Harry's Last Game: (A Harry Miller Trevis Short Story)

From HARRY’s LAST GAME:

“Viking gold artefacts, a few skeletons, stones with runes, jewellery, ever so beautiful, born from craftsmanship and skills now forgotten and buried, the bones of a horse that was killed by a single hammer blow to its forehead, roughly 1,000 years ago. Celts, Vikings, same lot. Same bloodline and pride. Same propensity towards self-destruction.”

“A new dream catapults him from Tower Hill to Royal Mint Street, and into the Mansell Street end of Chamber Street. Railway arches. Shadows. A ramshackle wooden scaffold with a poster: “Welcome to Sherwood Forest”. A medieval archer, a Robin Hood look-alike, grins at Harry, moves his right arm backwards and releases an arrow that cuts through Harry’s heart like a surgeon’s knife through strawberry jam. Bristol in disguise – what a way to go. Frances Coles rises from the dead, a young prostitute stabbed to death in nearby Swallow Gardens in February 1891. There are things Man shall never know. A painful scream from the core of his lousy existence. Harry wakes up to greet the last day of his life.”

An earlier version of HARRY’s LAST GAME appeared in LIVE AND DIE THE IRISH WAY (Kindle ASIN B00CQ42EHA)