‘What is the point, when…?’‘The point, Lieutenant,’ the Captain interrupted, ‘is that these inhumans are infected. They only have to spit in your eye or kiss your mouth to infect you, understand?’Jarrett regarded the bloody corpses: inhuman males, females...

Wearing the same brown cardigan every daywith the sounds of nature's songand the quietest of falling leavesAutumn's shadows whistle metaphorsand memories in the woods I once playednow hearing the echoes of cricketsworn thin in my pockets wearing the same...