Short Stories

Death of a Patrol Man

7 minute read

She opened the envelope slowly, her thumbnail slicing through her present, her future and her past. That morning, taking her children to school, she had stopped at the bottom of the drive to pick up the mail. For the fourth time that week she felt the sense of reality drain from her as she approached that damned mailbox. Her heart pounded, and each panicky breath seared like ice in her chest.  There, on top of the autumnal mail-shots, lay a white envelope. It was addressed to Police Officer James Williamson, her husband, and bore the official stamp of the . . .

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My name is Liam Robertson. I live with my four children in the village of Rostrevor. I had a wife, Niamh, but she died not that long ago. Most days you will find me writing code to feed my family. Most nights I write prose and poetry to prick and prod that ragged tear loss leaves behind.
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