An extract from my novel “The Paisley Soul Of A Stricken Man” (warning may contain time travel)

“We stood in silence for a while, we could hear each other’s breathing. I muttered quietly to her that I was sorry and she momentarily looked like she would approach me for a hug but I didn’t allow the moment to last. I was stung by her words, hurt by the way she knew just where to wound me, dissecting my emotions about granddad and mum and cutting to the awful fact that she was right. That made it worse, I didn’t comfort her, I turned away from her embrace, troubled by the words that failed around me and I slammed out of the house”

©John de Gruyther 2013

2 thoughts on “Tales From The Edge Of My Living Room

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