‘Black shapes crouched, lay, sat between the trees leaning against the trunks, clinging to the earth, half coming out, half effaced within the dim light…’
‘Sticks, little sticks, were flying about—thick: they were whizzing before my nose, dropping below me, striking behind me against my pilot-house.’
‘His covering had fallen off, and his body emerged from it pitiful and appalling as from a winding-sheet.’
‘I am lying here in the dark waiting for death.’
All Images found on this site are copyright of Joanne Young Illustration 2023
