Gentle waves washed the silver sand clear of footprints, and in the house on the cliff above only one light remained as Jeff Tracy finished his work. He put his empty mug down on the desk, heedless of the coffee ring on the once polished surface, and went over to the piano, stroking one hand over the dull and sticky surface. The keys were dusty and he pressed a few of them, just to hear the sound once more. Continue reading
Thunderbirds Are Go…..