Leoni Venter

Once upon a time the world was mine. With a snap of my fingers it would appear.

Jimbo retreated with increasing speed as a pinkish, slimy creature emerged and fell with a squish into the tunnel. It opened a huge eye and made a loud, brassy ‘cheep’.
Jimbo fled.

My dream was thus:
A wooded glade, and moonlight streaming down
like scarves of silk, so delicate, through trees and leaves
and to the ground.

The doorbell rings just as I’m feeding my hair, and for one teeny moment I forget, and open the door without putting on my glasses first. Poof. One stone television repair person on the porch.

A shadow moved over him, and he scuttled into the safety of an overhanging rock.

The obsidian eyes turned and regarded them with a basilisk glare; then, seeing no threat in the three dumbfounded humans, it flexed its great body and sprang into the air.

It has to be painted, you know. Sea air is bad for girders and rust is bad for safety.

One day, going about on its mad race around the sun, the Earth did not notice the giant space eel swimming towards it.

Find the darkness, find it deep