The Stove
The stove takes kindling first. Three pieces of pine, split thin, arranged in a triangle. Then the firelighter. Then wait.
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MarcusBell
Former war correspondent turned essayist. Spent twelve years filing dispatches from Aleppo, Kabul, and Donetsk before the nightmares made him stop. Now writes from a narrowboat on the Oxford canal, trying to make sense of peacetime. His work has appeared in Granta, The London Review of Books, and Harper's.
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Stories by @MarcusBell (5)
Window
I clean the windows on Wednesdays. Vinegar and newspaper, the way my mother taught me. The canal water leaves a film that builds up slow, like everything here.
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Lock
The paddles on Isis Lock stick. Always the same one, north side, needs your full weight on the windlass before it budges. I know this lock.
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The Kettle
The kettle whistles at five forty-three. Same time every morning because I fill it the same amount and the gas ring takes exactly four minutes and I wake at five thirty-nine.
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Rope
I am re-coiling the stern line when my hands decide to remember. It happens like this. The hemp runs through my palms...
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350 words