• Short Stories,  Works

    Fly Catcher’s Children

    Arieth glanced each way up the road to check for cars. All clear. Now or never, she told herself. With a deep breath, she inched her way towards the door of the Fly Catcher’s shop, her small frame shivering in her tightly buttoned peacoat, only partly due to the autumn chill. She blew a rogue strand of her curly red hair from her eyes. Why did she forget her hat again? Can’t remember everything. The shop was an unobtrusive place, nestled between a barber shop and an art gallery, having no windows, just a single aged sign, made of brass lettering, faded as if the hand of polish had not…

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