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The games we play


Mark Stewart

Copyright 2011: Grace by Mark Stewart. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author. This story is fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination. Resemblance to any actual person living or dead is purely coincidental.

Melbourne Australia 1934

THE sound of someone chopping wood interrupted Grace’s piano practice. Exhaling she stood, pushing the narrow stool which had been recently re-covered in a dull red cloth backwards using the back of her legs. Slamming the piano lid shut, she marched to the window in the dining room to investigate.

The wood shed, forty feet from the house, resembled a bee hive. Grace’s father, Percy McKenzie, known as Macca down at the local pub, was helping her two brothers stack wood.

Grace focused on a tall, tanned muscular man wielding the axe. She seemed lost in a fantasy watching the axe time and again rise above his head then come crashing down on the log. The man’s tight skin covering his back and shoulder muscles glistened with sweat in the warm April sun. Turning from the window a widening mischievous grin swept her young womanly face.

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