The large crate arrived early this afternoon, sooner than I’d expected. The fellow who delivered it, a miserable looking individual, moaned like hell because of
“Name and date of birth please, sir.” “Michael Peter Jones, 21st March 1962” “And when did you die Mr Jones?” “Sometime this morning, I think.
My fingers wrap around the stone in my pocket, your sticky blood still warm to the touch. I was going to throw it in the
The empty tram trundled along the deserted tracks, sticking rigidly to an irrelevant timetable. At each stop a mechanical voice would tell you where you
This was not the most salubrious establishment in town. The note on the window told you it’s owners were shadowy characters, not open to complaints.
She remembered the beginning. He’d tried so hard to straighten her out, to drag her screaming from the abyss. That’s love for you. But it