D.H.WERRETT

angelchronicles@aol.com

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    Revenge

    Revenge

                                    A House is not a Home

    A House is not a Home

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    Swimming

    Swimming

    Morning Swim The early morning clouds and fog are burning off. Peg is swimming back to the cottage, she is a very strong swimmer, much more at home in the water than I. I get up from the deck chair, gather her beach towel and walk to the end of the deck. Peg strides confidently out of the water and up the stairs to meet me. I hold the towel out and wrap it around her. Her body might be cold but her lips are warm, we kiss. I hold her firmly in an extended embrace. “I’m going i
    Why did you do it?

    Why did you do it?

    Blam! I was hiding in a muddy ditch, the run-off water from the war-torn landscape surrounding me was pouring over the top of my boots. I felt the cold water running down my legs around my ankles, filling the void between my feet, my socks, and the worn leather boots, one of the few possessions I had: boots, the clothing on my back, and what was left of my self-esteem. The only things remaining from the long love affair with my beloved. A line of enemy soldiers was walking sl

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