I never chose to be a writer: it chose me. I’ve even tried to rid myself of it for good reasons, financial and protectively egoistic,…
I see that everything you’ve done is gentle. Let me die gently. Let me breathe a long cotton breath and be done with it. Don’t…
Haunting eyes on the front page of the Sunday Chronicle stared back at Angelo so darkly that he held his breath. He removed his glasses,…
It is our tendency often, to divide the world. The cans and can-nots, the haves and have-nots, deserving and the undeserving, all become part of…
On Thursdays, because he got home past midnight, Yadav wouldn’t sound the car horn. He’d wait outside and flick the headlights on and off. If…
Dreams to live to die by
sometimes shuddering our way home
whilst we tried to recall our listless motivations