He got up and had a shower. It was late morning and even now the sun was burning through the thin shutters. Once he was dressed he went down for breakfast.
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“He is dead you say?â€
“No. Alive. He is one of the Quick.â€
“Alive? You mean dead don’t you?â€
“Alive.â€
The Mayor rolled this thought around his head for a moment. “So let me get this straight. He’s dead and…â€
“No your not listening he’s alive.â€
“Alive, it’s just preposterous. Doesn’t make sense. But because he is dead, it’s no problem…â€
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I never knew the name of the shop. I used to study the flakes of grey letters hanging above the main window as a kid. I fancied it spelled out “Fudge†but it might as well have spelt out “Fridgesâ€. Not that it actually helped identify what the shop sold.
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A little story about a group of lads who journey out to a unnamed pub for an ultimate night but find something very different.
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This is a short story taken from something I’m working on. Its about an Angel and his decision.
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