Emma Phillips

First, they stole sense, rolled it like a haybale, locked it in the silo where they said if you fell, you’d sink and your lungs would fill with grain until you thrashed like a fish hoping for mercy.

Next, they stole reason, dragged the farmhouse rug from under your feet and shook so your brain cells scattered with dust. It backcombed your hair, flew easy. 

Then they stole truth, slammed it in files. Where there was paper and shelves, they left trees, so you clawed the soil and dug for your life while each word you said was redacted.

Emma Phillips lives by the M5 in Devon, which sometimes lures her off in search of adventure. Her words have placed in the Bath Flash Award, NFFD Micro Competition and feature in print and online in various places, for which she is extremely grateful.

Read more from Emma:

Literary Namjooning – ‘Alice Carries the Moon‘
Free Flash Fiction (Comp. 21) – ‘Coming Home From the Mill At Least Is Certain (After LS Lowry)‘