Trippin’ Back to the Moon

Trippin’ Back to the Moon


“Holy Moly, Eve.” Dr Sands fights back the stronger expletives. And the smell, Jesus. His patient, Eve Anderson limps in with a plastic shopping bag on her left foot. He dons an apron and gloves, before lifting the bagged foot into his lap. “Nothing we haven’t seen before, eh?” Workman-like, he takes the elastic band…


I wrote this short story a while ago and for some reason never quite got round to posting it. “We must free ourselves of the hope that the sea will ever rest. We must learn to sail in high winds.” “It’s close, Margaret. An hour or two at most.” If he wasn’t on the phone,…

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