Emily Taylor

When Joy Came It was a late evening in March, the air thick with a damp, lingering mist. Michael, as

**The Basement Summer** First, there was a crash. The kind that leaves your ears ringing, as if a lorry

When the Door Closed Without a Sound When the door slammed, Michael didn’t flinch. He sat on an old stool

When Joy Came It was late evening, the thick March gloom hanging heavy in the air, and Michael, as usual

When Everything Left Without a Sound When the door slammed, Michael didn’t stir. He sat on an old stool

Lily grew up like a weed by the roadside—unnoticed, untouched, uncared for. No affection, no warmth

Lily grew like a weed by the roadside—unnoticed, untended, unloved. No kindness, no care, not even a

Millie grew like weeds by the roadside—unloved, ignored, left to fend for herself. No hugs, no kindness

*Diary Entry – Black Ink Stains on Old Letters* The letter arrived in a plain grey envelope, no return address.

One of those days when nothing aches—but everything weighs heavy. By the bus stop near the old market