Morwenna Grace Kearsley

A few years ago, I went to an open-air cinema in another country. The screen was stretched out onto the side of a building and we sat in plastic chairs, drinking warm beer. Bats flicked around us, which concerned me a little, but then I remembered that they are just mice with wings, claws and fangs. Part-way through the film, I looked up and saw the beam of light thrusting out in a long triangle from the projector to the wall. Within the beam, all the little images were hurtling along to their curtain call.

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  • To Speak Is To Starve
  • To Speak Is To Starve