The Inkwell

Written by Sparky 


A home for book lovers and writers; that’s our Inkwell.
Image Courtesy of

“It seems so long ago now, when we started.” The scratching of the quill was the only sound in the room. I dipped the nib back in my inkwell and carried on. “There was only a few of us back then. A few like-minded people who had known each other for a few years by that point. We had moved from one forum to another. At first we only talked online, brought together by our singular love for one author. Evolving over time as we got to know each other more. We began to explore our own creative depths with each other. We had our own world there, we controlled what happened within it. It was subject almost entirely to our own rules. I say almost, we never had full power there, but it just seemed that way. We created stories with each other, cemented friendships both through the site and out in the real world. Relationships sprung up and faded away, but the friends we made there stayed. Such was the magic of that place; our Old Kingdom.

“Afterwards, we started to pave our own path and make our own world completely. A forum dedicated not just to one author but to our work, our stories. We made more friends during that stage of our journey, more writers brought together by our joint love of the written word. I remember many moments where we all celebrated each other’s achievements. From finishing stories to creating new ones, each new world enjoyed by all.”

I sat back, reading over my words, taking a small break. The history of my writing career was almost laid bare in front of me. Everything I had written had been seen by the people I had met through these places. Those friends were amongst the closest friends I had, the ones I trusted most. I took a sip of the sweet tea cooling next to me and carried on. Continue reading →

Parnassus Park

Written by Lost in a Dream

Even stone angels wear away in time...

Even stone angels wear away in time…

A neat row of marble statues either side of the path,
They certainly looked impressive under the street lights.
Symmetrical and complete.
Smooth marble so glossy I could almost see my reflection.

Yet, when I look into their eyes I can feel no story,
Just an empty, soulless stare.
I held their hands and tried to make a connection.
But I found them cold and hard.

Away from path, hidden among the undergrowth,
Their contemporaries gather:
A collection of stone angels
Sinking in the mud.
Their features rugged and incomplete.

In the knot of shrubbery,
With half-formed wings,
An incomplete angel offers a rugged hand.

Through the angel’s abrasive hands,
The sculptor carves his pain.
I could feel it, experience it.

It spoke more than a volume of polished prose.

If you enjoyed this beautiful poem by Lost in a Dream you’ll be pleased to hear that she has several more published in Inkblots! Here is a link to one of our favourites; “Masquerade“.

Time Was Standing Still

Has time ever stood still for you?

Written by Lost in a Dream

Frozen in that moment,
Time was standing still

The foreign familiarity of an old song
Forges a link
Between then and now.

The lyrics were hardly profound;
Yet, they seemed perfect at the time.

Now, the individual words are insignificant.

They didn’t sum up how I was feeling,
I doubt I entirely understood them
Five years ago.

But I remember singing them out
With conviction.

Time locked in lyrics and
Memories trapped in chords were free.
I had the privilege of indulging in the past.
Just for a moment, that memory came alive again.

It was as though nothing had changed.


Written by Dice


Time. A tricky topic for sure, but incredibly intriguing.

Alex was your average mid-twenties young professional. He was tall, slim with short brown hair and blue eyes. He worked nine to five every weekday before returning home to his one bedroom flat to watch TV or browse the internet.

Today was different, lo and behold he had turned off the TV, finally bored of watching the same old rubbish. He sat for a while staring at the black screen, glancing occasionally at the remote which sat within easy grasping distance. He glanced at his watch: 9:58pm, that new comedy would be starting soon…

Alex was brought out of his battle of will by a knock on the door. Confused at who would visit at this hour, but glad of the distraction, Alex peeled himself from the sofa and made his way to the door. He stopped at the sound of another knock. The knocking wasn’t coming from the front door, but the door to his bathroom. He sighed, clearly he’d left bathroom window open.

“Come in,” called Alex joking to himself. His laughter was cut short when the bathroom door opened and a man who, in nearly every way, looked exactly like him. Apart from the clothes, the Alex doppelgänger wore an expensive grey suit which fitted to this man’s clearly more toned body.

“Thanks,” replied the doppelgänger whose voice was also exactly the same as Alex’s. Alex stood perfectly stunned, after a short silence the new Alex held out his hand and spoke, “I’m Alexander, good to meet me again.”

Alex fainted. Continue reading →


Written by Bobartles

N.B. The title refers to the writer’s core body temperature at the time of writing.

Hammersmith Bridge, London: I hear her footsteps tap across the bridge…
Image Courtesy of Reddit

“You’re cold,” she says.

I shift my hands in my pockets as she appears at my side, not taking my eyes off the shifting lights of the motorway beneath us. She crosses her arms and leans back on the railing. I feel her eyes on me.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

She keeps staring at me, brown-blonde hair catching the feeble rays from above and shining as bright as the headlamps far below. I don’t meet her gaze.

“No,” she murmurs after a moment. “You’re not. You’re really not.”

I don’t reply.

“Are you going to the funeral?” she asks quietly.

“Maybe.” The words haven’t even registered. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice starts screaming something. I ignore it.

“That’s it?” She’s staring at me even harder now. I avoid looking at her face, but I can imagine the look of shock.

Silence, besides the rumbling below. She turns away. Continue reading →


Written by Silver

Doorway to another world: Wooden in form and dun in colour – or the closest we could find!
Image Courtesy of Pinterest’s fantasy section.

This is not a tale about a door opening into a magical universe behind a wardrobe to meet a harsh white witch or a graceful lion, nor is it about a door swinging into a little garden, forbidden and secret, in fact, this door is entirely normal – wooden in form and dun in colour. There is something different about this door though, and maybe that’s what sets it apart from the others in those magical stories, and maybe it really isn’t; I guess you’ll know by the end.  Continue reading →

Try and Fail again

Written by Blue-Eyed Devil

Trapped: The effects of Agoraphobia can be socially and physically damaging.
Image Courtesy of

His day started with the screeching of his alarm. Its incessant nagging roused him from his dreamless slumber in its usual reliably rude manner and he reached out towards the table to hit it. It clattered noisily to the ground, its cord yanking away and silencing the vile contraption. Breathing a sigh of relief, he slipped a foot out of bed and yelped, pulling the appendage back under the sheets.

Perhaps he should have turned the heating up before he turned in last night? Continue reading →


Written by Lost in a Dream/xnicc

Golden horizon: The fragrance of summer, sun-kissed.

Harvest is past, summer is ended, And we are not saved.
Jerimiah 8:20

I stare longingly at the photo in the frame.
I remember the smells that coloured the scene
Salt, coconut, cigarettes–
The fragrance of summer, our summer.
Sun-kissed. Golden. Happy.
You, me and the horizon.
Encapsulated. Contained. Perfect.

Continue reading →


Written by Bobartles

I couldn’t quite remember when I first claimed my little piece of sky; it had been mine for as far back as I could recall. Presumably I’d felt its call from the moment I was old enough look up and see that vast blue expanse, so pure, empty and ripe for the taking.

My piece was easy enough to find. You’d have to be standing in the garden of the old abandoned house down the road, at nine o’clock (AM) precisely- no sooner, no later- with a couple of rulers and a pair of sunglasses. The first ruler goes parallel to your gaze, from the lobe of your left ear. The second ruler runs perpendicular to that, fifteen centimetres along the first. Look up at the sun, count exactly seven-point-five-three centimetres to the right, and you’ve got the dead centre. Everything for an inch around that? Mine. My little piece of sky. A little easier to see at night, of course, when the stars are out as reference points to mark the borders.

Continue reading →