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Reibus

I love language, I love what you can do with it, I love learning new words, finding the origins of old idioms, discovering new writers and seeing how they put their stories together. I love colloquialisms, localisms, vernacularisms and jargon! I love how every reader has a different visualisation of a writers' words. I hope you will enjoy the images the words paint within you.

Rhythm

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June 01, 2020

Quotes

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Sinister sickness

October 18, 2015

Anita felt very grumpy. She had to go up to the local hospital for another test, but she didn’t really believe that they would find anything unless they did the real tests. She knew, she thought she did, what might be in her body, but she had sighed, got frustrated, even got angry, when she’d been up there before. No, they didn’t find anything, and yet she could tell them why her stomach was painful, why she had backaches, why her legs cramped, why there were hours when she couldn’t even see. Every single day she woke up early in the morning in pain, curled up with her stomach feeling like it was due to burst out, her head feeling like a migraine after putting up with the rest of her body for so long – and she believed that! She would lie on her side and concentrate on breathing in, breathing out, long slow breaths which she hoped, every day, would relieve her pain at least a little bit. It was a week since she’d last gone up to the hospital, to Emergency. She’d given them her ...

Time to forget

July 22, 2016

I wrote the poem "Time to forget" back in February 2014 . It's included in this prose. Does this sound like someone you know? She had nothing important to think about. Everything which had been valuable to her had gone. Including her children. They didn't even talk to her now. Lee could remember her history, but it no longer meant anything to her. She remembered her childhood. She knew that she had loved it, but now her parents were dead. Her husband had vanished, wherever she didn't know and didn't care. She had never disconnected the bond between her children and him; she had - then - felt that was important. However they now took him in, she didn't care about. Her only friend was her dog. Beautiful, she thought. She was 13 human years old, but in dog years she would be 91. Or maybe a bit older. Jess would die this year. Maybe. But Lee'd read a poem. She opened her favourite internet website, found the poem. She had loved it. Maybe it was...