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seven/nine lives

Here's a toast to the living on the blonde side. Documenting the mild narcissism and nighttime wisdom of a little wise guy living on nine lives. Selected essays and fiction. 

Timea is a fiction writer, essayist, and social researcher. She is a doctoral candidate at the University of Oxford.

Weather Forecast

Weather Forecast

And then I met Lu. 

It had been snowing heavily. Sometimes it snows this time of year. On Sunday, Lu and I meet up in our neighbourhood — the little suburb we both know and hate — and set off to walk his frantic tumbling oversized puppy. He takes me to a wood, quite literally a neck of the woods I'd never seen before. It's a little Blair Witch but the snow softens the scenery, the sleet sets the mood. We're stomping through mud: my boots ruined, jeans filthy, hair tangled. He reaches for my hand. The sleet turns to heavy rain and a downpour envelopes us. He slips his arm around my waist and kisses me. (Kisses are revealing.)

On the way home the strangest thing happens: a premonition from a dream materialises. A few days earlier, I had dreamt that Tess and I were walking down a country lane and behind some train tracks and behind a fence there's a rainbow. Right there, behind it all is the end of that rainbow. Tess and I are at the end of it. We pause and stand there staring at it; surprised, terrified, grateful... and yet none of those things. And Lu and the frantic tumbling oversized puppy and I are walking through a football field, the snow melting, the rain subsiding, rays of sunshine emerging through moody clouds and there's a rainbow right there — the end of it right in front of us. 

"I've seen this before," I tell him.

"Where?" he asks.

"I've dreamt this all before."

Everything is here.

Calls for Violence

Calls for Violence

Swimming Lessons

Swimming Lessons