There's a ghost in my house. I hear her singing. A little girl. Why is it always a little girl? The light through the window is barely enough to see by, but the sky outside is very pale. Clouds slide ... [+]
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Italian
Freddie left the red and white cannon at speed. He whizzed over the open-mouthed crowd in a graceful crescent arc and was quite frankly bored, bored, bored. The large frayed net loomed up, saggy as an ancient string vest, hanging between supporting stakes. He bent his body encased in a tightfitting costume into a downward trajectory. He thought about his tea and whether Madge had got the pork chops out of the freezer. The noise boomed distortedly through his safety helmet and the last wisps of smoke faded as he descended. He tried to remember if he had picked up his duvet from the dry cleaners