Bridgette looks out of the window of her flat. After nearly 20 years she was free to enjoy the view. No more unexplained bruises from unexplainable accidents. She could sit here, look down at her children playing in the park below, and smile. She stares off into the distance, her drawn to Alexandra Palace, memories of her younger years, of summers days spent picnicking, surfaced and were pushed down again.

She sips her cup of tea. The clouds she thought looked grey and menacing. She hopes for a rainbow. Her gaze turns to the city. A place of concrete and glass. It was brutal and ugly like crockery smashed on the floor. All of it built in a different time.

She sips her cup of tea and is suddenly overcome with tiredness. So long the wait to be free and it was all too bloody late.  Patting away a tear she pondered.

Another story:

“Hello my darling. I love you.” yelled Frankie as he stood on the banks of the lake. The water rippled and flowed. Frankie was mesmerised by it all. He worshiped this lake, he loved it with all his heart. The cloudy and dark water, it’s deep waters, waters so deep that Frankie felt they could keep any secrets, keep them for years and years. Perhaps forever.

Frankie’s hands and clothes were filthy. He slipped into the lake. Red filth dissipated out from his clothes and skin. The cloudy lake water near him turned an opaque and crimson.

“My darling. I hope you like the gift I gave you” whispered Frankie to the lake. He felt like he was being baptised, he felt he was being purified, he felt warmth and love from the cold water. This place surrounded, no hidden, by trees was secluded and unfound. Birdsong was unknown here. This place he thought was heaven. If any place deserved a sacrifice and flesh and blood it was heaven.