An innocent enough looking mausoleum. In an innocent looking cemetery. wish we’d known.
The stench of blood stung his nostrils as he came down the darkened staircase. He didn’t know it was blood when he was fumbling along
The woman smoothed down her white dress and stared in the ornate full-length mirror beside the bedroom door. She looked like an old photograph, captured
I took out my earphones. The echoing pulsations of the bassline lingered for a second. I turned to lock the door with my key and
Character Writing: Man. Early thirties. Dark hair. Receding hairline. Stubbles. Leaving the table. A messy table. Messy table next to the closed fireplace. Table filled
My kingdom, my kingdom. My kingdom for a horse. For less, when the thought really demanded considering, much less. Much less for much worse, a
trees towards the sky branches broken by age over leaves fallen no longer reaching new home on earth and to remain
As the procession shuffled through the desolation, they remarked in hushed voices about the snow that blanketed everything in their view. The white on black
I draw your attention to this photograph for the purpose of cynical observation, the cynicism being centred around childhood itself and the corruption of innocence.