It was only when we arrived in the basin that I read once more the ancient scroll that had been entrusted to my safekeeping. I realised that despite many years of poring over by student and fellow supposed expert alike we had based on our ideas on a mis-translation of the words. By carefully reordering the words finely etched on the copper plates I could see that our expedition was bound to end in failure. A disbelieving Lot had thought they could divert a river back to save his home but the ferocious heat had turned it to salt.
Sam looked at the trees lining the highway. Varieties that he and his fellow prisoners had uprooted many years before. He knew tears would flow with every mile they covered, with each new memory. Memories of a life passed and lives lost amidst tears, both wasted and wasteful. Tears mixed with sweat-diluted blood. In the blazing, tropical, midday sun, moisture was precious, the guards watching every move, seldom and reluctantly offering water to drink. They had laid the track yard by yard but now he was perversely pleased to see their death railway transformed into the main highway through Burma
Five young gunslingers from Tooting
When the pen takes control. 