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There she is, Rosa July-Ann Spencer, propped up on a dozen pink sequinned cushions, her huge frilly green tutu dress popping outwards like the canopy of a garish tree. On her head is the tackiest princess tiara I’ve ever seen, even for a twelve-year-old. Her wild blue eyes are a little bit frightening, they…
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His trouser leg ripped free of my fingers, yanked my arm out straight and I went face first into the moss. I covered my head but he didn’t kick me, why did that bastard always run? I slipped through the mud and I pulled myself up on the fallen tree. Barely on a trail now,…
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Running his finger through the thorny shrubs, the tiny scratches are welcome to Craig’s pale skin. The plants are poking over ancient brick walls, overflowing from the tastefully unkempt gardens of terraced period properties. The mild pain gives Craig a thrill, reminding him that he is alive in the free world. This can’t be the…
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Ryan Pilot 