B. Morris Allen

B. Morris Allen

Stories of love and disaster
Beginnings 050 – The Coping Saw
Commuters trickled slowly into the subway station across the street, the detritus of industry’s great machine as it patiently wore away life to leave behind...
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Beginnings 049 – Autumn Mist
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...
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Beginnings 048 – For this Rich Earth
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...
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Beginnings 047 – Start with Stones
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...
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Beginnings 046 – The Stone in the Sword
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...
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Beginnings 045 – Crust
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...
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Beginnings 044 – Dancing Through Winter
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...
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Beginnings 043 – House of Hope
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...
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