Coming home after many years way from home, what is left there? The pictures from memory and those he holds in his pocket, don't recreate what is being looked for on his return. Regardless, he has returned, looking for things that he knows are no longer there. But the memories of the night that he broke the cardinal rule of the town are a powerful and poignant reminder of his wars gone by.
|Publisher:||Lee A Jackson|
|File size:||104 KB|
About the Author
The Beginning: I began writing in my mid to late teens, sequestered away in my bedroom in rural south west England. The writing was borne out of a need to express myself and to communicate with the world, something I was not good at doing verbally. It became an outlet for me and my writing grew with me through the years. The Middle: The writing stuck with me, and the style and nature of my writing naturally evolved as my life changed. Longer stories started coming along, and I even went through a period of planning and organising stories out before actually writing anything. That flew in the face of the disorganised nature where I would just write everything in one go from a single thought such as a title or a name. Still through a lack of self belief, everything was kept close to my chest. That and habitual procrastination. The End: There will be no end, not until the sun dies its death. For the longest time I had a fear of being forgotten and the way I figured to combat that would be to have a published book sat on a library shelf somewhere. I would have indelibly left my mark somewhere, long after I passed. That was a motivation in the back of my subconscious mind somewhere and still to this day, the enduring nature of my words in print following my end, is comforting.