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The book sat on the top shelf. It leant flat against the back wall, so the cover was clearly displayed. Apart from a sheet of dust that lay across it, the book was in good condition. The title read: Little Boy Blue and Other Nursery Rhymes. It was placed on the shelf a year ago. Wendy stood in the silent room. A tray of tea and biscuits rested on the table beside her. She stared at the clock mounted on the wall. The hands moved toward 5pm. She waited awkwardly, her face turned away...

Marcello awoke before the sun rose on the day of Santo Stefano, 26th December 1789. He sat up straight on his sleeping matt, his body fizzing with anticipation of the day to come. He could feel the city stirring, its great masses breathing with repressed excitement as the long awaited celebrations drew close. He was a servant of a great house on the beautiful Venetian Grand Canal. The nobles he served treated him as any servant would expect to be treated: with quiet disdain. But not today. ...

His eyes are menacing. I can see his focus narrowed on my face, his pupil’s dark, his lids squeezed to slits. He is deadly. His body is crouched and his muscles taut. He is circling, low and slow. So slow. I crouch low myself, inhaling the dust, feeling the stone and dirt beneath my feet. They are all gathered around, engulfing us. I can hear them chanting, feel them pushing past each other for a better view. The air feels thick and I can smell sweat. I am breathing fast and hard. My e...

A brown couch and a glass of whisky. The light from the window animates the dust particles in the stale air. The room is quiet and lifeless except for you, a bent figure, slumped forward on the couch, defiantly thinking of nothing at all and staring at the floorboards. The ice cubes clink. An irritation creeps over your skin as you look at your watch; there is still half an hour before you can get away with leaving for work, although you’ll still be early. Thirty minutes alone with your...