“Do bears shit in the woods?”
The words hung in the air like a bad smell.

“Do bears shit in the woods?”
The words hung in the air like a bad smell.
The names used within this piece are purely fictional and any baring on myself and my gorgeous lady wife of whom I have the utmost respect, admiration and love are purely coincidental.
It was always “tomorrow”. In fact, tomorrow would mark 99 yesterdays; each one a little fonder yet a little sadder than the last.
Mary-Anne looked at the Union Jack hanging limply outside the window. “Vase,” she replied stoney-faced, “with an “ay”.”
“One day we’ll be looking down from up there and we’ll laugh about all of this,” Katie looked for recognition but Piers didn’t flinch.
“Do you believe,” she started.