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Writing

SHORT STORIES: Ends Meat

There it was again – the smell. Barrick glanced at his father, who had his eyes closed but he probably wasn’t asleep, just too exhausted by hunger to keep them open. His cheeks were shallow, as though sucking air, his lips two thin lines of…

Why Did I Stop Writing?

And now we've reached the crucial point, the part that I was quite honestly dreading, because I don't want to admit that this is how I actually felt about it, and it's such a simple statement.