An excerpt from my freshly finished short story:

‘“Don’t just stand there, Frank! Do something!” Clyde shouted as he shoved a lit Molotov into his hand. His eyes glinted. Frank opened his mouth to say something to him. Stop! He doesn’t deserve this. But Clyde had passed him. Frank stared at the bottle in his hands, the flame on the cloth. This was his soul, he realised, the fire of his conscience. He held it heavily in his hands, watching the flame flicker…’


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