In order to celebrate world book day I wrote a hundred-word story about the joy of stories.
Downstairs, the television spews out the noise.
From the corridor heavy base provides a steady beat, a counterpoint to the explosions and gunfight below.
Awake, alone, in the dark, I lie, surrounded by books. The scent of houseplants hangs in the air.
The books are whispering, jostling each other, stories waiting to be told. Legends and adventures wanting to unfold.
Warm I lie, cocooned in sheets, duvet pulled to my nose. Moonlight streams through the curtains.
I drift off, from the harbour of consciousness, to sleep on a tide of tales.
Words lap around me and the leaves rustle as I depart.
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