NB: I'm jumping right in with fragments from my ongoing short story by providing you with the first half of Chapter Three, which foucses on a girl names Lyra and a conversation with her dog. If you like it, let me know! Feedback always welcome. “You know you don’t want to go,” the dog says sagaciously. It sits in the middle of the living room carpet, very poised, occasionally cocking its head at the girl sat at the table in the corner. She continues layering thick acrylic paint onto the canvas lying flat in front of her. “What are you painting?” “You,” she says nonchalantly, not looking up. She puts her paintbrush in the jar of water next to her, and impatiently washes the paint off. The wood makes small clinks against the glass; the water turns a filthy grey colour. “You don’t want to go, do you Lyra?” ...