There is a storybook. All of us are in it.
Here are some tales.
Hello
Author: Eirene Gentle
Eirene Gentle is a writer of little lit, poetry and essays.
Conversation with a disapproving Mimi
https://www.bloodhoneylit.com/fiction/conversation-with-disapproving-mimi
If I explained why the dog ran away you would not be looking at me with that hitch in your lip. Arms a bridge truss at your chest like you think I might bark. I might bark.
Sometimes things grow
What was it
T is for Tino
When Tino called in the sharks they were ready. They’d practiced so many times. The circle, the dip. Synchronized finning to the music of Bolero. Everyone watched the sharks so no one watched Tino. That’s how he released the swans who never stayed in order no matter how much they practiced. They flapped and snapped at whatever was closest so people scuttled like roaches and Tino was invisible as always.
Baton twirlers, sash girls and red-cheeked boys with guns
Madelaine, Because we want to grow up, Families complicate things
These three little stories were first published in Leon Literary. https://leonliteraryreview.com/eirene-gentle-madelaine/
A little god on a cold morning, dreaming
A tiny bubble first published in Ink in Thirds, March 2025.
Behind the story is another story
https://buttondown.com/EireneEleni/archive/a-writers-dream-is-to-publish
Witnessing descent into suffering is one thing, seeing the joy of those unleashing it, wittingly or unwittingly, is another level of dystopia. I originally called this first story Lamentation because that’s how it felt to me. But I couldn’t get the question out of my mind. How do they sing?
Flower tongue
https://inksweatandtears.co.uk/eirene-gentle
Daffodils hate being shoved in corners. When forced they emit a peculiar scent, part butter, part ulcer. I wear yellow shoes because I don’t like corners either but I am frequently left in them, and so I exude a peculiar smell. You sense it even from outside and I feel you hesitate and turn away.