As I myself am writing this message under unappreciable mental strain, by tomorrow I shall be no more. My food supply as well as medicine and water had been running out. I’ve been stuck on this liferaft for a few days, floating lonely in the middle of the Indian Ocean, […]
“Grey rocks, and greyer sea.And surf along the shore.And in my heart a name.My lips shall speak no more.” – Charles G.D. Roberts, Grey Rocks and Greyer Sea “Gods curse you, Whateley! Curse you to Hades! Get back, you devils! Back I say! Oh God! Oh Lord! Help my poor
The madness of the eyes is the lure of the abyss. Sirens lurk in the dark depths of the pupils as they lurk at the bottom of the sea, that I know for sure… Jean Lorrain, Monsieur de Phocas Hidden along the gloomy northwest coast of England, where the churning
Uncle Marsh had always been the black sheep of our family. A thorn in my father’s side and a constant reminder of how corrupt and decayed our ancestral roots truly were. Sebastian Fredrick Marsh was my mother’s elder brother. A genetic throw-back, a deviant, and if the rumours surrounding him
1940, it was the era of World War 2. I was a pilot and had been in action in squadron 78 in the RAF for about 3 years. I flew mostly Spitfires and I fought in Dunkirk. But something went wrong with my plane on an evening in France in
