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"Jan has no time for their cotton-candy happiness. His father disappeared 5 years ago. No Stasi shadows, no neighbours with a grudge. Just gone.
www.doesithavepockets.com/fiction/cole...
"Jan has no time for their cotton-candy happiness. His father disappeared 5 years ago. No Stasi shadows, no neighbours with a grudge. Just gone.
www.doesithavepockets.com/fiction/cole...
you’re in for a big surprise
no teddy bear’s picnic, I’m afraid
but creepy crawlies and flies
Be brave… have a listen poetrypea.com/s8e39-creepy...
What a month it has been! Each daily challenge firing new connections; inspiring all the writers in this wonderful group. The essence of a story captured in just 30 words.
What a month it has been! Each daily challenge firing new connections; inspiring all the writers in this wonderful group. The essence of a story captured in just 30 words.
Gran’s pickle jars line her kitchen shelves. I open one to top up my cheese sandwich. She was right when she said they’d make my eyes water. Love you, Gran.
Gran’s pickle jars line her kitchen shelves. I open one to top up my cheese sandwich. She was right when she said they’d make my eyes water. Love you, Gran.
He used that ‘don’t-be-such-a-little-girl-about-it’ voice, the one that made her do things that she hadn’t wanted to. On route they checked each other’s parachutes. She made sure hers were final.
He used that ‘don’t-be-such-a-little-girl-about-it’ voice, the one that made her do things that she hadn’t wanted to. On route they checked each other’s parachutes. She made sure hers were final.
The gothic arches soar, igniting sparks of faith. One catches, smoke billows through the stone ribs. Crashing timbers and fiery air - the cathedral organ bursts out its last song.
The gothic arches soar, igniting sparks of faith. One catches, smoke billows through the stone ribs. Crashing timbers and fiery air - the cathedral organ bursts out its last song.
You scrape the old words from the vellum, smoothing it out to whiteness, hiding the past. If only you could wipe away what you had done with this knife yesterday.
You scrape the old words from the vellum, smoothing it out to whiteness, hiding the past. If only you could wipe away what you had done with this knife yesterday.
A waving flag on a sandcastle greets the small boy who has just arrived on the beach. He is not welcome in that country, it says. He lies there, lifeless.
A waving flag on a sandcastle greets the small boy who has just arrived on the beach. He is not welcome in that country, it says. He lies there, lifeless.