12 Quotes by Stephen Craig

As if grabbed by strong arms that were not there, he felt himself being lifted. Raising skyward and spinning, he fought to regain orientation. The winds were holding him and carrying him higher. Spinning him sickeningly, senses askew, his focus was being lost.

They were rocking back and forth, dancing to the tune of death. They were not shadows he realised, they were large animals.

With an unseen inner-smile, the beetle carried on its journey, rolling manure. It had decided that stones were not to its liking. It was happy in its life and its life, quite literally, was a lump of shit.