The Writers

I wrote this short story in the Ye Olde Mitre Tavern in London over the Winter of 2016. The story follows a dual narrative about two writers struggling to write in this pub. The present writer of 2016 and the other writer of 1837. Built in 1546 for the servants of the Bishops of Ely…

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Breaking Horses

The dawn was five hours and thirty three minutes away when Alice clenched her young fist and banged on the barn door. - ‘Brogan, you in there? I know you never leave.’ - ‘Who is it?’ snarled the old farmer Billy Brogan, perched in his barn like a cracked gargoyle in boots and overalls. -…