Ekaterinburg, Tuesday, July 16, 1918 We waited in the cellar. That hot, stifling cellar. It was the dead of night. How many times we checked
“I don’t want to go to The Crossing.” Rebekah pouted at her father. It was Friday. What used to be called Spring. Time for crops
It started the day of The Green Bag. It had been Blue Bag, Blue Bag, Blue Bag for years, ever since I came. Come in,
He silently sobbed as he huddled in the trench With mud up to his knees and a God-awful stench Of bodies and shit and rats
Crossing. Short story. Words: 560 ‘It’s cancer,’ the specialist said, peering over the top of his spectacles at me. ‘As we suspected.’ We? Not me.
The night the Maroons went up … And my first thought was ‘Grace Darling’! Her image and dramatic rescues at sea clouded my thinking. I
The Party. “Bluey, are you two interested in coming to a party Saturday night?” Davo contacted his mate for such an occasion, “Rosy got invited
Article suitable for e.g. That’s Life magazine A remarkable score I could lie. I could pretend it happened to a friend. But you probably wouldn’t
ECLIPSE Blood moon Red Moon Portents and Omens Wolf moon – close your eyes and hear them howl Primal and mystical The fourth tetrad of
Brambles covered the old pavement. It didn’t stop him, just made progress slower and though tired he was determined to see it through. It was
The Bentley (Bring Up the Bodies) Sitting astride my Honda, I waited dreamily for the traffic lights to turn green. Two a.m., stars twinkled, the
12. It is a normal day in Canberra with all the leading politicians in attendance. Parliament is sitting and the heavies are going head to
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