Jars of lights filled the Big Top. Hanging from the ceiling, they were an illusion in themselves: no wires, no batteries.
The noise from the Ringmaster was too loud; no one heard the knocking.
If anyone looked closer—as close as they could—they’d see small, tearful faces peering down.
Ellie is a twenty-year-old student who still believes in magic.
In the end nothing would remain. Faerie and all it had ever been would now seep into the soil and the streams, filtering down over rocks into the villages below.
Its ether would become something foreign to men. They would call it imagination, but we would always call it magic.
David recently won a competition and then another and now he’s gonna be a Dad… He needs a drink.