Writing. Supposedly it’s the best way to get things out and gain perspective. They say a lot things, but what have I got to lose. (not a question, no mark) […]
Most abusers are men. Most prisons are filled with men. More men die needlessly at war than women and have only joined the army in the promise that their lives won’t amount to what I listed above.
“You need a hand?” he said looking down at her with that smile on his face, arm out-stretched. She panted and took it. The climb was getting more and more difficult. The mountainside grew greener and greener and, if it wasn’t for the drizzly weather, would have made her footing more sure. He clasped her hand just on the acceptable side of firm-but-tender and helped her ascend
he day of the party came. All the children sat in a circle on their mobile phones taking pictures of one another, uploading them to Facebook. They then criticised each other in the comments section until it was time for the cake that no-one apart from JXL wanted to eat because they didn’t want to get fat. “My mum said she’d take my Fitness Centre membership away from me if I eat it,” the children said to JL’s mum. She just smiled and carried on filming Johnny on her mobile phone.
She’s chatting now to the people next to her. Laughing. They’re all laughing. He concentrates harder. Mousepad, click, mousepad, click.
I like being a dad. I think it’s been good for me. I’ve been a complete arsehole at times, mind. I’ve chosen my battles extremely poorly: I’ve shouted when I […]
However, all we could do is look in wonder as the procession passed. Try as we might we could never become them. They smiled at us; loving, genuine smiles that disarmed and distracted leaving with them a wake of warmth. But we couldn’t smile back. Not in the same way.