go here Here are three introductions from a collection of short stories entitled http://libraryinthesky.org/?bioeser=citas-con-chicas-de-ucrania&e7d=92 ‘Abnormalities’. There are six in all and the paperback or Kindle version is available from Amazon. Click the picture link to take you there:
go to site I remember it was early November. It was still dark and I was freezing, which was not surprising since I’d been standing there for almost an hour. I blew on my fingers but it never works, even my breath was cold. I moved closer to the police woman near the railing, we exchanged polite smiles and watched the other officers waiting outside with the rest of us.
http://www.elettrosmosi.it/?pifiods=broker-automatico-opzioni-binarie-legale&d73=99 Behind us, the blue light flicked our shadows across the wall and an ambulance waited nearby, its rumbling engine blowing clouds of exhaust gas into the darkness. They had erected spotlights pointing towards the cellar door. It was one of those heavy steel security doors with bolts and padlocks, set at the bottom of a flight of narrow stone steps. God knows what we expected to find.
watch The engineer with the acetylene cutter, shouted. ‘We’re in.’
Real money online poker quick – A social worker, Caitlin Moran befriends a boy who was found in a cellar and discovers an unbelievable story behind him. – A fantasy story.
…A feeling of joy permeates your body like a golden sun, soothing you and relaxing you, you feel…
‘I can’t do this.’
‘You can, you’re just not trying.’
Carla gestured toward the audio player with a dismissive flick of her hand. Another failure. She had been trying to release her inner turmoil for months but nothing had reduced the tension she carried inside her. People could see it in her face, the twisted mouth, the distrustful eyes, the furrows across her forehead. Her dark hair, so pretty and vivacious last year, was now straggling down her cheeks, looking for a place to hide.
Carla upset waiters in hotels, she insulted yoga students during sessions and criticised artists’ models at her evening classes. She preferred red wine to herbal remedies and would frequently mix the two to enhance the effect. She had been divorced for two-and-a-half years and every man she had met since had decided not to call her the next day. One of them even sent back her telephone number.
Her friend Rachel was running out of ideas of how to help. Something had happened to Carla and Rachel was determined to find out, she had to get to the root of Carla’s problem. Rachel picked up the booklet and read the promotional messages. ‘I’m Martin Chance, let me help you become a better person.’ She switched on her laptop and typed a message.
The reply was rapid and one July afternoon, Carla had her first consultation with the hypnotherapist…
– We all have a history, but some histories are best kept secret. – A slightly dark comedy.
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‘Are you Jane Calvert?’
Aileen Jacobs rested her briefcase on the hard chair. ‘I hope we’re not going to have one of those cat and mouse conversations, where I ask you something and you give some vague answer that gives me nothing, because if we are, I’ll leave now. I have plenty of other clients I could see.’ She fixed woman sitting in front of her. ‘Now, are you Jane Calvert?’
‘Good. I’m Aileen Jacobs, I’m a lawyer and I’m here to talk to you.’
‘I was expecting a man.’ said Jane.
‘They’re in short supply.’
Aileen clicked open her briefcase, pulled out a folder and placed it on the table between them. It was a small table, plastic surface with wood effect. It was so small, you could side-step it but it was society’s divide between good and evil, as big as a wall. She sat down and examined the young woman on the other side.
Jane Calvert, a slight woman; late twenties, early thirties at a glance. Her girlish face was framed by her hair but she looked tired and washed out, cleared of any character that betrayed emotion. Twenty-seven going on forty-five. A few wisps of brown hair hung across her eyes, pale blue, lost. She glanced at the floor, then checked the guard standing against the gloss painted wall as if she was asking permission. It was hard to believe that she had killed a child.
Aileen pulled out a notebook from her case, checked a page in the file and began writing. ‘Tell me what happened,’ she said. ‘And make it good.’
– Jane Calvert had a happy life until a funeral back home almost destroyed it. – A tale of chance events.
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