About VikaJ93


I like to write lyric poems, poetic lyrics and short shorts.

"All novels would be twenty pages long if they didn't describe the trees."

Viktoria Jayne Gavrilenko
Relationship Status:
East Sussex, United Kingdom
Local Time:
17 Jan 2021 16:09
The cultural history of Britain and America since 1945, Painting my nails, Eating cake.
Favorite Books:
The Master And Margarita, The Handmaid's Tale, Brighton Rock, Hangover Square, Lolita, The Great Gatsby
Favorite Authors:
Raymond Carver, Patrick Hamilton, William Trevor, Thomas Hardy, T S Eliot, Thom Gunn
Favorite Movies:
Loving Vincent, Blue Is The Warmest Colour, Amadeus, Meet Me In St Louis
Favourite TV Shows:
The Crown, Killing Eve, Line Of Duty, Mrs America, Mad Men
Favorite Music:
Folk, jazz, blues.


Date Joined:
11 Jul 2020
Last Visit:
17 Jan 2021
Page Viewed:
590 times
Days in Chat:
Days on Site:
Forum Posts:

Latest Forum Posts More forum posts »

Topic: Last 2 Letters
Posted: 03 Oct 2020 14:35


Topic: Drop Letter - Add Letter
Posted: 03 Oct 2020 14:32

Stout - Trout

Topic: Drop Letter - Add Letter
Posted: 29 Sep 2020 01:45

Sheer - Reset

Topic: Last 2 Letters
Posted: 29 Sep 2020 01:41


Topic: Last 2 Letters
Posted: 21 Sep 2020 07:57


Topic: Drop Letter - Add Letter
Posted: 21 Sep 2020 07:57

Steam - Taste

Topic: Drop Letter - Add Letter
Posted: 18 Sep 2020 08:41

Smash - Masts

Topic: Last 2 Letters
Posted: 18 Sep 2020 07:48


Topic: Last 2 Letters
Posted: 14 Sep 2020 07:50


Topic: Drop Letter - Add Letter
Posted: 14 Sep 2020 07:48

Lager - Rages

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Recent Activity All Blogs »

Stories Published All Stories »

On Canal Street

Club Kitty on Canal Street is no more, The booth, where once a bottle blonde sat poised To grab your five, at the clanking turnstile,  Lies dark and locked and manacled with chains. And poster frames that screamed of promised sin Now hang like empty sacs, their contents spilled, While strung apart, like stars, the ghosts of men Undress the sunkissed girls like future wives.  ...

Added 22 Dec 2020 | Category Poetry | Votes 3 | Avg Score 5 | Views 76 | 2 Comments

Blame It On Hank

They sat in a silence so solid it had assumed the status of a third party. Her shoulder was to him, face pressed against the car's side window. He tried to think of something to say. But he failed and instead hit the radio button. It was the Country Gold station. Hank Williams was singing 'Your Cheatin' Heart'. So he said, "did you know that Hank Williams was only twenty-nine when he died?"...

Added 07 Dec 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 5 | Avg Score 5 | Views 158 | 5 Comments

La Fin De L'Affaire

You wipe your paintbrush with the silk panties I bought on the way home from visiting his tiny grave. It was the day we met, in that Pigalle dive bar, where you danced close causing thin milk to stain my blouse, and much later, reeling towards dawn, fingered my slit, as we stumbled up to the attic room with its surprising view of the sky. "I really don't see the point of going on," I...

Added 15 Nov 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 5 | Avg Score 5 | Views 143 | 6 Comments


Tony Marconi's driver took a different route each morning. Today, they'd hit the garment district first, then back along the boulevard. Cocooned in the rear seat he raked his brindled crew cut trying to locate the source of a slight, but persistent, headache. At barely fifty, he was one of the most successful beasts alive in this jungle of steel and glass; the booze and girls and junk...

Added 03 Nov 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 5 | Avg Score 5 | Views 174 | 6 Comments

A Perfect Match

"I'm so fed up of being single." Jill and Sara were eating lunch. "What about Mike," suggested Sara, indicating a young man who'd just entered the canteen. "Mmm, he's cute, but I think he might be a little weird." "Oh really, how so?" "He always wears odd socks." Just then Mike passed their table. "Hey Mike," called Sara, causing him to stop. "How come you always wear odd socks?" ...

Added 22 Oct 2020 | Category Flash Fiction | Votes 6 | Avg Score 5 | Views 151 | 4 Comments


Each weekday, after her husband has left for his office, Claudia retires to her rooftop studio, where for three hours she covers canvas with solid colour. Mid-morning, she walks twice around the tree lined square, with a small dog. On Monday she meets a friend for lunch. Other days, weather permitting, she eats and smokes at a pavement cafe. On Tuesday and Thursday afternoons she sees a...

Added 16 Oct 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 5 | Avg Score 5 | Views 163 | 6 Comments

Moroccan Leather

Bound in red, hand tooled Moroccan leather, the worn notebook had been a Christmas present from his wife. Brad dutifully records in it the small victory of each alcohol free day. Tonight, in the minutes before midnight, he prepares to make an entry. It has been four days since his last one; two years since he last saw his wife. For all he knows she might be in Tangier....

Added 13 Oct 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 4 | Avg Score 5 | Views 389 | 5 Comments

After Rain

"Why is the rain still falling when the storm passed an hour back?" I had taken my daughter for a walk through the woods. It had been a week since the funeral and she had barely uttered a word since. "The raindrops get stuck in the trees and when the wind blows it shakes them free." "Like when you cry long after something sad happens?" "Yes," I whispered. "Like that."...

Added 11 Oct 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 6 | Avg Score 5 | Views 207 | 6 Comments

Our Day Out

In a clearing we danced; an undulating tapestry of diverse shapes and shades. As if entranced, we moved as one under the blistering eye of our arcane god. Whilst hidden from view, the butterfly collector stiffened and reached for his cell, intending to secretly capture our antic revels. But as his redundant seed splashed the earth, he let out a sharp cough like a fox. Alerted, we split...

Added 09 Oct 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 6 | Avg Score 5 | Views 199 | 7 Comments


When it all started, 'we the people' objected. We called them an infringement on our liberty, a thief of identity. They were uncomfortable, unfriendly, and altogether alien in this land of the free. Then as time passed, we started to choose ones that reflected our mood, matched our outfits, made a statement. They became part of our identity. So much so, that when the danger passed,...

Added 24 Sep 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 6 | Avg Score 5 | Views 208 | 6 Comments

Friends Comments More Comments »

Thanks for being a friend.
19 Oct 2020 04:44
21 Sep 2020 17:31
19 Sep 2020 18:35
Welcome to my circle of friends. :)
18 Sep 2020 08:23
17 Sep 2020 10:19
17 Sep 2020 04:09
11 Sep 2020 18:48

So glad to be your friend now!!
05 Sep 2020 22:27

Thanks for letting me join your field of friends!
22 Aug 2020 03:44
11 Jul 2020 03:19
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