Stories about Achilles

The scent of a sinner

The fresh roses turn pinker, dwelling outside the garden of the lilies, The wrinkled skirts smelling of cheap perfume, stinking of midnight sillies, The footsteps in the empty corridors, the heel to their Achilles, The birthmark on the neck, the missing toothbrush in the can, The dust under the shoes, the unannounced dinner plans, The misplaced phone calls, the green pills on the nightstand, The children in the fields, playing until its dark, Watching them live in singularity, searching for answers like the lark, Faking a smile, the burnt cigarette leaving its mark, Wandering in the withered winds, writing a memoir, Tearing the sinned papers, watching the two from ...

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‘What is dead may never die’…except George R R Martin

There is a rumour afloat that strikes fear in the hearts of millions. It’s not the reports of the brain eating amoeba or SARS or an exotic epidemic. No, this is much more critical, infinitely more blood-curdling horrifying. The rumour is that (hold on to your dear ones. If you are a misanthropic loner then a pillow will do) George R R Martin may not be able to finish the last installation of his ‘Song of Ice and Fire’ books which form the plot of the wildly popular TV show, Game of Thrones (GOT). There, it’s off my chest. The ...

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