Jack Graham

A little bit of whimsy on my part. A reading of one of my favourite short pieces of writing; Poe's weird, oblique, haunting prose poem about a story told by a daemon. A desolate jungle, a rain of blood, obscurely horrifying water lillies, a congregation of giant beasts, a man with the face of a deit

1. Robot stood at the window of what had once, briefly, been her childhood bedroom, and watched the glowing, billowing white cube in the field across the way. Lit from within, it shone in the gathering darkness of the November afternoon. The wind pushed waves along its sides. “What’s in there?” she

The next bit of 'The Abandoned Line'. Very much a work in progress. There were times when Iza envied her imaginary sister. Ria, for instance, didn’t have webs and spiders in her hair. Gritty dust wasn’t falling into her eyes. She didn’t have to scrape the skin off her arms and elbows and hands. Her

It was summer in England, and there were four children. Their names were Christopher, Oliver, Molly and Geraldine. Christopher was the eldest, Oliver was the youngest, and Molly and Geraldine were somewhere in between, I expect. Christopher was tall, fair haired and was cricket captain at school. Ol