Carly Ratcliffe

“Naomi gazed out at the rain-swollen puffs in the sky. She wanted to tell Liz that she knew all about clouds, that there was a permanently darkened one that hung over her like a heavy sack of soot. All-consuming, it weighed upon her shoulders, infiltrating and clotting her mind with its rabid poison. Instead, she turned her mind to the type of clouds she knew Liz was referring to: ethereal, marshmallow-esque, the mattresses in the sky upon which angels fell into a tranquil slumber.”
― Carly Ratcliffe, Overflowing Nothings and Threadbare Everythings

“Joining her at the table, Liz said, “They’re ever-changing. Swirling, dilating, expanding. To look at, you’d think they hardly move at all, but they actually travel at around a hundred miles an hour.” She took Naomi’s hands in hers again. “We are never stuck, my love. We’re always moving towards something, whether we see it or not. And yes, sometimes we’re forced to bear the greyness of life, but eventually the sun shines through us again.” She smiled, her pink papery cheeks resembling the inside of a rose. “As Maya Angelou once said, ‘Every storm runs out of rain’.”
― Carly Ratcliffe, Overflowing Nothings and Threadbare Everythings

“Often finding herself a habitué of Liz’s sacred scanner, Naomi considered her kind friend’s presence in her life both a blessing and a curse: because she always knew without a word being spoken, and because she always knew without a word being spoken.”
― Carly Ratcliffe

“Naomi figured that newly employed Lin had provided the treats as the rest of her team knew glazed doughnuts were her least favourite. “Glazed doughnuts are the equivalent of sex without foreplay: pointless and bland,” she’d quipped one day, and everyone had laughed and agreed.”
― Carly Ratcliffe, Overflowing Nothings and Threadbare Everythings