Sightseeing blunted the edge of my misery.
Stonehenge was brooding. The stones, however,
were smaller than I’d imagined. Jack was
reminiscing about some stupid ancient novel
he’d once read that was set here. I barely listened.
My head was cloudy. I began to wonder what
Father would have in store for me. Of course he’d
be nice as pie when his cousins showed up. It
would be afterwards that his malice would bloom.
I resigned myself to a serious grounding. I couldn’t
really summon up the passion to care much, one
way or another. I watched the trees whizz by, and
the dual carriageway speed over lumpy tan hills,
inexorably heading towards the swollen grimy city.


Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist