Rachel Deeming

Joined July 2021

932 stories

Bio

Storyteller. Poet. Reviewer. Traveller.

I love to write. Check me out in the many places where I pop up:

Beware of imitators.

Achievements (15)

Stories (932)

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Teleporting
"But I get too tired to travel. I'm old now, you know." "Yes, I know that, Mum, but that is what I'm trying to tell you. You don't have to travel anymore. You can teleport."
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Happy Birthday
"So, what are you doing for your birthday?" Julie was sitting with her friends on the rare occasion they all met up with her. Julie understood.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Sad
I hate wearing make-up. It's a job, I suppose. And the hours are good, for the most part. I get my weekdays free sometimes but I hate evening work. It's tedious.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Fireworks
"I think we should have fireworks. What do you think?" Wendy wanted the celebrations to be perfect. "Well, we ought to ask the neighbours," Stuart said. "They do have dogs. It would be considerate."
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Run!. Content Warning.
"Run!" That was the last word I heard before the blast, when things were normal. Buildings stood, complete. People were moving leisurely, meandering and weaving, talking and laughing. I could hear.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Burst
"I don't love you anymore." They were sat in a beer garden. Around them, the raucous laughter of summer-saturated groups, dressed in pastels and wearing sunglasses, like a golden advert for glorious life. Small children raced past, dodging through adults like they were pixies in a forest of tall trees, taking no care and screaming the wild screams of the unmoderated. Someone had a bubble gun and small rainbow-veiled spheres glided by, wobbling slightly as the light summer breeze propelled them.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Hope for Humanity. Content Warning.
The infantryman stumbled to his feet in the thick smoke and the noise and the horror of the battle. He struggled, his boots trying to find the ground; what had once been flat and accessible suddenly lumpen, pustulated and oozing with the heavy casualties of war. He was alive but barely. As shells whizzed and exploded and the earth lifted, clumps flying, he tried to focus. God, he wanted to live! Where were the others? He was reeling, disoriented, gulping air which was acrid and foul. He stifled the terror and despair that threatened to conquer him and willed himself to seek survival.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Desperation
Why go off with her when you have me? No, I won't allow it! I won't! Why're you doing this to me? I don't understand you.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Poets
The Interview. Content Warning.
She'd seen his mug shot on the TV. Guilty of war crimes. She'd seen the pits where he'd ordered "human detritus," to be dumped, layer upon layer, making the bile burn her throat.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Why do my words not count to you?
To count, the count has to be correct. But what if the trust is not there? How can I continue now, Knowing that what I count
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Poets
Please Remove Your Review Of My Book- I Don't Want It There
This is the third article, maybe fourth, that I've written about book reviewing on here and it would seem that I'm likely to have plenty of fodder from this quarter into the future; if I continue reviewing, that is.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in BookClub
Birthday Cake. Content Warning.
"I never bought you a fucking cake." "Why not?" "Why not? Who ever buys me a cake? Eh?" "You don't like cake." "Don't tell me what I like!"
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction