The Manchester night air is sharp with ice. The streets are quiet, sounds muffled by the recent falling of snow. Frost gilds every surface with diagrams of ferns. Two miles out of the centre, at the Church of The Ascension, one person at least is outside.

I‟d never expected it to be like this. I know that sounds really naive, but I‟d honestly always thought that when it came to my parents' deaths, I‟d get plenty of warning, plenty of time to prepare. Of course, I‟m aware that people die "suddenlyâ€

Permit me to remain anonymous; my name would mean nothing to you. My profession, however, is not unrelated to the story I am about to tell. I am a doctor. I’ve seen many woes in my line of work. Some I've eased, and in other cases forestalled what, with

Scott “The Governor” Midmer went down in six rounds. Mingled dust and blood smeared into his cheek as he hit the floor, and even after his thirty seconds of grace, he didn’t come up again.

The Pilot Inn would have been a new pub at the time, being merely four years in existence at the time of Nelson’s death. We know it was popular with smugglers and ruffians of all sorts throughout the course of the nineteenth century. Beyond that we know

Where shall we begin, my doves? At the beginning, of course; the centre of the universe; the sparkling pinpoint in that black velvet night upon which all the fingers of all the gods alight – I’m speaking relatively, of course; there is no actual centr

Crawley leads to me to the far end. The tourists are lying huddled on a straw pallet in the draftiest section of the shed. The older of the two, a balding, middle-aged fellow running to fat, is cradling his younger, skinnier partner in his arms. Their fee

My first thought is that I don't remember dying. They tell me nobody does. It's like trying to catch the exact moment you fall asleep; when you wake, it's gone. You may remember feeling tired, you may even remember starting to fall asleep; you just don't

Lydia kissed her son on the mouth and looked out over the rural countryside. The trees closest to the tracks were nothing more than flashes of colour to her, but beyond them she could see the rows of drying corn. The sun was starting to rise over the hill

The model is privileged to work at the Albury-Wodonga Academy of Fine Arts and Neuroscience. Work permits are few and she needs to send half her ration to family up in the burning lands round Newcastle way. She has excellent references, but that doesn't c