The Teaspoon
I have a teaspoon in my hand. I’m looking out the window from my room. I know something isn’t right. I can’t work out what or why. Brown brick, two-storey high
The Group
I was born a junkie. Literally. Mum and dad were both addicts, inevitably I became one too, entering this world stoned and only shouting my first cry after being slapped a
The Enemy
Silently, I ran over familiar ground as I scanned the vacant buildings and empty streets. Each time I left, I had to go further, making my journey more dangerous. My eyes