Georgie Cox
Bio
Soon-to-be twenty-year-old undergraduate Creative Writing student at Bath Spa University. Just trying to get my name out there.
Stories (4/0)
Twenty-fifth of October
The stain of love Is upon the world. Yellow, yellow yellow My heart broke on the twenty-fifth of October and I don’t think that day will ever be the same again. Twenty-fifth, twenty, t-t-twenty; all bad things begin with T. Terrible. Tornadoes and terrorists and toads, taxidermy and tummy ache and Tracey Sheck from year two who ripped the head off my Barbie.
By Georgie Cox6 years ago in Humans
Black and White
Michael is bald and I don’t like it. Heads should not shine under the light. It makes me uncomfortable, so Michael wears a hat. It is a nice hat, with a bobble on top. He also wears glasses but I don’t like those because they are not round and they are not square, they are oval and I don’t like that shape because it is like someone has taken a circle and stamped on it.
By Georgie Cox6 years ago in Longevity
The Apple Tree
My Dear Mahnaz, There are two types of fire in this world, azizam. The first is a calm, tender fire, one whose gentle heat warms the bones and comforts the soul. This is the kind your father was. Atash means fire, but he was more of a candle. The second kind of fire, and I don’t mean to scare you Mahnaz jan, is a furious, vicious fire. One that rampages through villages, destroys entire cities and families in just one turn of the earth, leaving behind nothing but death and ashes. This kind, my daughter, my doxtar, is the Taliban.
By Georgie Cox6 years ago in The Swamp
