Judith stared at a spot on the concrete wall in front of her as the prison guard guided the metal
Number Twenty-Five crouches over, knobbly spine swaying with the rhythm of the slight breeze. In his hand he holds a pair of scissors; not the kind you’d normally see in the hands of a gardener, mind you.
‘When you’re asleep, you lose your sense of smell,’ the firefighter explained. ‘That’s why smoke alarms are important; without them,
There’s something wrong with my ankle. I know I shouldn’t be able to see the bone. I’m certain the blood