50 Weeks.

Stories every week. Through art, writing, photography or music.


The War.

A Letter. (Week 8: Fiction)

Sometimes, if I strain my eyes hard enough, I can see him as he sits on that mahogany chair we bought at Gravesend all those years ago; eyebrows furrowed and pen in hand. Continue reading “A Letter. (Week 8: Fiction)”

Front Lines. (Week 4: Fiction)

November 14.

To My Darling,

I miss you more and more with each passing hour. Continue reading “Front Lines. (Week 4: Fiction)”

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