Extracts & Features

The fifth and final day of Michael Atkins’ evidence opened in spectacular fashion.

The white room was completely dark when my dad killed my granny.

Another year of my life … wasted.

I was seven years old the first time my uncle poisoned me.

We named the houses they put us in.

I was seven years old when I saw my first dead body.

First there was nothing. Then there was everything.

Whenever I woke up, night or day, I’d shuffle through the bright marble foyer of my building and go up the block and around the corner where there was a bodega that never closed.

It was so hot in the car that the seats smelled as though they were melting.

The places we are born come back.

Let me tell you something about trees.

Chain Night happens once a week on Thursdays.

Jack Reacher caught the last of the summer sun in a small town on the coast of Maine, and then, like the birds in the sky above him, he began his long migration south.

I knew I needed a killer opening line.

The three cardboard boxes were stored at the bottom of the wardrobe.

I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to feel.

After I spotted a python climbing into her picnic basket and yelled out, I got chatting to a young woman down at Black Lake.

That night, he was Ed.

Friday night was going perfectly to plan for Chloe.

The space between was the worst.