B. Morris Allen

The dragon was old. Old and tired, and a little bitter. Oh, it was well enough for a young dragon to talk about ‘later’, when...

Gather around, children, and I’ll tell you a tale of beginnings, and of ends, and means. This is a story of the early days, when...

Down by the creek, a dark figure moved in the mist. From the door of her drystone cottage, the crofter watched it curiously. A long...

Deep in the woods, where the trees broke into a clearing, a man and a badger sat having a picnic. The man sat with his...

The bed was too short. Or, as my brother Archie would have said, I was too long. Archie was always ready with a joke. It...

We danced in the darkness, my mother and I, stepping lightly from note to note. If we sometimes missed our footing, we caught each other...

As the last merlons fall from my last tall tower, I remember I remember the first cold shock of hammer, the fractured sense of loss...

Don’t ask, as the waves crash against you, and froth covers your camera ports. The yellowish spume drips slowly down the glass again, its acid...