Stacey Vella
Bio
'Life is difficult, and I am a very useless person'
Stories (9)
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Thirty (one) and Neither Flirty nor Thriving. . Top Story - March 2026.
I'm thirty-one and orbiting the same few mistakes like they're landmarks. London is already awake before I am (or before I've slept) - sirens somewhere far enough to ignore, buses sighing at stops, people moving with purpose I can't quite borrow. I lie there for a bit, tasting last night at the back of my throat, trying to remember if I meant to drink that much or if it just...happened again.
By Stacey Vella5 days ago in Psyche
Why Do We Love Spooky S**t?
I’m not sure what it is that fascinates us so much about ghosts, ghouls and all things spooky but I think we can admit that as a society we (or at least the vast majority) are intrigued by the paranormal. Whether it’s the general creepiness of the story, or the macabre details – people start telling them and people start listening. Is it our own mortality that encapsulates us so much? Or maybe the idea that history might not exist only in the past. What if we can exist with it? The notion that you’re not just walking down the same cobbled street as those from the Victorian era – but they might also be walking behind you.
By Stacey Vella4 years ago in Horror
How I've Failed At Literally Everything I've Tried. Top Story - July 2022.
I used to have a hamster when I was younger; I saved up all my money over a few months and spent it all on a cage, sawdust, an igloo shaped house, a water bottle, hamster food and what I would later find out to be a very obnoxious and aggressive hamster. This seems an odd place to start for an article that has absolutely nothing to do with hamsters, but it feels fitting as while I write this I feel as though I’m caught in an endless cycle. Running from absolutely everything and getting absolutely nowhere. Chocolate, my somewhat disappointing hamster came to mind as I recall endless nights lying awake disturbed by the sound of him running endlessly on the wheel in his cage. That’s exactly how I feel. I remember the day I bought him, I felt drawn to him because he was pressing up against the glass looking for a way out. Perhaps I saw myself in him, me – very much not a hamster trapped in a life I didn’t know how to navigate and constantly – fruitlessly searching for an exit. Not an exit to life itself I’d like to point out, rather an exit to the cycle I’d wound up in.
By Stacey Vella4 years ago in Motivation
Haunted Spaces: Room 333
Ever wake up in the middle of the night on edge? Hear strange noises in the dark? See something move in the corner of your eye? Think something’s lurking at the end of your bed? Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched? – Well if you stay at The Langham chances are you might…especially if you’re booked into room 333.
By Stacey Vella4 years ago in Horror
F**k Your Standards of Beauty
We’re told all our lives that we should be a certain way and look a certain way, we’re warned not to be too much of this or not enough of that. We’re shaped in such a way that has us questioning everything we are, everything we’re not and everything we think about ourselves. Who are you to tell me how my body should look, what shape my hips should be, or what colour my hair should stay? Who are you to convince me you have an input on my appearance?
By Stacey Vella4 years ago in Viva
Yellow Bricks
Yellow bricks, green balconies and winding streets, but not a Euro to my name, which is how I had once again found myself wandering aimlessly through the streets of Malta – this time a narrow street in Valletta. I’d spontaneously booked a trip to return home for the first time in just over a decade, however after miscalculating dates, I’d only been left with the few Euros I had changed on the way. I’d managed to get a week-long bus ticket (and some pastizzi) on the first day and figured I’d just explore until my money came in. I wasn’t worried. After spending entire days on various beaches, I decided to head to Valletta. The capital was as busy as I’d remembered it, streets flanked with bright balconies and numerous groups of elderly men gathered on steps outside buildings. The familiar language, and accent I assume I once had washing over my ears as I traced paths I had walked so many times as a child. The warm smell of imqaret permeated the air, bringing back memories I didn’t know existed. Every similarity providing comfort as I navigated through the onslaught of people headed for the market, however it wasn’t long before similarities became differences. I’m not sure whether it was the new shops in place of old, or that I was struggling to remember how to ask for imqaret without sounding like a tourist, but I had begun to feel very out of place.
By Stacey Vella4 years ago in Wander
