Last Winter Sun

by G R Matthews

No glorious victory, no waving banners, no ticker-tape parade, no pictures of a sailors kissing girls to decorate the pages of the papers. The last editions had rolled off the presses the day before and no-one had realised. Radio stations broadcast the news before the masts were torn down, before the power went out. London had fallen and Britain had lost the right to call itself great any longer.

Caleb recalled staring up from the London street, cars not moving, people stood motionless, as jet after jet streaked across the sky, missiles streaking away into the distance and the sound of explosions echoing back. He had raised his arms to the sky and cheered them on.

Minutes later he had stared at the twisting, falling, spiralling remains of those jets as the first of the dragons swept across the city. Flames erupted on every street. Buildings turned into towering pillars of flame. Smoke plumed upwards. Ice followed and buildings collapsed under the weight. People became statues that shattered into gory splatters if touched or knocked.

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"All I can say is that you all are going to dig it if you love world of Warcraft & the A-Team." - FantasyBookCritic

"All I can say is that you all are going to dig it if you love world of Warcraft & the A-Team." - FantasyBookCritic

"All I can say is that you all are going to dig it if you love world of Warcraft & the A-Team." - FantasyBookCritic

"All I can say is that you all are going to dig it if you love world of Warcraft & the A-Team." - FantasyBookCritic

© 2013 by G R Matthews.