The early morning light seeped gently into the room granting the scene a dappled luminescence that seemed almost magical to him. He hadn't been able to sleep, which was unusual for him. He usually slept like a rock for a solid eight hours a night. But tonight had been different. Tonight he had felt happier than he could ever remember and had lain awake willing time to stop, listening to the deep regular breaths beside him. In a slow and controlled movement, keen not to wake her, he turned and raised himself slightly to look at her. All that was visible, burrowed into the duvet as she was, was her nose, mouth and her right eye. Even this much was partially obscured by rogue strands of her shoulder-length brown hair. He reached out a hand and delicately brushed her hair from her face. She flinched slightly and retreated further into her sleep-hollow. "You're not watching me sleep are you?" she asked without opening her eyes. Her voice had only the slightest trace of gro...
A collection of short stories, poetry and more written by Mark Clarke