HeyJaredVanilla
'Vanilla' is a psychological thriller which asks: if you could live anyone’s life, would you still want your own?
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 9
- Latest publication
- Sep 6, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 6, 2026
Latest issues
this is the smile (opens the original)
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Summer, 2003. Nineteen years old, sitting on my bed at mum’s house. Two fish - one gold, one silver - turn lazily this way and that in the tank on the windowsill. A small desk and a swivel chair; a Nokia; the family computer in the living room downstairs. I am listening to my favourite song on my CD player through my headphones, the thin metal strap over my crown, small foam circles on my ears. The album is 14 Shades of Grey by Staind, and I’m listening to track three on repeat. So Far Away has
more moments I want to experience (opens the original)
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You can read the first instalment here.Twenty floors up, sitting in an armchair, looking through the apartment window at the city outside. It is dusk, and there is a thunderstorm. Lashing rain. Droplets streak diagonally across the glass, catching one another and running together. Every couple of minutes a burst of sheet lightning picks out the sharp edges of buildings, skyscrapers, office blocks, just for a second, before they disappear once again into the inky darkness, land running into sky,
after the drama has ended (opens the original)
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As a writer you create a scene. You paint an image of surroundings, of the sounds, the sights, the smells, adding detail to some areas and omitting it from others to allow the reader to imagine the world you have created.Our stories go from event to event, from drama to drama, each chapter carrying the story forward.But I am fascinated by the scene left behind. These worlds and environments we create do not die once the page has been turned, and I am often enchanted by what is left once the dram
walking in a heatwave (opens the original)
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The sheep eye us cautiously as we pass, chewing jaws working and circling. They hug the shade of trees and hedgerows, lying on the dry earth, legs tucked beneath.This is the sixth heatwave this summer. Record temperatures reached every day, it seems. As we trudge through the barren field where grass has dried to straw our footsteps kick up small clouds of dust, no moisture in the soil, like walking on dull grey sand. Flies, startled by our passing, burst from the dung where they feed and scatter
under the pillow (opens the original)
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I was about to take a bite of my panini when you told me that after I had left home you slept with a photograph of me under your pillow for months. You’d have been about five years old at the time. Long golden brown hair, a cheeky smile. My daughter. The thought of you lifting your pillow every night and picking up my photograph with your little finger and thumb breaks my heart. Your brother is here, too. He has just told me that he had a photograph of me and him stuck to the side of his bunk be
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