Sing a Good Song

(excerpt from the short story) The sand was bone-white and as soft as silk, moth wings. Sedge and grasses springing out of it magically, as if anchored by deliberate hands and the sand poured in gradually until the fine green leaves stand on their own. Improbable leafy bushes stand aside and a rough path is…

The Sound and the Fury

” … I wouldn’t begin counting until the clock struck three. Then I would begin, counting to sixty and folding down one finger and thinking of the other fourteen fingers waiting to be folded down, or thirteen or twelve or eight or seven, until all of a sudden I’d realise silence and the unwinking minds……