used over-sized rollers. When she caught Eric's eye she didn't smile shyly like he'd expected, but instead treated him to a sneer he didn't feel he'd earned.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), January 22, 2015.
General

The woman at the counter wouldn't have looked out of place in a school uniform, yet she was dressed in a casually tailored suit and her hair was salon-perfect. She had the air of one used to punctual service, her face poised to give her order and her manicured hand already reaching into her leather handbag for a purse. He eyes flickered to the window more often than Charlie would have expected and so he followed her gaze, a jaguar F-type. Not bad. So she was a rich kid turned into a rich young woman. Perhaps he mused, he should introduce himself. Ordinarily he preferred latino girls, but maybe this blonde-chick could be fun for a while. He could almost taste the five-star restaurant steak as he made his way over.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), January 22, 2015.
General

Ivor was used to seeing his applicants appear ill-at-ease in their interview suits, but this young woman wore it like a second skin. Before each question she paused, head tilted to one side just a smidge, and then she delivered an articulate answer. A few years ago she must have been a girl, the apple of her fathers eye and giving her mother a hard time. Her long dark hair was swept into an up-do and her make-up was well applied. Even in twenty years she'd look much the same save for a few fine smile lines and crows-feet as she approached middle-age. Her skin had a honeyed glow and her lips were still full. Doubtless she'd been waiting a while to step out as her own person, to be the boss of herself. She didn't know it yet, but she was hired. The other interviews were just a formality now.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), January 22, 2015.
General

What I had assumed to be a shadow takes the form of a girl. I turn my head toward her. She is fully eclipsed by the shade of an old wall. Under my brief gaze she doesn't withdraw or flinch, but neither does she step forward to be seen. Her shape already has the beginnings of womanhood, yet I doubt she is more than half way through her teens. She stares with that look the girls around here take, one designed not to give any emotion away. She's still a child, hiding her delicate side behind a paper wall, keeping her natural smile under lock and key. Were I to talk to her she would be excessively polite, deferential even, but I can't enjoy it. It's just another sign of the violence of these parts. The tension that controls her face has always been part of her life, take it away and likely she'd reinvent it simply to keep her status quo. Like pressure in a bottle, it has to be taken down slowly to keep the mind functioning the right way. The girl isn't in any danger and so I turn back before she becomes uncomfortable. This isn't a day to loose direction...

By Angela Abraham (daisy), July 30, 2015.
Fantasy / General

She had a lovely voice, dulcet. When I flew in her window, she was eighteen with small peaked breasts, and calloused hands, and a nose like a daisy bud with freckles sprinkled across it. Her eyes were fern green, liquid and cool.

By Kecia Sparlin, July 14, 2016.

Found in The Farmer's Daughter, authored by Kecia Sparlin.

General

Tiffany had always been a hurricane; from the time of her birth until she left home she was the eye of her own storm. Mostly she was happy, but her constant need to engage everyone in jokes, in banter, in games or rough play made everyone frazzled. As a teen she was the life of every party. Invitations came as thick as November rain, giving her family a respite until she came home in the small hours of the morning, drunk and singing. As a young woman she was a natural at sales, her customers bathed in her sunshine, agreeing to whatever she said. Then she'd spy the next purchaser and be off to great them more warmly than a long lost friend. Her apartment was every bit as chaotic as her mother had feared it would be, no better than if a tornado had passed through. But to her surprise she found that she didn't care. Her own home was more tranquil that it had been these past twenty years...

By Angela Abraham (daisy), December 12, 2017.
General

The mittens lay on the radiator, warm and dry. It was where Clara always put them, there with her woollen hat and scarf. They had the look of knitwear that had aged a bit, the once neat rows adorned with lumps and bumps, much like the look of a lamb in spring fields. I don't think I ever saw her in winter without them, and she wore them into spring too, until the weather warmed our skin and called the flowers from the earth. I think she must have liked the feeling of those mittens, something cosy, as if her hand was held and warmed by another. Or maybe it was a hark back to a childhood passed, to the days making snowmen in the backyard. Either way, it was her, beautiful Clara, always looking cosy inside and out.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), March 3, 2018.