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

The Window

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.

Matthew hated Sunday worship more than he hated cleaning his moss and Matthew hated cleaning his moss.