Exclusive story: When Its Good To Lie; Forgotten Suns art; Poem: Anfield-Turf Moor-OT-Bolton; House/Disco Mix: Before The Snow; Tales From The UniversE 46 - newsletter from deepest mid-winter
An arcadia of imagination
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1. Short Story
When Its Good To Lie
The fire had burned in the living room since 6am, the heat approached a near sauna warmth.
With a bucket of bleach, a mop, two nozzled disinfectant sprays for the surfaces, a selection of tan and yellow-coloured dusters, a dustpan and brush, a tall pot of coffee, the radio tuned to a classical station, Wilson Harvey opened every window and door to his cottage on the hill that sat atop Adlington Brook and began his mid-winter spring clean.
He had dreamed of doing this a long time - since reading a long forgotten novel about a woman in the American Midwest, somewhere around North Texas where red wheat was farmed, who moved to a small house in meadowland approaching the Guadalupe Mountains that ranged to New Mexico where he visioned a world always in the distance and the woman spring cleaned her new abode and there was a feeling of air and light.
Wilson at 17 was orphaned again the last 5 months, the elderly parents who adopted him at 2 passing away one night after the other in a terrible time to be him, to be alive, contemplate existence, what would be the rest of his.
It was terrible because in his not so secret soul he was content they were gone and could not believe his luck that they passed when he was old enough to be left alone to inherit and live in the cottage and live how he wished.
It was terrible because of the fear he held that it could not be true, could it?
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