Harlan Covington

Conrad Cavendish sat in his wheelchair, staring through the dustcaked panes at the world beyond.

When the door shut behind Ms. Victoria Hart, only three people remained in the interview room Emma Clarke

Peter Whitaker said calmly, almost as if he were caring for me: Why should you work, love? I earn enough.

Richard Salazar stood frozen, the weight of his world pressing down on him. He had built a belief that

When I scrawled Resignation Mary Ilford on a clean sheet, it wasnt a moment of weakness. I did it because

Dear Diary, I stood before a black limousine, sleek as midnight, its polished surface catching the glow

The blue uniform and the face Id recognised instantly. It was Constable Stephen Hart the neighbourhood

Vicky lingered, phone tight in her hand. Her mums voice filled her earswet, pleading, like an endless drizzle.

I still remember that bitter winter many years ago, when I was a young bus driver on the little route

Dear Diary, I stood at the kitchen sink, my hands submerged in the cold water, while the evening dusk