Led ever forwards by sticky-pawed bears, grizzled and fat, a March of hares—we lollop towards tomorrow—madness beckoning and no hats needed. Kiss my heels if you can.

Where the king’s horses and where the king’s men?

When the honey runs dry, the bears growl deep in their bellies.

Heather is a sight-impaired spoonie and emerging working-class writer from Yorkshire. Her work has been published by Fictive Dream, The Phare, Free Flash Fiction and others. She has won competitions with New Writers and Globe Soup and has been nominated for Best of the Net. Find her at haigh19c.wixsite.com/heatherbooknook.