The sun was up – stuck like half a tinned apricot on a sky awash with all the colours of a fading bruise. Down below the living dead were forming their complaining queues at bus...
—Helen Hodgman
He saw with sudden awful clarity that if he turned tail now and if, by some appalling miracle, she should survive, he’d never hear the end of it. She’d latch onto his flawed character and...
Jack and Jill slept, wrapped in each other’s arms, untroubled by any dream in their cocoon of freshly discovered wrinkly passion.
He was dazed, the soft thoughts sinking slowly in. A son. Even a daughter. His child. Immortality. A chance to make good. Pass on the hard lessons learned.
She usually worked at night, claiming that the racket he made about the house distracted her during the day; she needed silence, total silence, in which to pursue her inspiration – else it fled away...
She had six months at most left to live. She had cancer, she hissed. A filthy growth eating her insides away. There was an operation, she’d been told. They took half your stomach out and...
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