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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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Ryan Pilot 