I never ran if I could not It’s not that life that has come to naught And no, I was no explorer, That’s not the life Lost to this horror In truth, my life was fairly dull A life of books Friends and work to the full But I loved…

When I praised the first book, when I Took your hands in mine and exclaimed How dearly I love the work that is you, How I hope I shall never lose the chance to review The colours and shapes Even the sound it inspires, You shyly handed me another book More pages, more stories, more shapes There are…

“Rules don’t apply to me” she said when teachers questioned her ambition. She went on, and proved them wrong. “Rules don’t apply to me” she said when peers questioned her abilities. She worked hard, and climbed the ladder. “Rules don’t apply to me” she said when doctors questioned her optimism. She fought fiercely, and survived. “Rules don’t apply to me” she said when her people questioned her integrity. She laughed confidently, but was overthrown.

Then: “Hello, we are at war against Gruasia — do you want to join the fight?” “Why are we at war against Gruasia?” “Nobody really knows, but we are…” “What do I need to do?” “Leave your family behind, avoid dying of starvation or some disease, murder lots of people, and try…

Serious on-the-nose Christmas poetry celebrating Nisser. What’s a Nisse? Read on! — On farms there lived, before, Tiny creatures we know no more Day and night they could cause harm vexed by farmers who did not farm Strong creatures, not to be debated, these elves should not be underrated Their frame so small, don’t be deceived The trouble they cause is not to be believed…

“Thanks for the ride.” It was the first time the woman had spoken to him. Oliver could tell she was trying to appear untouched by what was about to happen, but her shallow breathing betrayed her. She was petrified. They all were. “Ma’am,” Oliver said. Automatically, he found himself adjusting…

It’s just a small, grey book, Smooth and flexible, made With love, nothing to its look Letters that have started to fade I am scared to ruin my treasure Gently, gently I pry it open There, beyond any measure Are stories saved, unspoken Daily, my little book is resting On a white shelf, protected By large sturdy books, its nesting Hidden, kept, never neglected My bedroom hides this part of me From my bed, I have put the shelf So, I always, unfailingly can see The spine of this humble book myself

Only in looks, did Astrid resemble her parents. Even at a funeral, Kari would not have been able to picture Astrid anything like the two pale, tear-stricken adults. They looked so lost. Barely able to notice each other, the surrounding family and friends must have been like aliens. In some…

It was like an alarm had gone off. The sound pierced the room like a warning bell, demanding action of everyone who could hear it, spreading terror. Charlotte compulsively lent forward to grab her tea, which had gone cold whilst they had been sitting there. …