Shell
@vickyshell.bsky.social
I love writing fiction. I have a WiP on the boil that has elements of magical realism and horror — so all the good stuff! (I also enjoy poetry a bit … !)
All words my own © unless they are reposts or I state otherwise.
All words my own © unless they are reposts or I state otherwise.
Great choice of video clip! Love that track / music video 🫶
December 6, 2025 at 12:35 PM
Great choice of video clip! Love that track / music video 🫶
It looks beautiful. I am yet to witness it. One day … one day!
November 14, 2025 at 9:24 AM
It looks beautiful. I am yet to witness it. One day … one day!
This is brilliant! Such a sense of foreboding in such an innocent task.
November 6, 2025 at 4:58 PM
This is brilliant! Such a sense of foreboding in such an innocent task.
Where the hell is it? Mother’s finger is always in my pocket. It’s all I have left of her. I dig my nails deep into my palm.
I swipe my security card and rush through the halls. Finger food and cold meats are laid out. I have to find it before the guests arrive. Mother hated parties.
#WriteCBC
I swipe my security card and rush through the halls. Finger food and cold meats are laid out. I have to find it before the guests arrive. Mother hated parties.
#WriteCBC
July 4, 2025 at 7:36 AM
Where the hell is it? Mother’s finger is always in my pocket. It’s all I have left of her. I dig my nails deep into my palm.
I swipe my security card and rush through the halls. Finger food and cold meats are laid out. I have to find it before the guests arrive. Mother hated parties.
#WriteCBC
I swipe my security card and rush through the halls. Finger food and cold meats are laid out. I have to find it before the guests arrive. Mother hated parties.
#WriteCBC
Mary watched the rain stream off his capotain and pool at his feet, rotting the already rotten wood. He smelt of manure, wet fur, and iron. Straw, flecked with red, clung to his boots like a second shoe.
“Shelter?” He asked.
She moved aside and let him in, locking the door behind them.
#WriteCBC
“Shelter?” He asked.
She moved aside and let him in, locking the door behind them.
#WriteCBC
June 6, 2025 at 8:49 AM
Mary watched the rain stream off his capotain and pool at his feet, rotting the already rotten wood. He smelt of manure, wet fur, and iron. Straw, flecked with red, clung to his boots like a second shoe.
“Shelter?” He asked.
She moved aside and let him in, locking the door behind them.
#WriteCBC
“Shelter?” He asked.
She moved aside and let him in, locking the door behind them.
#WriteCBC