By Blood We Live
“So christened by poor Fergus, who would never have need of it again. I remembered Trish getting childishly excited over the architectural drawings. Sweet Trish who always looked too small for whatever motorbike she was riding. And for whatever helmet she was wearing. I know I look like a science fiction dwarf, she said, but I don’t want my feckin brains all over the central reservation, do I? Zoë, who had a passion for headwear of all kinds, once put one of the visored helmets on. She was sitti...ng on the floor. When she tilted her head back to look up at us the weight of the thing made her keel over. It was, we all agreed, just as well she was wearing a helmet.
You might not want it for yourself, but you’ll want it for your children.
I lay there in the first minutes of coming-to with Olek’s words running through my head. Jake was dead. Cloquet was dead. Fergus. Trish. I’d been close to death a dozen times or more in the last three years. My son had been kidnapped, my daughter incarcerated with me.MoreLess
You might not want it for yourself, but you’ll want it for your children.
I lay there in the first minutes of coming-to with Olek’s words running through my head. Jake was dead. Cloquet was dead. Fergus. Trish. I’d been close to death a dozen times or more in the last three years. My son had been kidnapped, my daughter incarcerated with me.MoreLess
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